While I was at school, I had some preconceived notions about bakers. The bakers and the culinary students at CIA have a heated rivalry. Bakers are known as dough hoes or sugar sluts by the culinary students, and the culinary students are known as a group of rowdy drunks who aren't fit to function in society. The bakers might be right, but as I baked bread every day this week, I came to a few conclusions. While the art of baking is by no means easy, and the production load of the lady bakers at L'Etoile is no joke, working in a bakery is without a doubt much more physically, technically, and psychologically easier than working a restaurant line. Yea sure you work early, but every day this week I was out by noon this week. For the first time since I arrived in Madison, I actually had a social life on days when I worked. You, as a baker, have an extremely flexible deadline for your goods. You never have to rush to push food out. You never have your boss screaming at you because you have plates due up in fifteen seconds. And, while baking requires techniques such as rolling dough, all the hard work can easily be done by a machine. You set timers, set it on speed 2, and walk away.
Let's just put it this way, at no point this week did I wake up in a cold sweat thinking about how I had to bake a few more brioche buns the next day because I left a half sheet tray of them uncovered overnight on the speed rack. I didn't like it.
My time at L'Etoile is coming to an end. I don't want to spend a whole lot more time with the lady bakers. I want to be on the line, busting my ass, alongside the guys who I've worked beside for the past four months.
Having said that, I've never really baked bread before this week and it is interesting, I just can't see myself doing it for a long time.
This week, Starting on Wednesday, I woke up at 4 every morning to be in the bakery by 4 30. I, being the resilient bastard I am, made a point of not changing my sleep schedule too drastically. So that meant on a nightly basis, I would go to sleep just before 1, wake up three hours later, get off work at 12 or so, and take a brief nap before continuing my day.
On Friday, I got off work and was able to go see Mary play against Indiana, with the rest of the Ording family. I got an hour and a half nap in before I had to be at the game at 7. The game lasted until 9 or so, then we all went to dinner. I made it to bed by 1. Saturdays, due to the farmers market, when we sell pastries on the street, the bakers have to be in by 3 30. So I woke up at 3. I got off at 11 30, after braising 40 pounds of short ribs and smoking 30 pounds of pork shouder for Graze on top of my baking duties. I met with the Ordings immediately who were at the farmers market. We had brunch at Graze, and I returned home to sleep.
With basically one work week left at L'Etoile, I've been reflecting on my time here and doing A LOT of thinking about the future. I bought a few books on Amazon with a gift card I had received for my birthday. First, I bought the New York Michelin Guide, a book filled with the top restaurants in New York. Then I bought "Letters to a Young Chef". A book written by one of the best chefs and restaurateurs in the world, Daniel Boulud. In the book, he gives advice to people like me. He tells us his story, what he would do differently now, and he gives young American cooks the best advice imaginable in how to make it in this world. Even in the first chapter I had the chills. Because, without knowing it until now, I've been the posterchild for Daniel Boulud's road map to success.
His first piece of advice that caught my eye, was to get your foot in the door with a good chef, not a great one necessarily, but someone who can teach you great things, and provide connections when you feel you're ready for something new. That is undoubtably what I did at L'Etoile. Tory is a great cook, and a great chef, but the ceiling is only so high at L'Etoile, there is only so much I can do here. But he, and even Chef Chris at Graze have amazing connections in New York and I think they'd be more than happy to give me a nod, and a point in the right direction. Even cooks that I work with like Bryan Weinstein and Ed Lee could be huge for me in the future. I have no doubt in my mind that both will move on to accomplish great things. Both are extremely passionate, very skilled, and have an unparalleled desire to learn.
That brings me to my next connection to the book. Boulud argues that in a kitchen of the caliber that I am working in, you will learn more from the cooks you work with, than possibly even the chef. I agree without a doubt. I had the opportunity to work alongside Weinstein for over a month on Garde Manger before he was promoted to Meat Cook. The guy is more passionate about cooking than anyone I've ever met in my life. Pete, Ryan, and Ed all took me under their wing,
Most of you know that I see my near future in New York. I want to take advantage of the incredible opportunities that I will have at my fingertips, but the prospect of spending a life time in NYC is a little daunting. But Boulud has reassured me that there is a way to be successful outside of New York. And he hit close to home on this one. He talks about how he has known countless cooks of incredible quality, who worked in New York, but were tired of the city and left. And were successful. He says something along these lines: Today, you do not have to be in New York to be a great chef. Chefs from New York have become very successful, leaving New york and going to places like Cincinnati and Louisville or Madison, Wisconsin.
I knew he was talking about Tory. The man who took me in, and gave me the opportunity of a lifetime.
It's funny. In the past few weeks, even before I bought this book, I have singled out Boulud as the one man that I have to work for. He talks about this importance for young cooks to stage, or work for free in kitchens, just to prove yourself and act as a sponge. I now know what I have to do. When I get to school, I will show up damn near every Saturday morning at the back door of Bar Boulud and DBGB, two of Boulud's restaurants that specialize in charcuterie. I will ask to work for free. If they let me, I'll probably do things like plucking game birds, torching fur off of boar' heads, stripping meat for headcheese etc. But it will honestly be an honor to work in that kitchen, and I think that I can prove myself worthy of even a part time job when I graduate.
Another key step in Boulud's roadmap to success is to travel. I really didn't think this was possible until I thought about it. Should I get in at a Boulud restaurant, I would have a door to France. Boulud himself was born in France and trained in Lyon. But his restaurants, specifically the two that I am targeting, have a partnership with Guilles Verot, the most famous Charcutiere in France. If I could prove myself worthy, maybe I could get a nod and be sent to Paris to train under the masters at Guilles' Verot, I would be on cloud nine.
This last reference I will make, was the coolest for me. He reflects on his experiences as a young cook and his relationship with other cooks. "Once the marketing was done, I would sit down at one of the local bouchons and have a bowl of tripe with them. They would open a bottle of Beaujolais (but I stuck with lemonade) The stories, the pungent rough language, the camaraderie made me feel on top of the world. Of course, they would rag me pretty hard in the way that old pros like to tease a young kid. But I ate it up. I was just so happy to be in their company." I still have to go back to Saigon Noodle before I leave. The Pho with tripe and tendon is just what I need right now.
I have one week left. I have to make it my best week yet. Less than one month from now I'll be back in New York. I cannot wait. But I'm going to savor my last few moments in Madison.
Go Colts! and GO Irish! My high school soccer team knocked off our top rival, Carmel today. I coached these guys last year, and had the pleasure along playing alongside them for a few years. I just hope they make it to state, which is two weeks away. Because if they do, Coach Kolo will be back on the sidelines one last time.
Take it easy,
Mike
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Move On
I'm entering the final phase of my time at L'Etoile in Madison. It's kind of bittersweet. Two weeks from today I will say goodbye to my friends and coworkers, and I'll head home. Yesterday, I was informed of a change in plans. Starting tomorrow, Wednesday, I'll be working with the bakers. I'm kind of sad because I don't believe that I'll be doing any more actual line cooking at L'Etoile any more. But I really am anxious to learn how to bake bread, and the pastries that we serve at Graze. It should be pretty awesome, despite the fact that I will have to be up at 4 30 every morning to start baking.
