Breaking News: Arkansas Culinary School to Stay Put
The board at PTC has voted to continue with their original plans to build the new culinary school facility next to the existing south campus on I-30. Tune in to Channel 4 this afternoon to see me talk about it. More later in this space.
Asparagus They’ll Actually Eat
Pre-roasted beauties. See how pretty and green they are if you blanch them?
As you might have noticed, I’m totally blowing it lately on keeping you updated on, well, anything.
That’s pretty much because I’m totally NOT blowing it at school. In fact, considering a semester of sick kids and sick me, I’m kicking butt. Or at least I feel like I am this week.
On top of all my busy school schedule this week, I needed something snazzy to take to a women’s pre-holiday get-together tonight. I made an asparagus appetizer from my Banquets & Catering class, with my own little twists.
Oh, I know, you don’t think you like asparagus, or you know that your family will turn up their noses if you bring it out for Thanksgiving. (Wait, what? Thanksgiving is coming? I’m so not ready.) But I’m pretty sure these will change your mind.
Post-roast aspies.
The problem with most asparagus is that it’s overcooked. This method ensures green, crisp yumminess, plus some roasty goodness to boot. And you get some yummy fat, too.
The recipe:
Soppressata-Wrapped Roasted Asparagus
- 100 stems asparagus (or whatever it is you call an individual asparagus)
- 50 very thin slices of soppressata (I used Applegate Farms from Whole Foods; salami or prosciutto works, too.)
- Kosher salt
- Freshly ground pepper
- 1 lemon
Gently bend each asparagus until it naturally breaks the woody stems away. If you’re in a hurry, you could go ahead and cut the whole lot in about the same place the first handful broke, but you’ll probably have some woody stuff left here and there. Meanwhile, get a large pot of salted water boiling. Near the stove, have a large bowl of ice water ready, along with some paper towels laid out on the countertop or on trays.
Leave the asparagus in the boiling water for just a minute or two, or until it just gets bright green. You might push them around a bit to make sure they all get cooked evenly. Immediately pull them out with a spider (I used a combination of tongs and the large slotted thingy that comes with a Fry Daddy), drain as best you can, and dump them in the ice water.
Somewhere in the middle of this, answer the door to find a punk kid claiming to put himself through UCA and help Arizona-I-mean-Arkansas Children’s Hospital selling $55 magazine subscriptions. Oh, that was just me? Huh.
Pull the cooled asparagus out of the ice water (more quickly than I did, lest the vitamins leech out) and dry them as best you can on the paper towels. Word to your mother, you just learned to blanch and shock! Don’t you feel like an Iron Chef?
Set up two sheet pans lined with parchment paper or Silpats. Wrap two stems (pieces? stalks?) of asparagus with one piece of soppressata. Lay this on the pan seam-down, repeat until all are done. Season lightly (the meat is plenty salty) with kosher salt and pepper. Zest the lemon and sprinkle over the whole deal.
Roast in a 350 degree oven for about 20 minutes, or until the soppressata is just crisp.
Delish! Even if you don’t think you like asparagus.
House-Made Cheese and Bubble Gum Pink Ravioli
Our finished plate of pink pasta, with lemon cheese filling, strawberry and white chocolate sauces.
In Garde Manger class, we’ve been studying cheeses and making a few of them ourselves.
There’s something about this that makes me giddy. I told several people, “It’s like, making food. From nothing.”
Last week, our group made a fresh (meaning unaged) lemon cheese, and our homework assignment was to develop a dessert recipe to prepare the next week. We decided to make a dessert lasagna, using a strawberry puree (tomato sauce), chopped chocolate (ground beef) and the cheese. There was some fiddling around with gluten-free options for my sake, but the supplies for such things are low at the school. So we decided to go with phyllo dough, making it more of a napoleon.
This week, the chef turned us loose to create our goodies. We made the napoleon, as pictured above. The sauce was particularly fun…I got creative (er, bossy) with my group and added balsamic vinegar and red wine to some strawberry puree and sugar, and cooked it down. De.LISH.
So, long story short, we present our napoleon to the chef, and she loves it. We think we’re done. We mention that the original idea was using real pasta, and she says…”Okay, make me one like that.” Oooookayyy…
No problem, actually. This class is fun because we get to play and make stuff up on the fly, even if the beginning is a prompt from the instructor. One of my group partners is quite adept at making pasta, so he whipped up a quick batch, adding some red food coloring as the instructor requested.
