Congratulations are in order: I have just completed my second day as a professional sous chef! Ok, so I’m not an actual sous chef, but I do work under one, at least I think I do. To be quite honest, I’m not exactly sure what position I hold in my college dining facility. I just mosey on down to the kitchen twice a week for two hours and ask what I’m supposed to do. For the past two days of labor, I have peeled apples for applesauce, peeled carrots for the salad bar, and have peeled and chopped beets for some odd salad that is to be prepared at a later date. It is by no means the glamorous kitchen experience that I had envisioned, but I’ll have to start somewhere…
It has been nice to get back to cooking (though I have yet to grapple with any heating elements, just mainly a dull peeler), but I have discovered that the glamorized, professional kitchen I had seen on Food Network does not really exist on a college campus. There is no bright stainless-steel counter, ample amounts of razor-sharp Japanese imported knives, or a happy-go-lucky four star-chef who would gladly take you aside to explain the difference between chiffonade and julienne. Putting all that aside, what surprised me the most was not the deficiency of enthusiasm or freshly squeezed juice, but the lack of carrying through an entire culinary project. I don’t mind peeling apples as long as I can take those apples and make a pie. I enjoy starting from raw ingredients and completing an entire process, step-by-step, so that when I eat my homemade pie, I know exactly what went into it literally and figuratively. Unfortunately, this process is not feasible or accomplished in my college kitchen. As a result, I have somewhat come to loath peeling and chopping because I can never use my creative flair beyond drawing etchings upon leftover carrot skins.
At dinner tonight (collard greens with chickpeas, salad with Italian vinaigrette, apple, and Boston cream pie), I was telling my friends how I somewhat disliked my job. Like a flash of citrus on the tongue, I realized that for the first time in my life, I had come to abhor a cooking-related task. Gasp! I was a little scared, to say the least and spent the latter portion of the night reflecting on why I had come to such an emotion. Thankfully, I understood that it wasn’t my enthusiasm that had diminished, but my accommodating environment. I need to cook in a place that allows for the entire culmination of a project and not just the stress on one mundane aspect.
My revelation for the day was that I do not want to work in a culinary environment that stresses an assembly-line process. A small restaurant or bakery would be the perfect fit for me as I can cook for a group without having to jeopardize the entire premise of cooking. Such is the plight of the college freshman who has to find such a mouth-wateringly appealing occupation. For now, I will continue the ubiquitous peeling with said dull peeler and will pray to the food gods for a better prospect.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
What does Fall taste like
You can tell you’re an obsessed foodie when the coming of a new season triggers a food memory. Or in my case, a season does not begin until I have tasted the fare of the season. Here in upstate New York, fall is just beginning. The summer heat has died down and is now being replaced by a cool wind and crisp air. With the advent of fall begins the steep decline in stone fruit and lush summer produce (squash, tomatoes, etc.) However, do not weep for my loss of exciting food adventures! Fall is my favorite season with the plethora of apples, pears, and pumpkins. Fall sparks in my mind smells of cinnamon, nutmeg, and earthy allspice; visions of approaching Thanksgiving (my all time favorite holiday) and the coming of scenic foliage.
However, the foods that really spark my mind when I feel the first cool winds are apple cider and doughnuts. As a child, I fondly remember weekend trips to Tices farm in Montclair, New Jersey to taste the most robust apple cider, poured from musky wooden barrels, coupled with a desirably sweet cinnamon-sugar doughnut. In correct fashion, I dunked my doughnut into my cup of cider and lapped up the sodden doughnut. Ahh, the perfect fall food! And of course, we would schlep back pies of apple-caramel, pecan, and pumpkin; in addition to caramel apples and pecan Danishes. Alas, Tices closed several years ago to be replaced by a strip-mall but, my love of the first cider and doughnut of the season still remains a tradition that I proudly keep alive through another farm in Montclair called De Piero’s.
To be quite honest, the tri-state Clinton area is not known for much culinary-wise. Dairy farms are abundant here along with many organic farms but, no one really flocks here for sensational epicurean fare. However, just a mile down the hill from Hamilton, there is an old cider mill. Needless to say that I grabbed a few of my friends and headed down the staunch hill in search of said mill. My one friend (Emily) whose grandfather lives in Clinton, promised hand-pressed cider and freshly baked pies and goods and warned that one could easily spend $30 without a blink. I packed only $10 and made the trek.
I know this may sound slightly strange but, I love the initial smell you get when you enter any eating establishment. The strong scent of coffee in a Manhattan store or the aroma of aged cheese in a far off store in Clinton. To me, the marker of a good food establishment in the olfactory pronunciation of their product and in Clinton’s cider mill, the joint reeked of success! Upon opening the doors, I was flooded by fall’s fond memories. The scent of pressed apples, old rusty cranking machines, and spiced sugar was kind to my nostalgic nose. Even the interior of the mill was similar to my happy childhood memories. Upon entering, you were brought up to the register to glare at the pies and goods on display. A little farther down separated the store from the mill and several pressing machines flooded the back of the store. Sadly, the machines weren’t operating when we came but, leftover apple cores and seeds from the morning press could be found upon the worn wooden floor.