This weekend was incredible. Absolutely exhausting, but incredible. I got off work at 10 on Saturday night because we had a stage and Pete said I had worked too much this week. I got home at 10 30, played a few games of fifa and laid down to go to bed. The second my head hit my pillow i heard a familiar ringing sound coming from my computer. It was my friend Jon from school calling me on skype. I HAD to answer, because Jon is my dude. We talked about food, work, and other stuff. I love hearing Jon talk about his externship. He is working at arguably one of the most ground breaking restaurants in the world. Blue Hill at Stone Barns in NY is a fine dining restaurant that operates on a massive piece of land, and is unique in that the restaurant grows most of the food it uses. It's farm raises livestock and produce that directly come to the kitchen. Its an unbelievable place, and in January, for Jon's birthday, he is bringing me along with some of our other friends to Blue Hill to eat. We'll get the VIP treatment. I'm beyond pumped.
By the time I said goodbye, it was 1 30, and my alarm was set for three. I decided that 2 hours of sleep wasn't worth it, so I continued to play fifa until four, when my cab came to take me to the airport. I can't sleep on airplanes, so the twenty minutes of shuteye that I got on my flight from Madison to Chicago was considered a victory. But the trip from Chicago to Indy was pretty restless. I sat with my nose against the window for the whole thirty minute flight.
I was amazed at what I could recognize of my city from up in the sky. I immediately recognized the Northwest corner of I-465 between Michigan Rd and 86th st. We flew directly over Eagle Creek Reservoir, which was upsetting, because I could have jumped from the plane and been home in less than five minutes. But no, we continued south to the airport. I did see Lucas Oil, and the roof was closed due to the 85 plus degree heat.
My dad was waiting for me at the airport, but the best part of my trip was waiting for me at the top of the stairs when I got home.
Let me explain the relationship between me and one of my oldest friends.
About nine years ago, in December, my sister and I heard a knock at the door. We opened it to find a shivering, whining cardboard box. We pulled the box inside and opened it. My parents looked on with wide grins. I immediately reached in the box and pulled out a tiny black puppy with a floppy ear and a pink belly. She was still shaking, so I hugged her, and held her up to my face. I looked her in the eye and as I did, a tiny, black spotted tongue poked out and tapped me on the nose. I'll never forget that puppy breath.
For the past nine years, everyday when I came home, Whether she was in the driveway, or at the top of the stairs, Mia was waiting for me. If she was in the house, she would sit at the top of the stairs. I would kneel down to pet her, and as I did, she would leap up, put her pays on my shoulders, and lick my face a few times. Only after she had done so would I be allowed to enter the house. If she was in the yard, she would stand in the middle of the driveway as I pulled in, and after I stopped and rolled down my window, she would prance over to the driver's side, and put her paws up on my door. I would stick my face out, allowing her to sniff me, and lick my face some more, then I would continue into the garage.
We go get fast food together on a regular basis. She celebrates with me when Manchester United score. We're a team.
I'm her boy and she's my dog. And I have missed the crap out of her. I often sit in Madison and wonder if she really misses me, or even notices how long I've been gone. And I was reassured on Sunday, as I opened the door and walked up the steps. She was there, waiting for me. Not like she normally was. This time, she practically attacked me. She made noises I've never heard her make before. And for what seemed like a few whole minutes, she clawed on my shoulders, licked the crap out of my face and neck, and even bit my ear a few times. She had missed me. My sister was clearly jealous that her reception the day earlier had been nothing like it.
The colts game was exciting, but it made me realize how much most colts fans suck. I was rowdy and obnoxious, and behind the team like never before, but most people seemed annoyed by the fact that on a second and eight, I was standing up, screaming for the defense. There was a butt ugly chief's fan two rows in front of us, and on the colts' first drive, when they were stopped on 3rd and goal, she began to do what I assume was a dance, but actually looked like she was having a seizure. I screamed, "Sit The Hell Down!" She immediately turned around and looked at the guy three seats to my left. She asked if it was him, and he laughed and said no. He looked at me and winked. This guy and I go way back.
First of all, the amount of elderly women at Colts' games is sickening. I am not trying to be mean, but seriously, the last team an NFL fan base needs is a bunch of Grandma's sitting in the stands wondering why that handsome young man in the striped shirt keeps waving his arms around and throwing streamers all over the field. The people that surrounded me at this game, barring the one guy three seats away, and my sister, were all retarded. They didn't want to stand and cheer, they didn't want to yell obsenities. They just wanted to file out of the stands whenever there was a TV timeout to go change their adult diapers.
If Lucas Oil Stadium was filled with people like myself, I have no doubt in my mind that we would be Super Bowl champs for the next three years. I lost my voice after ten plays. Ten Pays, but did I stop? No.
You don't really appreciate what you have until it is taken from you. And I hate to say it, but maybe in order to weed out these annoying Colts fans, we need to lose a few more games. The true fans will come out of the woodwork and step in for the wall sitters who just don't want to go see a team that isn't putting up 45 points a game.
Then, we'll have a respectable fanbase, and a team that is much more excited to play at home.
I drove back with my dad on Monday morning. We had lunch at my favorite Italian Beef stand on the square, then I went to work and he headed back to Indy. I got off work around seven, and sat at the bar at Graze with Ed. We talked about our plans for the future, and both of us may very well end up in New York next year.
Talking to Ed made me realize that I really am ready to move on from Madison. L'Etoile was and still is a great place for me. I learned so much here and met so many awesome people, but the food world is huge, and it really would be a waste of opportunity to return here. There is so much to see and cook and taste, and I have to move on. Especially when line cooking isn't my ideal future. I have to be in New York, or Europe if I am going to learn what I want to. I can learn how to make whatever charcuterie items are on the menu at L'Etoile, but at place like Bar Bouloud or DBGB, i would be learning the trade from masters, and I would be focused on just what I love, meat.
I watched an episode of No Reservations today, the one where he goes to Praque. Prague, for those of you who do not know, is the beer capitol of the world. And the Czech's eat more pork than any civilization in the world. I think one of these days I might have to visit prague, and try and learn a little bit about two of my favorite things in life... beer and pork. Until then, I'll keep on drinking my Miller High Lifes and munching on bacon, life sucks don't it.
Tune in next week as I bitch about how much I hate measuring, and as I patiently await my return to the big apple.
Mike
This weekend was incredible. Absolutely exhausting, but incredible. I got off work at 10 on Saturday night because we had a stage and Pete said I had worked too much this week. I got home at 10 30, played a few games of fifa and laid down to go to bed. The second my head hit my pillow i heard a familiar ringing sound coming from my computer. It was my friend Jon from school calling me on skype. I HAD to answer, because Jon is my dude. We talked about food, work, and other stuff. I love hearing Jon talk about his externship. He is working at arguably one of the most ground breaking restaurants in the world. Blue Hill at Stone Barns in NY is a fine dining restaurant that operates on a massive piece of land, and is unique in that the restaurant grows most of the food it uses. It's farm raises livestock and produce that directly come to the kitchen. Its an unbelievable place, and in January, for Jon's birthday, he is bringing me along with some of our other friends to Blue Hill to eat. We'll get the VIP treatment. I'm beyond pumped.