We decide on making raviolis, filling them with the lemon cheese and dressing them with two sauces, the strawberry and a white chocolate sauce. While Pasta-Guy and I have done this, the other two students hadn’t, so much of the rest of their class was spent playing and filling. PG and I boiled the pasta and finished the sauces and the plate, which turned out pretty nice, considering its impromptu provenance.
It was also a fanTAStic week in Food IV. And that is saying a lot. Things are looking up; I may know how to cook after all. More on that later.
Happy cooking!
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Food Production 4 Dishes
Maple Glazed Salmon with Cranberry Chutney and Succotash and Cheddar Souffle
This semester is clipping right along at Pulaski Technical College Arkansas Culinary School. Next semester will be my last.
I have mixed feelings about that. Although I’m soooo ready to be done, I really love the classes, the chefs, and the opportunities I have in labs to learn and experiment that I may not have again. (I mean, really, I want to make pate again, but buying all that equipment, not to mention the ingredients?)
My most demanding class right now, as I have said, is Food Production 4, as it should be. This class is the culmination of everything we’ve learned in culinary school. It’s usually taken in one’s final semester, but just due to scheduling, I have just two more classes to eek out from here.
So far, in this class, I’ve worked garde manger (pantry or “cold” station, where salads and such are made), front-of-house service, and a good bit of the grill station when acting as sous chef.
I’ve sent a few photos via Twitter (I’m more active there these days, due to my schedule), but I thought I’d share some photos here of our dishes from our Thursday night dinner service.
(Think I could use parentheses a little more? They’re my favorite vice.)
I believe we are booked solid for the remainder of the semester, but do check back next semester for lunch.
Enjoy!
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The Cure
After just a few seconds under the beet/horseradish cure, the salmon is stained a beautiful red.
No, I don’t mean that blissfully strange 80s band, nor do I mean a fix for what ails ya.
Unless what’s ailing ya is a hunger for something really salty and yummy.
In garde manger class this week, we studied curing, pickling, smoking and that sort of thing. In the days before refrigeration, these methods were used to preserve meats and other foods so they wouldn’t spoil and kill you. These days, they’re just paths to increased yumminess.
In the lab, we divided into groups, working on different projects. Ours made the assigned recipe for cured salmon with (get this) beet and horseradish. Don’t get me wrong; I love beets, and I can tolerate horseradish most of the time. But this was some powerful stuff. My mascara did not survive the grating process.
We placed the finished rub on the side of salmon (carefully checked for pinbones, of course), and I realized I should have taken an earlier process photo so you could see the lovely flesh. My fellow student just scraped off a bit, and the flesh was already stained a beautiful shade of red. Although I don’t think I’ll care for the pungency of this dish, the color and flavor of the beets will likely prove repeating at home.
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Norwegian Beet & Horseradish Cure
From Garde Manger: The Art and Craft of the Cold Kitchen, published by the Culinary Institute of America
- 1 salmon filet, skin on (3 lbs)
Cure Mix:
- 12 oz. finely chopped or grated raw beets
- 1 lb. grated fresh horseradish
- 6 oz. sugar
- 6 oz. kosher salt (don’t use table salt!)
- 1/2 oz. cracked black pepper
Remove pin bones and score the skin of the fish. Center the fish skin-side down on a large piece of cheesecloth or plastic wrap, inside a perforated pan atop a hotel pan. (Ghetto-fab home cook workaround: Get two cheap plastic storage containers and poke a zillion holes in one. Put the holey one inside the other one, and construct your fish inside the top one.)
Mix the cure ingredients and pack evenly over the salmon. Use less at the thinner end of the fish, toward the tail, to avoid overdrying. Wrap loosely with the cheesecloth or plastic wrap.
Refrigerate 3 days to cure. After third day, gently scrape off the cure. Slice and serve immediately, or wrap and refrigerate up to one week.
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After wrapping and putting our fish away to cure for a few days, the chef told us to create our own cure or brine for whatever meat may be in the school’s walk-in refrigerator. I was hoping for some pork, but there were only whole chickens.
No problem.
Always wanting to do something different, I came up with this: kosher salt, turbinado sugar, dry mustard, fenugreek, a bit of dry garlic, and finely ground black pepper. I spatchcocked the chicken (a fancy word for just cutting down the backbone and spreading the bird out flat) and coated both sides with the dry rub, then wrapped it with plastic wrap.