The walls of the Mill were covered with diagrams of different varieties of apples, pictures of the Mill since its erection in 1927, descriptions on the operation of the Mill itself. I practically ran to the counter and left many hand-prints upon the glass display case. Only two pie varieties were made (traditional apple and apple-crumb) but, their chalk-written menu promised pecan, cherry, strawberry, pumpkin, and other fruit pies. Of course, pie and I are on first name basis but, I wanted my traditional cider and doughnut. My friends and I bought a half-gallon to split and several doughnuts and chocolate chip cookies. We retired outside to the porch and after a little struggle with the cider bottle, we managed to pour out six glasses of red, brown ambrosia.
I took one last swallow of highly anticipated saliva, bit into the doughnut, and quickly swigged down some cider. The feeling was indescribable; happy moments of fall invaded my tongue and simultaneously crept into the far reaches of my mouth. The cider was sweet and robust and coupled magnificently with the sugared doughnut. The doughnut was perfectly spongy and had a certain level of cakiness that I thoroughly enjoyed. A beautiful golden crust perfectly encircled the doughnut and little pools of sugar and cinnamon happily floated atop my cider cup. It was bliss, pure enjoyment; fall had arrived within a two second span and had brought with it another food/fall memory to add to my collection.
After thoroughly licking my lips of any remaining crumbs, I clamored back inside to examine the countless jellies, jams, preserves, and maple syrups on display. All crafted from local producers, I stood my ground and only looked. On another self was several prepared pancake, waffle, and bread mixes, carefully prepared by the mill owners. The owners contently worked behind the counter and were more than happy to answer my bolstering questions.
After leaving the mill and heading up the hill again, I was simply euphoric. Though my friends were a little confused as to my behavior, I can only say that it takes very little to make me happy in this world: a cup of cider, a large doughnut, and the first colors of fall.
Note: Unfortunately on the walk down the hill, my camera batteries ran out. After cursing the food gods, I warned my friends that we would have to return to the cider mill for pictures. For all those (my two readers) that care to examine an up-close picture of cider and doughnut, I will post one as soon as I return to the mill.
However, the foods that really spark my mind when I feel the first cool winds are apple cider and doughnuts. As a child, I fondly remember weekend trips to Tices farm in Montclair, New Jersey to taste the most robust apple cider, poured from musky wooden barrels, coupled with a desirably sweet cinnamon-sugar doughnut. In correct fashion, I dunked my doughnut into my cup of cider and lapped up the sodden doughnut. Ahh, the perfect fall food! And of course, we would schlep back pies of apple-caramel, pecan, and pumpkin; in addition to caramel apples and pecan Danishes. Alas, Tices closed several years ago to be replaced by a strip-mall but, my love of the first cider and doughnut of the season still remains a tradition that I proudly keep alive through another farm in Montclair called De Piero’s.
To be quite honest, the tri-state Clinton area is not known for much culinary-wise. Dairy farms are abundant here along with many organic farms but, no one really flocks here for sensational epicurean fare. However, just a mile down the hill from Hamilton, there is an old cider mill. Needless to say that I grabbed a few of my friends and headed down the staunch hill in search of said mill. My one friend (Emily) whose grandfather lives in Clinton, promised hand-pressed cider and freshly baked pies and goods and warned that one could easily spend $30 without a blink. I packed only $10 and made the trek.
I know this may sound slightly strange but, I love the initial smell you get when you enter any eating establishment. The strong scent of coffee in a Manhattan store or the aroma of aged cheese in a far off store in Clinton. To me, the marker of a good food establishment in the olfactory pronunciation of their product and in Clinton’s cider mill, the joint reeked of success! Upon opening the doors, I was flooded by fall’s fond memories. The scent of pressed apples, old rusty cranking machines, and spiced sugar was kind to my nostalgic nose. Even the interior of the mill was similar to my happy childhood memories. Upon entering, you were brought up to the register to glare at the pies and goods on display. A little farther down separated the store from the mill and several pressing machines flooded the back of the store. Sadly, the machines weren’t operating when we came but, leftover apple cores and seeds from the morning press could be found upon the worn wooden floor.
The walls of the Mill were covered with diagrams of different varieties of apples, pictures of the Mill since its erection in 1927, descriptions on the operation of the Mill itself. I practically ran to the counter and left many hand-prints upon the glass display case. Only two pie varieties were made (traditional apple and apple-crumb) but, their chalk-written menu promised pecan, cherry, strawberry, pumpkin, and other fruit pies. Of course, pie and I are on first name basis but, I wanted my traditional cider and doughnut. My friends and I bought a half-gallon to split and several doughnuts and chocolate chip cookies. We retired outside to the porch and after a little struggle with the cider bottle, we managed to pour out six glasses of red, brown ambrosia.