By the time I said goodbye, it was 1 30, and my alarm was set for three. I decided that 2 hours of sleep wasn't worth it, so I continued to play fifa until four, when my cab came to take me to the airport. I can't sleep on airplanes, so the twenty minutes of shuteye that I got on my flight from Madison to Chicago was considered a victory. But the trip from Chicago to Indy was pretty restless. I sat with my nose against the window for the whole thirty minute flight.
I was amazed at what I could recognize of my city from up in the sky. I immediately recognized the Northwest corner of I-465 between Michigan Rd and 86th st. We flew directly over Eagle Creek Reservoir, which was upsetting, because I could have jumped from the plane and been home in less than five minutes. But no, we continued south to the airport. I did see Lucas Oil, and the roof was closed due to the 85 plus degree heat.
My dad was waiting for me at the airport, but the best part of my trip was waiting for me at the top of the stairs when I got home.
Let me explain the relationship between me and one of my oldest friends.
About nine years ago, in December, my sister and I heard a knock at the door. We opened it to find a shivering, whining cardboard box. We pulled the box inside and opened it. My parents looked on with wide grins. I immediately reached in the box and pulled out a tiny black puppy with a floppy ear and a pink belly. She was still shaking, so I hugged her, and held her up to my face. I looked her in the eye and as I did, a tiny, black spotted tongue poked out and tapped me on the nose. I'll never forget that puppy breath.
For the past nine years, everyday when I came home, Whether she was in the driveway, or at the top of the stairs, Mia was waiting for me. If she was in the house, she would sit at the top of the stairs. I would kneel down to pet her, and as I did, she would leap up, put her pays on my shoulders, and lick my face a few times. Only after she had done so would I be allowed to enter the house. If she was in the yard, she would stand in the middle of the driveway as I pulled in, and after I stopped and rolled down my window, she would prance over to the driver's side, and put her paws up on my door. I would stick my face out, allowing her to sniff me, and lick my face some more, then I would continue into the garage.
We go get fast food together on a regular basis. She celebrates with me when Manchester United score. We're a team.
I'm her boy and she's my dog. And I have missed the crap out of her. I often sit in Madison and wonder if she really misses me, or even notices how long I've been gone. And I was reassured on Sunday, as I opened the door and walked up the steps. She was there, waiting for me. Not like she normally was. This time, she practically attacked me. She made noises I've never heard her make before. And for what seemed like a few whole minutes, she clawed on my shoulders, licked the crap out of my face and neck, and even bit my ear a few times. She had missed me. My sister was clearly jealous that her reception the day earlier had been nothing like it.
The colts game was exciting, but it made me realize how much most colts fans suck. I was rowdy and obnoxious, and behind the team like never before, but most people seemed annoyed by the fact that on a second and eight, I was standing up, screaming for the defense. There was a butt ugly chief's fan two rows in front of us, and on the colts' first drive, when they were stopped on 3rd and goal, she began to do what I assume was a dance, but actually looked like she was having a seizure. I screamed, "Sit The Hell Down!" She immediately turned around and looked at the guy three seats to my left. She asked if it was him, and he laughed and said no. He looked at me and winked. This guy and I go way back.
First of all, the amount of elderly women at Colts' games is sickening. I am not trying to be mean, but seriously, the last team an NFL fan base needs is a bunch of Grandma's sitting in the stands wondering why that handsome young man in the striped shirt keeps waving his arms around and throwing streamers all over the field. The people that surrounded me at this game, barring the one guy three seats away, and my sister, were all retarded. They didn't want to stand and cheer, they didn't want to yell obsenities. They just wanted to file out of the stands whenever there was a TV timeout to go change their adult diapers.
If Lucas Oil Stadium was filled with people like myself, I have no doubt in my mind that we would be Super Bowl champs for the next three years. I lost my voice after ten plays. Ten Pays, but did I stop? No.
You don't really appreciate what you have until it is taken from you. And I hate to say it, but maybe in order to weed out these annoying Colts fans, we need to lose a few more games. The true fans will come out of the woodwork and step in for the wall sitters who just don't want to go see a team that isn't putting up 45 points a game.
Then, we'll have a respectable fanbase, and a team that is much more excited to play at home.
I drove back with my dad on Monday morning. We had lunch at my favorite Italian Beef stand on the square, then I went to work and he headed back to Indy. I got off work around seven, and sat at the bar at Graze with Ed. We talked about our plans for the future, and both of us may very well end up in New York next year.
Talking to Ed made me realize that I really am ready to move on from Madison. L'Etoile was and still is a great place for me. I learned so much here and met so many awesome people, but the food world is huge, and it really would be a waste of opportunity to return here. There is so much to see and cook and taste, and I have to move on. Especially when line cooking isn't my ideal future. I have to be in New York, or Europe if I am going to learn what I want to. I can learn how to make whatever charcuterie items are on the menu at L'Etoile, but at place like Bar Bouloud or DBGB, i would be learning the trade from masters, and I would be focused on just what I love, meat.
I watched an episode of No Reservations today, the one where he goes to Praque. Prague, for those of you who do not know, is the beer capitol of the world. And the Czech's eat more pork than any civilization in the world. I think one of these days I might have to visit prague, and try and learn a little bit about two of my favorite things in life... beer and pork. Until then, I'll keep on drinking my Miller High Lifes and munching on bacon, life sucks don't it.
Tune in next week as I bitch about how much I hate measuring, and as I patiently await my return to the big apple.
Mike
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
No Place Like Home
Happy hump day. Its gonna be a long three more days, but I can make it. I worked a day shift today, then back on Cold side tomorrow. Friday and Saturday, I am working garde mo middle. Which basically means I help prep for anyone in the weeds and during service I jump between hot and cold side, plating both hot and cold apps. This station has been in place for quite some time, but for the past few weeks, we haven't had anyone to work it, because Aaron, the third garde mo cook, was at a bachelor party then getting married. So, the pressure is off of me, I just have to bust ass and listen to whatever anyone says, something I'm getting good at.
Sunday Morning, around four, I start my journey home. I fly to Chicago at 6, then I'll be in Indianapolis at 10. It'll be the first time I've set foot in my hometown in about four and a half months. And at 12 O'clock sharp, I'll stroll into Lucas oil stadium. It's been a year since I've sat in her seats, basked in the sunshine with the roof open, and seen my boys take the field. From the looks of it, it could be a half strength colts team that takes the field, but hey, with number 18 at the helm, I have few worries.
The colts are undefeated at home. The mighty undefeated chiefs are coming in off of a bye week and will be well rested, but this colts team will be out to prove to its home fans that there is no slump this year. Our back ups will be raring to go, jacked up by the opportunity to prove themselves on the big stage. And Peyton, in his relentless pursuit of perfection, will have fine tuned the offense to ensure that the Indianapolis colts stay on the trail of a tenth straight playoff berth.
When I got home this evening, I turned on my computer, and eventually went to nfl.com to check my fantasy team. An ad came up in one of the windows. As I watched it, I smiled. A tear rolled down my face and it really hit me. I'm going home.