Not familiar with fenugreek? I wasn’t either, until I was a nursing mother some years ago. I took it as a supplement to (sorry dudes) boost milk supply. I was told you had the dose right when your skin is oddly perfumed with the smell of maple syrup. In fact, fenugreek is often used in synthetic maple syrup production because the smell is so similar. It’s a lovely sweet/savory spice frequently used in Indian cuisine.
My chicken will sit in a perforated pan for a day or two until the chef or a student she assigns will come wash off the rub and cook it. (If it sits in all that salt for a whole week, until our class meets again, it will be completely dried out and “cadaverous,” as she put it.) I hope I’ll get to try it and see how my blend worked out.
Another group worked on duck confit, something I’d like to try for myself soon. The duck pieces are slowly cooked while submerged in duck fat (I mean, really!). The whole thing gets cooled, and as long as the pieces stay submerged in the solidified fat, they can stay in the fridge for several months. Confit is seriously delicious, so I’ll have to tackle that one another time on my own.
This was one of those fun days in culinary school where we get to play and develop something on our own. Even the assigned recipe, despite the horseradish, was cool, because I feel confident I can now cure salmon at home.
Maybe I can carry some of this renewed confidence to Food IV restaurant service this Thursday night. I’m starting to feel like a whipped puppy in there. Not the chef’s fault…he’s just bringing out all the things I need to work on. **whispering to self: this is why we go to school. this is why we go to school.** :/
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Sammich Day at Garde Manger
If you know that my title rhymes, then you’re one step ahead in the culinary game. 
Yesterday was sandwich day in Garde Manger class. Each group made one of several types, including tea sandwiches, crostinis, croque monsieur, and (our group) muffaletta. I found it a little amusing that all of them except ours were dainty, pretty little things, and ours was this thick, meaty monster.
Natch, make that a delicious, olivey, thick, meaty monster.
Just a note: Chef C in this class hates waste. When I found that there was a huge pile of focaccia bread left over after hollowing out our sandwich, I thought I’d better come up with a use for it before she said something. I ended up with a quite unscripted savory bread pudding, with parmesan and a bit of paprika. When the chef and a fellow student praised it, I said, “Tell Chef G (from Food IV) so he’ll know I can actually cook something.”
I think that other class is giving me a complex. Anyway.
I’ll just leave you with photos of the sandwich deliciousness.
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Sad Babies, Blood Loss, and a One-Egg Mayo
That was probably the weirdest title I’ve ever written. Anyway.
My four year old boy was a little clingy last week. Every morning, except Fridays, he has to get dressed and go somewhere. I know there are lots of working families out there for whom this is the norm, but he’s just not used to it. Thursday, he started whining, “I just want you to stay home wif me and cuddle and watch cartoons. I want you to go get doughnut holes wif me.”
Now, Thursdays are usually open-ish for me, until I go to Food Production 4 at 3 p.m. But he goes to Mother’s Day Out at our church, and I had planned to go to school for a while and do some early mise so we wouldn’t be so slammed this week.
I made him get dressed and go, although it hurt me a little. He was happy when he got there, and I promised him a special day just for us on Friday, including doughnuts.
I managed to spend a little over an hour at the school before class, gathering stuff for that night. It did help having a big hotel pan full of our mise before class officially started at 3 p.m. By 2:30, most of the students were there and we were busily getting things ready.
This week I was on cold pantry again, and I was in charge, with a new partner to show the ropes. Things were going well, until… the caesar.
I made a fairly elaborate caesar dressing from scratch, and at near the last step, it was ruined by a rotten egg. I’ve already spent waaaay to much time on this. I remade it and carried it to the chef, tasting spoon in hand, for his approval.
He didn’t like the texture. “Make a one-egg mayo and mix this into it.”
Really? From scratch. I don’t have time.
I snuck around the kitchen, which also serves the school’s cafe, looking for some ready-made mayo. When I’d spent way too much time looking, I finally found some…only to find the chef standing there. Make the mayo, he said.
I confessed that I couldn’t remember exactly how to do it. He disappeared, and then returned with a printed recipe. I made the mayo.
And I was not.happy.about.it.