I took one last swallow of highly anticipated saliva, bit into the doughnut, and quickly swigged down some cider. The feeling was indescribable; happy moments of fall invaded my tongue and simultaneously crept into the far reaches of my mouth. The cider was sweet and robust and coupled magnificently with the sugared doughnut. The doughnut was perfectly spongy and had a certain level of cakiness that I thoroughly enjoyed. A beautiful golden crust perfectly encircled the doughnut and little pools of sugar and cinnamon happily floated atop my cider cup. It was bliss, pure enjoyment; fall had arrived within a two second span and had brought with it another food/fall memory to add to my collection.
After thoroughly licking my lips of any remaining crumbs, I clamored back inside to examine the countless jellies, jams, preserves, and maple syrups on display. All crafted from local producers, I stood my ground and only looked. On another self was several prepared pancake, waffle, and bread mixes, carefully prepared by the mill owners. The owners contently worked behind the counter and were more than happy to answer my bolstering questions.
After leaving the mill and heading up the hill again, I was simply euphoric. Though my friends were a little confused as to my behavior, I can only say that it takes very little to make me happy in this world: a cup of cider, a large doughnut, and the first colors of fall.
Note: Unfortunately on the walk down the hill, my camera batteries ran out. After cursing the food gods, I warned my friends that we would have to return to the cider mill for pictures. For all those (my two readers) that care to examine an up-close picture of cider and doughnut, I will post one as soon as I return to the mill.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
The Garden of Your Dreams (well, at least mine)
I don’t know about the rest of you but, it has always been my dream to have my own farm. I know, it’s quite a lofty yet strange dream but, I find the deepest satisfaction from watching seeds grow to buds, to flowers, to produce. I also like to be able to show people that these hands that cannot lift five pounds can produce that weight in one small eggplant. I also wouldn’t mind some lively farm animals like cows, chickens, or pigs (I have heard that pigs are much the same like dogs and will be eternally loyal to you if you don’t eat them).
Essentially, I think farmers have the best life. Waking up early in the morning to see the sun rise, toiling in the fields worrying only about your baby crops, using the produce to make fabulous meals, and then retiring to bed just in time to see the sun set. Sigh. There is just something so magical and pure to be able to say that that squash you’re eating came from my blood, sweet, and tears. The feeling of the soil encrusted under your fingernails is incomparable and the calluses you develop on your palms from the constant weeding cannot be explained by mere words alone. So yes, maybe I was born in the wrong century but, my strange dream still hasn’t ruined or cost me any friendships (my friend Alex would certainly disagree); yet.
After an interesting dinner of Cheerios and vanilla soy milk with chickpeas, cucumbers, humus, and French fries, with my camera in hand I headed to Hamilton’s community garden on the far end of campus. I was unsuccessful to recruit any of my friends to pose for pictures so, I made the 5 minutes schlep by myself. Though I am not the greatest photographer on the planet (though I have taught three of family members to use my camera successfully) the setting sun did add a nice backdrop and artistic touch to the pictures.
To give my readers (I think I only have two at the moment) a little history: The Hamilton community garden was founded about 2 years ago by eager young collegiate fellows. The garden is open to the entire campus and has many varieties of vegetables including: tomatoes (cherry and large), potatoes (which I helped harvest), squash, carrots, pumpkins, corn, peppers, swiss chard, rainbow chard, herbs (sage, rosemary), rutabaga, and a plethora of flowers. For my FOOD FOR THOUGHT class (I will explain in a later post) I have been given a little plot of land to tend to which includes several varieties of pretty flowers and rutabaga. Although I wanted a section occupied by more produce, I am content with my small but, manageable plot. What makes this garden so cool is that you can pick up any vegetable you want, straight from the ground, and put it in your mouth without the smallest hesitation. I proudly pulled a large carrot from the ground a few days ago and though it was covered by several layers of dirt, it still tasted amazingly sweet. In fact, the added amount of dirt did much for the flavor of the carrot. Think of dirt as fleur de sel; a slight bit of salt adds much to flavor.
I must honest and say that much of the garden vegetables are currently invested by various fungi or bugs; I’m not quite sure which. The organisms are particularly fond of the tomatoes, which is quite unfortunate since we are in prime tomato season. Of course, I want join the Community Garden club to help care for the plot of land, but so far the closest I’ve gotten to tending the produce has been stealthily stealing a cherry tomato from a hanging vine that we were told not to touch. Jeez, I hope that’s ok? If not, I’m sure the fungi will work wonders on my digestive system. ENJOY THE PRETTY PICTURES.
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