Without a doubt, one of the best feelings in the world is the journey to the game. Back when I lived at home, it went something like this. Put yourself in my shoes. Sunday morning, wake up, shower, put on your jersey. It's 11 30, and the game starts at one. Your sister is still in the bathroom straightening her hair at 11 45. You're losing patience by the second. You grab the keys. You tell her to hurry up. You sit in the car for a few minutes and she comes out. You turn on the colts pregame show as you pull out of the driveway. Bob Lamey. Gotta love him. You get on the interstate. You turn off Bob Lamey and switch it to rap. Your sister starts laughing maniacally and saying stuff like "OH MY FUCKING GOD!" You remain calm. Then, as you make the curve around downtown, you see it. You see the roof of Lucas Oil Stadium sliding open. You see the house that Peyton built. And it hits you. You're going going to see the greatest athlete of an era. You grew up watching this team struggle. You watched the 36-0 losses. And now they're on top. And you witnessed every step along the way. First hand.
Then you move to New York and don't get game coverage on the local CBS network. The team you love seems so far away. You can't handle that any more. Your other teams across a fucking ocean for Christ's sake. You listen to your team's games on the internet. You can't watch. You can only imagine the ball being fired across the field to an open receiver. You can only imagine Freeney spinning inside the lineman and catching the quarterback off guard. You're miserable. But your team is thriving. You're team is in the Super Bowl, and you're helpless to see them fall to a Saints team that frankly wasn't that good. They had balls and capitalized on colts mistakes. You're crushed.
Then, A year after moving to New York and four months after moving to wisconsin, you get off work from a busy dinner service at a fine dining restaurant after Midnight on Saturday. You go home, and pack. You don't sleep. How could you? You're done packing and it's two. You make a sandwich, and you call a cab. You go to the airport, and your flight leaves at 6. You stop in chicago, you're obviously wearing your Dallas Clark jersey, and still bragging about 07 when the colts beat the bears to anyone who comments on your choice of attire.
Then, while asleep on the plane, you jump out of your seat, the stewardess has just called for tray tables up, you're starting your descent. Your nose is glued to the window, Then, you break through a layer of clouds, and you see your city. You see the Speedway, and you see the highways. You're looking for it. You know you'll have to see it. And you can't help but get the chills, when you do. Its a beautiful October Sunday and the roof at Lucas Oil Stadium is open. It's gone as fast as it arrived, but you'll be reunited shortly. Touchdown. You drive home from the airport. You lay down for a power nap. You wake up, it's 11 45 and your sister is still straightening her hair. But you know what, you're fine with it this time, because you realize it's all part of the experience.
Did I mention there's a puppy waiting for you?
Hell, NFL.com should just follow me on Saturday/Sunday. I'd make a hell of a lot better commercial than some drunk Sconnies (Wisconsinites) in a bus and a few geriatric Patriot fans on a boat somewhere.
Mike
Sunday Morning, around four, I start my journey home. I fly to Chicago at 6, then I'll be in Indianapolis at 10. It'll be the first time I've set foot in my hometown in about four and a half months. And at 12 O'clock sharp, I'll stroll into Lucas oil stadium. It's been a year since I've sat in her seats, basked in the sunshine with the roof open, and seen my boys take the field. From the looks of it, it could be a half strength colts team that takes the field, but hey, with number 18 at the helm, I have few worries.
The colts are undefeated at home. The mighty undefeated chiefs are coming in off of a bye week and will be well rested, but this colts team will be out to prove to its home fans that there is no slump this year. Our back ups will be raring to go, jacked up by the opportunity to prove themselves on the big stage. And Peyton, in his relentless pursuit of perfection, will have fine tuned the offense to ensure that the Indianapolis colts stay on the trail of a tenth straight playoff berth.
When I got home this evening, I turned on my computer, and eventually went to nfl.com to check my fantasy team. An ad came up in one of the windows. As I watched it, I smiled. A tear rolled down my face and it really hit me. I'm going home.
Without a doubt, one of the best feelings in the world is the journey to the game. Back when I lived at home, it went something like this. Put yourself in my shoes. Sunday morning, wake up, shower, put on your jersey. It's 11 30, and the game starts at one. Your sister is still in the bathroom straightening her hair at 11 45. You're losing patience by the second. You grab the keys. You tell her to hurry up. You sit in the car for a few minutes and she comes out. You turn on the colts pregame show as you pull out of the driveway. Bob Lamey. Gotta love him. You get on the interstate. You turn off Bob Lamey and switch it to rap. Your sister starts laughing maniacally and saying stuff like "OH MY FUCKING GOD!" You remain calm. Then, as you make the curve around downtown, you see it. You see the roof of Lucas Oil Stadium sliding open. You see the house that Peyton built. And it hits you. You're going going to see the greatest athlete of an era. You grew up watching this team struggle. You watched the 36-0 losses. And now they're on top. And you witnessed every step along the way. First hand.
Then you move to New York and don't get game coverage on the local CBS network. The team you love seems so far away. You can't handle that any more. Your other teams across a fucking ocean for Christ's sake. You listen to your team's games on the internet. You can't watch. You can only imagine the ball being fired across the field to an open receiver. You can only imagine Freeney spinning inside the lineman and catching the quarterback off guard. You're miserable. But your team is thriving. You're team is in the Super Bowl, and you're helpless to see them fall to a Saints team that frankly wasn't that good. They had balls and capitalized on colts mistakes. You're crushed.
Then, A year after moving to New York and four months after moving to wisconsin, you get off work from a busy dinner service at a fine dining restaurant after Midnight on Saturday. You go home, and pack. You don't sleep. How could you? You're done packing and it's two. You make a sandwich, and you call a cab. You go to the airport, and your flight leaves at 6. You stop in chicago, you're obviously wearing your Dallas Clark jersey, and still bragging about 07 when the colts beat the bears to anyone who comments on your choice of attire.
Then, while asleep on the plane, you jump out of your seat, the stewardess has just called for tray tables up, you're starting your descent. Your nose is glued to the window, Then, you break through a layer of clouds, and you see your city. You see the Speedway, and you see the highways. You're looking for it. You know you'll have to see it. And you can't help but get the chills, when you do. Its a beautiful October Sunday and the roof at Lucas Oil Stadium is open. It's gone as fast as it arrived, but you'll be reunited shortly. Touchdown. You drive home from the airport. You lay down for a power nap. You wake up, it's 11 45 and your sister is still straightening her hair. But you know what, you're fine with it this time, because you realize it's all part of the experience.
Did I mention there's a puppy waiting for you?
Hell, NFL.com should just follow me on Saturday/Sunday. I'd make a hell of a lot better commercial than some drunk Sconnies (Wisconsinites) in a bus and a few geriatric Patriot fans on a boat somewhere.
Mike
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Ups and Downs
Until approximately 6 PM today, this was one of the best weekends I can remember. Friday, My 20th birthday, was just a normal Friday. We served 130 people and everything ran smoothly. After service I slipped it out to somebody that I only had two hours left of my birthday. Everyone in the kitchen came up to me and said stuff along the lines of, "Mikey why the hell didn't you tell us it was you're birthday?" I told everyone that I wanted to focus on busting out service and not get distracted. So after work a few of the cooks bought me a beer and I sat at Graze until around 1 30 just hanging out. I went home and slept until the next day.