I grumbled while I whisked. My arm ached. I’m out of time. I’d been allowed to use a blender or mixer in the previous class where we made mayo because of my fibromyalgia. There was none to be found in today’s kitchen. Grrrr.
I finished the mayo (with a little final whisking help from my partner, while I poured the oil) and mixed it with the dressing. It was lovely, and the mayo gave it a delicious eggy richness that a prepared version would not have provided.
Dang him for being right.
A little later, my partner and I were slicing apples for two different vinaigrettes. The recipe called for fine brunoise, or 1/16″ cubes. We struggled to cut out enough from our apples, many of which were at least partly spoiled.
The chef came by. “Not fine enough,” he said, showing us how he wanted them — actually much finer than 1/16″. We started over.
“I want demo plates in 15 minutes,” the chef boomed to the whole kitchen.
The chef came by a few minutes later, as we struggled. Still not fine enough. Throw it out and start over.
At this point, I was pretty hacked off.
Honestly, I thought. Isn’t there a point where you just get the dish out? But I knew the answer: In fine dining, not really. We started over and got the apples done, and finished out our dressings.
Somehow, with the help of the night’s sous chef (who took over our parmesan tuilles) and the fry station (who took over the amuse bouche), we got everything ready.
Then, I nearly cut off the tip of my finger with a peeler.
I noticed, just before service, that we still didn’t have the parmesan shavings we needed for the caesar salad. I grabbed by beloved Oxo peeler and handed it toward my partner for him to do the shavings.
What happened next, I’m not exactly sure. It was some sort of reflex action, to flick the blade with my other hand. Maybe I was checking that there wasn’t a protective cover still on it, as often happens with the student peelers that come in our kits. Maybe I was seeing if the blade was facing the right direction, since they sometimes get flipped. Whatever it was, it was subconscious, and it was really stupid.
So, moments before our guests were being seated, my finger is gushing blood, and I’m hopping around with equal amounts of horror and anger.
A well-heeled fellow student escorted me to the chef’s office, where he whipped out the chef’s first aid kit and doctored me up. Two bandages and two gloves later, I convinced the chef that I was fine for service.
The chef made me sit with my hands over my head for a moment, but my arms ached. I wanted to prove myself. I was (fairly) certain the bleeding had stopped, or at least slowed down enough that I was good to go. We’ll check it again after service to see if I need stitches.
We got our plates out that night, and they looked great. We somehow pulled it off.
And my finger, although painful, seemed to be holding together enough that it wouldn’t need professional attention. I convinced the chef that there was no need for an incident report. Enough drama already.
The next day, I took my son out for a much-deserved doughnut at Krispy Kreme. As we watched the magic behind the glass production wall, I thought about things like food safety, doughnut recipes and the role of the busy manager there.
Then I turned back to my little boy, and we enjoyed a treat together — a much-deserved reward for us both.
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Stupid computers and Twice-Baked Potato Bites
Finished potato-y goodness, minus some paprika and parm we sprinkled on at the end.
I wrote a long, satisfying blog post yesterday, forgot to hit “save,” and left the computer in a hurry. Turns out autosave only works if you’ve manually saved at least once.
Bleh.
I told the long version of this week’s restaurant service at school, most notably when I nearly cut off the end of my left index finger with a peeler. Typing this is extremely difficult. I hope you’re feeling the love through my efforts here.
I suppose I’ll try to rewrite it, because it was actually quite good. Dangit. So I’ll just give you a brief rundown of what we did in another class this week.
In banquets and catering, we had a long (looong) discussion on the business end of starting a catering business: insurance, taxes, and pricing to make a profit. If you’ve ever priced an event and nearly fell out at the cost, I now know it’s with good reason. In our book’s example, the caterer had to build about $1300 into every job just to cover overhead. Wow.
At least now we know how to actually make money and not blow it on the light bill (and rent, and salaries) we forgot to work in.
A fellow student pipes the yummy potato mixture back into the baked shells.
Afterward, we went into the kitchen to make some appetizers for an event the school was catering. My group made the most awesome tiny, twice-baked potatoes. We were given some leeway on how to flavor the filling, so my friend Deborah and I came up with chives, goat cheese and a splash of worchestershire. Oh, and a buncha butter. And salt and pepper, of course. Turned out great.
