Life is filling holes, but sometimes a little emulsion will get you out the other side.
It was a long time ago that I introduced my personal theory that life is filling holes. It's a simple equation that can be inserted into any question of motivation or neurotic impulse you might possess. But sometimes a little immersion and emulsion cures the ennui. I've sunk myself as deeply into school as I can, and I am producing like a maniac. For those of you in the family that waited for me to fulfill the fabled potential, this is your finest hour.
Meredith will be proud: I made mayonnaise. An egg yolk, a cup of oil, a splash of white wine vinegar, a little cayenne, the girl is happy. I generally don't like mayonnaise aside from its background status on a sandwich. Nonetheless, my mayonnaise came out just about perfect. I've learned how chef likes things seasoned; I've just about got him clocked. Chef liked it, though I wanted it to have more of a whipped consistency than the typical plop you get. At any rate, we also threw together a simple vinaigrette of shallots and tarragon. Finally we whipped up a buerre blanc sauce, nothing more than shallots, white wine and white wine vinegar reduced to about a tablespoon, finished with a quarter cup of butter.
The amount of butter we use in sauces would make your head spin. Or at least stop your heart.
Speaking of butter, to the tune of one stick per serving, we made hollandaise on Thursday. Hollandaise is not my favorite, but I did a number on it first time out. I won't bother with the procedure. Suffice it to say that hollandaise requires some serious whisking and even more serious heat management. It was a war zone of scrambled eggs in the room, but most of the class got the hang of it eventually. For me, however, it was a defining moment of my young culinary odyssey. I pulled together my hollandaise after a few touch and go moments, brought it to chef. Good color, good texture, good taste. He paused, looked at me and said, "This is a great hollandaise. Congratulations." We also made a bechamel and a mornay, on which I had a bit of head start as Mom had taught me a few combinations you can run on the old roux and milk.
And for the academic crowd, I scored a 94 on my food safety certification test, which keeps me at an A for culinary school so far. Before you get all fired up, food safety is not trig. It's a 200 page textbook, about 30 hours of lecture and a 90 question test - all of which designed for idiots to pass with relative ease. That I noticed, one student failed with a score below 70. If you met him, you'd understand.
It was a nice week. Good color, good texture. Emulsion helped.
It was a long time ago that I introduced my personal theory that life is filling holes. It's a simple equation that can be inserted into any question of motivation or neurotic impulse you might possess. But sometimes a little immersion and emulsion cures the ennui. I've sunk myself as deeply into school as I can, and I am producing like a maniac. For those of you in the family that waited for me to fulfill the fabled potential, this is your finest hour.
Meredith will be proud: I made mayonnaise. An egg yolk, a cup of oil, a splash of white wine vinegar, a little cayenne, the girl is happy. I generally don't like mayonnaise aside from its background status on a sandwich. Nonetheless, my mayonnaise came out just about perfect. I've learned how chef likes things seasoned; I've just about got him clocked. Chef liked it, though I wanted it to have more of a whipped consistency than the typical plop you get. At any rate, we also threw together a simple vinaigrette of shallots and tarragon. Finally we whipped up a buerre blanc sauce, nothing more than shallots, white wine and white wine vinegar reduced to about a tablespoon, finished with a quarter cup of butter.
The amount of butter we use in sauces would make your head spin. Or at least stop your heart.
Speaking of butter, to the tune of one stick per serving, we made hollandaise on Thursday. Hollandaise is not my favorite, but I did a number on it first time out. I won't bother with the procedure. Suffice it to say that hollandaise requires some serious whisking and even more serious heat management. It was a war zone of scrambled eggs in the room, but most of the class got the hang of it eventually. For me, however, it was a defining moment of my young culinary odyssey. I pulled together my hollandaise after a few touch and go moments, brought it to chef. Good color, good texture, good taste. He paused, looked at me and said, "This is a great hollandaise. Congratulations." We also made a bechamel and a mornay, on which I had a bit of head start as Mom had taught me a few combinations you can run on the old roux and milk.
And for the academic crowd, I scored a 94 on my food safety certification test, which keeps me at an A for culinary school so far. Before you get all fired up, food safety is not trig. It's a 200 page textbook, about 30 hours of lecture and a 90 question test - all of which designed for idiots to pass with relative ease. That I noticed, one student failed with a score below 70. If you met him, you'd understand.
It was a nice week. Good color, good texture. Emulsion helped.