Friday I had new dishes too. The galantine was switched to a pork pate wrapped in bacon with brioche toast and a warm salad of heirloom beans and a maple sherry vinaigrette. It is awesome. And the other dish is a fines herb crepe filled with duck confit rillette served over a warm parsnip puree with a salad of watercress and drizzled with a concord grape gastrique. This dish is straight up BOMB.
On Saturday, I was in the weeds even before I got to work. I had burned through almost ALL of my prep on Friday night so I had to basically reprep all six of my dishes from scratch. Tory asked me to help him do some prep for his trip to New York, and I couldn;t say no. I was doing my damn best, but it was too much. But I, being the intern trying to prove myself worthy of a spot on the line, tried to be a hero and finish all my prep by myself. And I almost succeeded. Almost. Aside from Ed cleaning crab for me and a prep cook cleaning the beats I roasted, I completely reprepped my station. I cleaned and roasted 60 orders of delacata squash. I roasted parsnips and made a puree. I roasted beets. I julienned 4 quarts of radish and kohlrabi. I sliced 40 orders of beef carpaccio. I made 80 crepes and filled them with duck rillette. I smoked crab. I made 1 pint of chimmichurri. The Chimmichurri involves me hand chopping 6 types of herbs. I fried fingerling crisps. I portioned cheese. I cleaned and cooked and pickled mushrooms. I smoked crab. I cleaned watercress. I blanched heirloom beans. I toasted brioche. And i did all of this in four hours and skipped staff meal to get it all done. The whole first turn was absloutely crazy. The first turn was an hour and a half long, and we did 75 guests. Ed helped me get through the first turn and helped me and my partner on hot side, Mike, bust out plates and get everything out on time. The whole second turn, however, I controlled my line and didn't have any help from Ed. Mike helped me when Iw as in the weeds and I helped Mike when he was in the weeds. Tory, when the last plates were going out, yelled out, "Well done apps, good shit boys!" It was the first real time Tory had ever congratulated me. It felt good.
Then after work, I finished up cleaning. I noticed Nisse and Scott, the pastry cooks, working on chocolate curls. It never crossed my mind that chocolate curls aren't even on the dessert menu. I got off work, my parents were coming to pick me up, but I had to hang out with the cooks for a little bit. I sat at the bar and was having a few beers, most of them purchased by other employees as birthday gifts, and while Ed and I were having a serious discussion about how I can improve on my station, and I felt a tug on my shoulder and a hald Dragging me from the bar. There were Scott and Nisse, the pastry cooks, with a cake and candles. Graze was still full of customers, but the whole bar, which was half full of Graze and Letoile employees erupted in a round of Happy Birthday. We cut the cake, and I ate my piece, chugged another few complimentary beers, said my goodbyes, for my parents were waiting out front of Graze to pick me up. I hadn't eaten all day, and I was slightly intoxicated, (not sure they knew but now they do!) so they wisked me off to get pizza and took me back to my apartment so I could sleep.
Morning came and they came to pick me up. We hit up the grocery store and they hooked me up with enough food to last through my final month in madison. My gifts came, I was given two bags of frozen patties from Patties of Jamaica! THANK GOD! I had two for dinner tonight. I got a Manchester United Away jersey with Nani's name and number on the back. I got a new colts t-shirt and a colts rubix cube.
We had lunch, watched football then they left. I endured the colts game, and I'm still pissed about it. The one sour note on otherwise a great weekend. I found a feature on this blog and found out that my blog has been visited 1100 times. 34 of those times have been from Denmark. Not sure how that worked out. I had no idea that it was on such a big scale. Im global bitches! This prompted me to sign up for a program that allows google ad's to be published on my blog... and I get cash money for each viewer. So on that note... KEEP ON READING!!!
Mike
Friday I had new dishes too. The galantine was switched to a pork pate wrapped in bacon with brioche toast and a warm salad of heirloom beans and a maple sherry vinaigrette. It is awesome. And the other dish is a fines herb crepe filled with duck confit rillette served over a warm parsnip puree with a salad of watercress and drizzled with a concord grape gastrique. This dish is straight up BOMB.
On Saturday, I was in the weeds even before I got to work. I had burned through almost ALL of my prep on Friday night so I had to basically reprep all six of my dishes from scratch. Tory asked me to help him do some prep for his trip to New York, and I couldn;t say no. I was doing my damn best, but it was too much. But I, being the intern trying to prove myself worthy of a spot on the line, tried to be a hero and finish all my prep by myself. And I almost succeeded. Almost. Aside from Ed cleaning crab for me and a prep cook cleaning the beats I roasted, I completely reprepped my station. I cleaned and roasted 60 orders of delacata squash. I roasted parsnips and made a puree. I roasted beets. I julienned 4 quarts of radish and kohlrabi. I sliced 40 orders of beef carpaccio. I made 80 crepes and filled them with duck rillette. I smoked crab. I made 1 pint of chimmichurri. The Chimmichurri involves me hand chopping 6 types of herbs. I fried fingerling crisps. I portioned cheese. I cleaned and cooked and pickled mushrooms. I smoked crab. I cleaned watercress. I blanched heirloom beans. I toasted brioche. And i did all of this in four hours and skipped staff meal to get it all done. The whole first turn was absloutely crazy. The first turn was an hour and a half long, and we did 75 guests. Ed helped me get through the first turn and helped me and my partner on hot side, Mike, bust out plates and get everything out on time. The whole second turn, however, I controlled my line and didn't have any help from Ed. Mike helped me when Iw as in the weeds and I helped Mike when he was in the weeds. Tory, when the last plates were going out, yelled out, "Well done apps, good shit boys!" It was the first real time Tory had ever congratulated me. It felt good.
Then after work, I finished up cleaning. I noticed Nisse and Scott, the pastry cooks, working on chocolate curls. It never crossed my mind that chocolate curls aren't even on the dessert menu. I got off work, my parents were coming to pick me up, but I had to hang out with the cooks for a little bit. I sat at the bar and was having a few beers, most of them purchased by other employees as birthday gifts, and while Ed and I were having a serious discussion about how I can improve on my station, and I felt a tug on my shoulder and a hald Dragging me from the bar. There were Scott and Nisse, the pastry cooks, with a cake and candles. Graze was still full of customers, but the whole bar, which was half full of Graze and Letoile employees erupted in a round of Happy Birthday. We cut the cake, and I ate my piece, chugged another few complimentary beers, said my goodbyes, for my parents were waiting out front of Graze to pick me up. I hadn't eaten all day, and I was slightly intoxicated, (not sure they knew but now they do!) so they wisked me off to get pizza and took me back to my apartment so I could sleep.
Morning came and they came to pick me up. We hit up the grocery store and they hooked me up with enough food to last through my final month in madison. My gifts came, I was given two bags of frozen patties from Patties of Jamaica! THANK GOD! I had two for dinner tonight. I got a Manchester United Away jersey with Nani's name and number on the back. I got a new colts t-shirt and a colts rubix cube.
We had lunch, watched football then they left. I endured the colts game, and I'm still pissed about it. The one sour note on otherwise a great weekend. I found a feature on this blog and found out that my blog has been visited 1100 times. 34 of those times have been from Denmark. Not sure how that worked out. I had no idea that it was on such a big scale. Im global bitches! This prompted me to sign up for a program that allows google ad's to be published on my blog... and I get cash money for each viewer. So on that note... KEEP ON READING!!!