I started to type a recipe, and quickly found I have no idea how to quantify it. But basically, you get size “B” red potatoes (the smallish ones), cut off the ends, and cut the whole thing in half. With the larger (from the middle) side up, scoop out some potato with a melon baller or teaspoon. Oil and season the “shells,” and bake at 325 for about 40 minutes, or until they’re browned and done all the way through.
Meanwhile, boil all the scooped out potato in some salted water, and when it’s tender, drain, reserving some of the water. Put in a stand mixer with the paddle attachment and some butter, and mix until smooth. Now the fun part: mix in cheese, herbs, whatever you want. If the mixture is dry, pour back in some of the starchy water.
Put the resulting yummy goodness in a piping bag and pipe into the shells. (Or, you could just use a spoon if you want.) Top with paprika and shredded cheese if you like. We froze them at this point for later use, but you can go ahead and brown them in the oven some more and serve.
These were yummay! I’m starting to think it may not be so horrible to cater an event. The idea horrified me before. These little bits of deliciousness were inspiring.
What kind of little goodies have you made for formal events? Ever cater anything? Let me know your thoughts.
Food Production 4: Restaurant Wars, For Reals
Chef G gives us a debrief at the end of the night, with corrections and praise.
When soldiers have been baptized in the fire of a battle-field, they have all one rank in my eyes.—Napoleon Bonaparte
We are going to battle this semester. Not with each other, or (hopefully) with the chef, but with ourselves.
Not to be overly dramatic, but those of us in Food Production 4 found out Thursday night just what we were in for.
This semester, the school is taking Food IV in a new direction: actual restaurant service. Rather than completing individual dishes, as in previous classes, we will be serving a seven-course fine dining menu to guests, restaurant-style, every week.
Wow.
This would be an appropriate time for me to remind you that I’ve NEVER actually worked in food. Never even waited tables. This is a challenge, but a welcome one.
We will rotate through stations found in a real restaurant, such as sauté, cold pantry and sauces. We’ll also rotate being servers in the “front of house,” serving guests (mostly donors) who have made reservations through the school.
Here’s the menu, which we’ll be serving every week to a new group of guests.
The chef is known for being demanding, passionate and meticulous, so we knew we’d have to have our game on.
I was paired with another non-traditional student who also has no restaurant experience. But, we both do pretty well in class, so I wasn’t too worried. We were to be on the pantry station, making salads and cold appetizers.
This doesn’t sound too hard until you realize just how many steps are involved in these dishes. The Caesar salad alone has croutons (from scratch, with several herbs that must be dusted), parmesan tuilles (also from scratch), and a dressing (yes, from scratch). We were totally buried in mise from the start, meaning a messy prep area and confusion as the night went on.
And then there was the tuna tataki.
The chef was (expectedly) really busy and didn’t have time to show us how he wanted the tuna seared and sliced until just before service. I had to finish julienning some pickled ginger, mix it with some green onion another student had “rabbit eared,” put on some dressing. Sear the sushi-grade tuna, slice thinly (I had issues, maybe bring a sharper knife next week), wrap tiny balls of the salad inside five of them, plate. Put a ball of microgreens on the plate, dress. Spoon some of the solids from the dressing on each tuna roll, then drizzle some of the liquids across the plate.
Whew.
This is all happening while the chef is expediting, meaning he’s calling out the orders as they come in and making sure dishes get out on time. There’s a whole lingo to that I still need to learn. (What the heck does “all day” mean in the kitchen??) He occasionally got a little excited that things weren’t coming as quickly as he’d like, such as, er, my tuna dish.
At the end of the evening, after we cleaned the last dish and wiped down the last surface, the chef had us meet up for a debrief.
“All in all,” he said, “this was one of the best opening nights I’ve ever been a part of.”
Whaaat?
Even with all our hiccups, apparently we did okay. He went through each station making suggestions and praises as appropriate. Our pantry station was messy and unprepared due to poor mise (we got too excited just trying to find things in that large kitchen). But, he said, we pulled it off and got good plates out.
The other stations did great, as well. As he read the comment cards, one stood out:
“I can’t believe this is only the third week of class,” it read.
Chef said, “That is the best compliment you can get. I’m so proud of you guys.”
Next week, I’m on pantry again, and I’m in charge this time. My other (fabulous) partner is rotating elsewhere, and I’ll have a new one to teach the ropes. I expect to have better mise and a better idea of how to pull things off.
Battle on.