Mike
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Time Flies
I'm currently sitting on my couch, watching Arrested Development on my roommate's netflix account, eating luke warm chinese food and savoring the hell out of my last few hours as a teenager. Its strange to think that I'm practically twenty. But when I put my life on a time line, it kind of makes sense. Twenty years ago tomorrow I was born. Fifteen years ago I started kindergarten. Twelve years ago I first put on a pair of goalie gloves. Ten years ago I got my Nintendo 64 and my Fifa love affair commenced. Seven years ago I first truly experienced the sensation that is Peyton Manning, at Raymond James Stadium in Tampa Bay. Five years ago I first set foot in the halls of Cathedral High School. Three years ago I had the game of my life, my moment in the spotlight. A year and a half ago I survived multiple attempted homicides by those damn mexican bartenders in Cancun. And three and a half months ago I came to a little restaurant in Wisconsin and my life was never the same. \
Send all gifts to:
1314 E Spaight Street
Madison, WI
53703
Make sure to write, "Dan, keep your dirty hippy hands off of your roommate's shit" on any box or envelope you send.
I'll tell you what I'm not gonna miss about Madison, and it's Dan blabbering on and on about how I can't play too rowdy with Grizzman (the dog) because he'll scratch the floor or rip up one of his toys. That poor dog is locked in a cage all day while Dan is out doing hippy shit and I'm sorry if I just wanna help the dog release a little pent up energy.
Grizzman, I realized, is exactly like Dug from UP! They are one and the same. Grizzman is a good dog. He's funny, partially retarded, but at the same time he's pretty smart. And he likes me WAY more than Dan and it pisses Dan off. I don't care if you've had a dog for 10 years. You treat him like your prisoner, God forbid he walk into a room by himself or not roll over when you tell him to. Of course he likes the big smelly kid who acts like a dog more. I give him attention when he wants it, I let him wander around the apartment. I throw the ball when he brings it to me as opposed to saying "No Grizzman". I'm not surprised that the poor dog is always waiting at the top of the stairs come 12 30 when I make my way home. I just feel bad for the poor dog when I move out.
This reminds me, Dan left his ID out on the coffee table the other day. I was not aware but he is 31. He's 31 years old and he does nothing with his life. He has no job. He has no desire for a job. Where he gets his money is beyond me. I always just kind of assumed that he had just graduated school, but no... hes been done with school for ten years almost. Still no job. He's in West Virginia right now, paddling on some river with a bunch of his unemployed hippie friends. If I hadn't paid the security deposit myself I would totally take a massive dump right on the middle of the living room carpet the day I move out. But then either I'd never see my 550 bucks again or he'd blame it on Grizz and lock him in his cage for a week cuz he's a douche.
Yes, I am aware that I didn't write a blog on Sunday, because I was recovering. Last Friday and Saturday were absolute insanity. Friday We did 90 regular guests plus a party of thirty and a party of 16. Saturday we did 140 and a party of 30. Then after we broke down I was too jacked up on adrenaline to go home, so I sat at Graze with Chef Tory, and a few of the cooks until three in the morning. We talked football, we talked food, and we just basked in the glory of the fact that we had survived the night. Which was saying something, because at more than one moment during the night I thought my station was going to spontaneously combust... that kind of night.
I woke up at 9 on Saturday. Early I know, but I had a busy day ahead of me. I went to the Avenue Bar for breakfast. I went to the fieldhouse to see Mary play against Penn State. I got to play one of my favorite games ever with Nicola, Mary's sister. Its called "that's your (significant other)". My sister and I play it all the time. Here are the rules. You go back and forth, finding the ugliest person of the opposite sex and say, "Look... that's your girlfriend/boyfriend." Nicola won... Let's just say that the garbage woman dressed in some sort of African tribal gown with what looked like a bird's nest on her head and I are dating.
I had lunch with the whole Ording family, and watched the colts game. It was really nice. I watched football and passed out around 11 o'clock. Out of sheer exhaustion. On Monday I worked a day shift, fully prepared prepared for the biggest day of the year. I watched Monday night football at Graze and immediately after the game, I biked over to gamestop on State Street. Because at 12:01 Fifa 11 went on sale. I had preordered a copy, but HAD to be the first person in Wisconsin to get the game. I waited at the store for 1 hour and 45 minutes. In popped a five hour energy and sprinted home on my bike. I played until 4 in the morning then woke up at 10 and played for another hour before I had to go to work.
This weekend, my parents are coming to the Mad City to celebrate my birthday with me. I haven't the slightest idea where I want to go or what I want to do but hey... I'll come up with something. It'll be nice to be able to break my Sunday routine. It was really getting old.
Next weekend I fly home at 5 AM on Sunday, after getting off work at 12 30 PM on Saturday. I get to see the Colts play the Chiefs at Lucas Oil. The only game I can possibly see at Lucas Oil this year. I'm beyond excited. I however, am not excited about having to work on Monday after pulling virtually an all nighter on Saturday Night/ Sunday Morning and driving to Madison at the crack of dawn. Getting out of the car and working a 12 hr prep shift.
I've got a month left in Madison. Four weeks of cold side Garde Mo left. Then I go home for a few weeks. Theres a little dog waiting at the stairs for me. When the car pulls in, and that tail starts wagging, I don't think I'll miss L'Etoile TOO much. A few short weeks and I'll be back in the Big Apple. and 6 months later, I'll be done with school. For good. Who knows where I'll be ten years from now, heck I don't even know where I'll be one year from now. (Actually I have kind of an idea, but it's not PG). But I do know that I'm ready to get the next twenty years under way. If they're anything like the last twenty I think I'll be okay.
I'm not superstitious, but the fortune in my crappy chinese food said, "A sweet surprise awaits you." Let's hope the Chinese aren't fucking with me.
Mike
Send all gifts to:
1314 E Spaight Street
Madison, WI
53703
Make sure to write, "Dan, keep your dirty hippy hands off of your roommate's shit" on any box or envelope you send.
I'll tell you what I'm not gonna miss about Madison, and it's Dan blabbering on and on about how I can't play too rowdy with Grizzman (the dog) because he'll scratch the floor or rip up one of his toys. That poor dog is locked in a cage all day while Dan is out doing hippy shit and I'm sorry if I just wanna help the dog release a little pent up energy.
Grizzman, I realized, is exactly like Dug from UP! They are one and the same. Grizzman is a good dog. He's funny, partially retarded, but at the same time he's pretty smart. And he likes me WAY more than Dan and it pisses Dan off. I don't care if you've had a dog for 10 years. You treat him like your prisoner, God forbid he walk into a room by himself or not roll over when you tell him to. Of course he likes the big smelly kid who acts like a dog more. I give him attention when he wants it, I let him wander around the apartment. I throw the ball when he brings it to me as opposed to saying "No Grizzman". I'm not surprised that the poor dog is always waiting at the top of the stairs come 12 30 when I make my way home. I just feel bad for the poor dog when I move out.
This reminds me, Dan left his ID out on the coffee table the other day. I was not aware but he is 31. He's 31 years old and he does nothing with his life. He has no job. He has no desire for a job. Where he gets his money is beyond me. I always just kind of assumed that he had just graduated school, but no... hes been done with school for ten years almost. Still no job. He's in West Virginia right now, paddling on some river with a bunch of his unemployed hippie friends. If I hadn't paid the security deposit myself I would totally take a massive dump right on the middle of the living room carpet the day I move out. But then either I'd never see my 550 bucks again or he'd blame it on Grizz and lock him in his cage for a week cuz he's a douche.
Yes, I am aware that I didn't write a blog on Sunday, because I was recovering. Last Friday and Saturday were absolute insanity. Friday We did 90 regular guests plus a party of thirty and a party of 16. Saturday we did 140 and a party of 30. Then after we broke down I was too jacked up on adrenaline to go home, so I sat at Graze with Chef Tory, and a few of the cooks until three in the morning. We talked football, we talked food, and we just basked in the glory of the fact that we had survived the night. Which was saying something, because at more than one moment during the night I thought my station was going to spontaneously combust... that kind of night.
I woke up at 9 on Saturday. Early I know, but I had a busy day ahead of me. I went to the Avenue Bar for breakfast. I went to the fieldhouse to see Mary play against Penn State. I got to play one of my favorite games ever with Nicola, Mary's sister. Its called "that's your (significant other)". My sister and I play it all the time. Here are the rules. You go back and forth, finding the ugliest person of the opposite sex and say, "Look... that's your girlfriend/boyfriend." Nicola won... Let's just say that the garbage woman dressed in some sort of African tribal gown with what looked like a bird's nest on her head and I are dating.
I had lunch with the whole Ording family, and watched the colts game. It was really nice. I watched football and passed out around 11 o'clock. Out of sheer exhaustion. On Monday I worked a day shift, fully prepared prepared for the biggest day of the year. I watched Monday night football at Graze and immediately after the game, I biked over to gamestop on State Street. Because at 12:01 Fifa 11 went on sale. I had preordered a copy, but HAD to be the first person in Wisconsin to get the game. I waited at the store for 1 hour and 45 minutes. In popped a five hour energy and sprinted home on my bike. I played until 4 in the morning then woke up at 10 and played for another hour before I had to go to work.
This weekend, my parents are coming to the Mad City to celebrate my birthday with me. I haven't the slightest idea where I want to go or what I want to do but hey... I'll come up with something. It'll be nice to be able to break my Sunday routine. It was really getting old.
Next weekend I fly home at 5 AM on Sunday, after getting off work at 12 30 PM on Saturday. I get to see the Colts play the Chiefs at Lucas Oil. The only game I can possibly see at Lucas Oil this year. I'm beyond excited. I however, am not excited about having to work on Monday after pulling virtually an all nighter on Saturday Night/ Sunday Morning and driving to Madison at the crack of dawn. Getting out of the car and working a 12 hr prep shift.
I've got a month left in Madison. Four weeks of cold side Garde Mo left. Then I go home for a few weeks. Theres a little dog waiting at the stairs for me. When the car pulls in, and that tail starts wagging, I don't think I'll miss L'Etoile TOO much. A few short weeks and I'll be back in the Big Apple. and 6 months later, I'll be done with school. For good. Who knows where I'll be ten years from now, heck I don't even know where I'll be one year from now. (Actually I have kind of an idea, but it's not PG). But I do know that I'm ready to get the next twenty years under way. If they're anything like the last twenty I think I'll be okay.
I'm not superstitious, but the fortune in my crappy chinese food said, "A sweet surprise awaits you." Let's hope the Chinese aren't fucking with me.
Mike
Monday, September 13, 2010
Cholula, Crazy Asian Lady Drivers, and Lots of Beef
I would like to apologize to my avid readers, Mr. Curt Hancock included, that I took a few days off from writing. There was no update on the last week, because I was just too tired to write. I worked 12 hours then drove three hours to chicago, and had a great two days with my sister. The hot dogs at Wrigley Field were unbelievable, all four of them, with relish and mustard, as all hot dogs should be enjoyed. Then, my day off on Tuesday was filled with lots of sleep and video games.
My week was once again a build up to the weekend. I progressively built up momentum until Friday and Saturday when the new menu changes took place. I had to reprep two whole dishes from scratch each day. The tomatoes and lobster dish is off, along with the octopus dish, the foie torchon, and the beet chevre salad. The new dishes included: braised baby leeks with spicy garlic blue prawns and sauce americaine; a pheasant galantine with plum wedges mascerated with soy; a new beet dish with shaved pleasant ridge reserve and crispy bread (PRR is the best cheese in America based on a recent competition); and finally, the most awesome dish on my side, and my Pride and Joy, the roasted delacata squash. We take delacata squash and slice it into rings, season it with clove, cinnamon, allspice, nutmeg, and brown sugar, and roast it. That gets reheated to order, and separately I melt butter with tobasco, now Cholula, and smoked crab meat. I top it with popcorn seasoned with more pumpkin spice.
This dish is just me. When Tory was running through the dish I asked him, "Chef, how do you feel about Cholula?" He responded, "I fuckin love it." For those of you who do not know, Cholula is my heroine. It's the mexican hot sauce that I was introduced to at the roof ballroom by my amigos, and we ate it with everything. I bought twelve two ounce bottles online just so I could always carry some with me when I was at school. I introduced my buddies at school to it, and now that I'm back in middle America, everytime they use Cholula it's like I'm right there, in spirit. My friend/ future business partner Jon even sends me texts about all the stuff he eats with his cholula. Its kind of a big deal. And the popcorn with the dish, there's a pretty funny story about that. After I popped it I took it to Pete for him to taste, and he said to me, "Its good... Hey who's that creepy pedophile on the popcorn box?" Orville Redenbacher was my answer. "Oh yeah wasn't he from Indiana too, is that all you fuckers are good for, popping damn popcorn?" I smiled and laughed and said "Yes sir."
It was a bad sports weekend for me. Manchester United conceded 2 goals in stoppage time to blow a 3-1 lead and wound up tying Everton, and the Colts lost. But hey, I find silver lining in all sports. For Manchester United, no Rooney, and we still scored 3 goals. Berbatov, who has been a flop since he joined United, is playing out of his skin so far this season. And on to the colts. The one quarter of the game that I actually got to see was actually decent. I watched the second quarter at Bdubs after going to the avenue bar only to find out that the local CBS game was the pats and the bengals. Oh well. Its just one game any way. and Peyton plays better when hes pissed off anyways. I told all the annoying packers fans this, "The last time the colts gave up 250 yards on the ground in a loss, we went on to win the super bowl." The same defense that let Maurice Jones Drew run all over them, later shut the leagues leading rusher, Larry Johnson, down and held him to 15 yards in the playoffs. I am not worried about this season. Not one bit. Peyton Manning has proven to me that he can literally do anything. ANYTHING.
On another note, today was one of the best days of my internship. It was the day of the staff field trip to Fountain Prairie Farm, the farm that raises all of our beef. I met with Weinstein at Graze then Ed the former fish cook, now third man in charge, picked us up and drove us out to the farm along with his girlfriend. We got there and the whole staff was waiting for us. There was a massive set of bleachers on wheels being pulled behind a tractor. We jumped on, and the whole tour started.
Let me start by explaining. The beef that we get is Highland Beef, an heirloom breed of cattle from Scotland. It is grassfed then finished on hay and corn just before slaughter. It is some of the best beef I've ever had. The farm is 280 acres of beautiful pastures. They have just over 400 animals on premises. They really did their best to recreate a natural environment for the cows. Natural wetlands, lots of green pastures, and rolling hills of long grass that reminded me of the kind of stuff that I lose my balls in on golf courses. It is breath taking. The cows are extremely happy, and are free to roam around and eat whatever and whenever.
The tour led us to the top of a hill in a corner of the property that overlooked the whole farm. Had I not known that it was a farm, I would have sworn to god that I had just stumbled upon last wild herd of cattle in the world. Weinstein who was standing next to me at the top of the hill looked at me and said, "You know, this is where all beef should come from." And it makes sense. Why more people don't do it like this I don't know. All of the commercial beef in the U.S. is locked up and not allowed to move, fed hay shipped in from other pastures, and the manure produced is shipped out as hazardous waste. The cows at Fountain Prairie graze from the pastures on premises, they walk around so they are happy, and the manure they produce fertilizes the fields and keeps them green. It means less money spent by the farmers, less labor necessary from the farmers, and a happier animal which really does effect the quality of the beef.
Did I mention they have Mangalista pigs on premises... The finest pork known to man. I spent nearly an hour just sitting next to their pen, watching them. Pigs, for those of you don't know, are really entertaining animals. They're like big smelly dogs. We joke about it in my family because my parents say the reason my dog loves me so much is because I'm just like a bigger smellier dog. Which would, by the transitive property make me a pig, which also makes sense. I guess pigs have always just fascinated me. Brent one of the cooks at Graze took a picture of me, I didn't know it at the time, but he took a picture of me, kneeling down by the pigs, just kind of mesmerized by them. I'll see if I can get a copy of that picture and upload it later, but it reminded me of when I was a little kid. My first posession in this world was a stuffed pig. And it is still in my bed to this day. Pig, as he was aptly named, was my best friend as a kid. I remember my evil sister once tried to tell me that Pig was her's first then my dad stole him form her and gave him to me. I was little and just started crying and said, "I guess you can have him back." She for once in her young life, felt some sort of shame and pity, and let me keep what was rightfully mine. I would sleep with Pig under one arm, and with the other hand, I would rub his plastic eyeballs with my fingertips as I slept. It was strange, the thing I noticed most about these pigs was their eyes. They were massive, and so bright. It really made me realize what a beautiful animal the pig is, and how I have to spend my whole life making people realize that beauty.
Cows are smart animals too. They say cow can predict things, they have an extra sense. They can predict weather, natural disasters. They sensed something about me too. The finishing lot, the fenced in area where they fatten the cows up for slaughter when they're mature enough, is right by the barns. All the staff members lined the fences, and the cows seemed unbothered, but when I came to the fence, alone, the cows backed up, and formed a straight line, in exactly a twenty yard radius from me. Something about me unsettled them. I stood by that fence looking at them, and all of them were staring directly back at me. Not daring to move. They were terrified. They could see that as I looked at them, the only thing that passed through my mind was slicing their cheeks off of their faces for a sick braise and carving their ribs off of the rib loins and throwing them in a wood burning oven. As I looked at those cows, ready for slaughter, I smiled and whispered, "I'll see you in about twenty one days." (The standard aging period for all of our beef.)
(Pictured Above): Highland Beef skulls... stored behind the barn at Fountain Prairie Farm
After the farm Ed, his girlfriend Mayu, and Weinstein took me to their hidden gem in Madison. Saigon Noodle. Its a little Vietnamese noodle restaurant on the west side, but on the way, we were almost in serious trouble. Some crazy lady cut across three lanes of traffic and forced us to swerve out of our lane. Ed, who is Korean and whose japanese girl friend was in the car, caught up, flipped her the bird, then when he cooled down said, "Crazy fuckin asian lady drivers." I laughed uncontrollably for about ten minutes.
Saigon noodle was incredible. I had the #19. Its Pho Bo, beef noodle soup, with tripe and soft tendon. I added chili oil and lime juice like I always did at school. It was amazing. Some of the best stuff I've ever had, it put the CIA stuff to shame.
Well I've gotta work a morning shift and its getting late so I'd better go. I hope my extra writing made up for the weeklong absence of blogging... take it easy.
Mike
My week was once again a build up to the weekend. I progressively built up momentum until Friday and Saturday when the new menu changes took place. I had to reprep two whole dishes from scratch each day. The tomatoes and lobster dish is off, along with the octopus dish, the foie torchon, and the beet chevre salad. The new dishes included: braised baby leeks with spicy garlic blue prawns and sauce americaine; a pheasant galantine with plum wedges mascerated with soy; a new beet dish with shaved pleasant ridge reserve and crispy bread (PRR is the best cheese in America based on a recent competition); and finally, the most awesome dish on my side, and my Pride and Joy, the roasted delacata squash. We take delacata squash and slice it into rings, season it with clove, cinnamon, allspice, nutmeg, and brown sugar, and roast it. That gets reheated to order, and separately I melt butter with tobasco, now Cholula, and smoked crab meat. I top it with popcorn seasoned with more pumpkin spice.
This dish is just me. When Tory was running through the dish I asked him, "Chef, how do you feel about Cholula?" He responded, "I fuckin love it." For those of you who do not know, Cholula is my heroine. It's the mexican hot sauce that I was introduced to at the roof ballroom by my amigos, and we ate it with everything. I bought twelve two ounce bottles online just so I could always carry some with me when I was at school. I introduced my buddies at school to it, and now that I'm back in middle America, everytime they use Cholula it's like I'm right there, in spirit. My friend/ future business partner Jon even sends me texts about all the stuff he eats with his cholula. Its kind of a big deal. And the popcorn with the dish, there's a pretty funny story about that. After I popped it I took it to Pete for him to taste, and he said to me, "Its good... Hey who's that creepy pedophile on the popcorn box?" Orville Redenbacher was my answer. "Oh yeah wasn't he from Indiana too, is that all you fuckers are good for, popping damn popcorn?" I smiled and laughed and said "Yes sir."
It was a bad sports weekend for me. Manchester United conceded 2 goals in stoppage time to blow a 3-1 lead and wound up tying Everton, and the Colts lost. But hey, I find silver lining in all sports. For Manchester United, no Rooney, and we still scored 3 goals. Berbatov, who has been a flop since he joined United, is playing out of his skin so far this season. And on to the colts. The one quarter of the game that I actually got to see was actually decent. I watched the second quarter at Bdubs after going to the avenue bar only to find out that the local CBS game was the pats and the bengals. Oh well. Its just one game any way. and Peyton plays better when hes pissed off anyways. I told all the annoying packers fans this, "The last time the colts gave up 250 yards on the ground in a loss, we went on to win the super bowl." The same defense that let Maurice Jones Drew run all over them, later shut the leagues leading rusher, Larry Johnson, down and held him to 15 yards in the playoffs. I am not worried about this season. Not one bit. Peyton Manning has proven to me that he can literally do anything. ANYTHING.
On another note, today was one of the best days of my internship. It was the day of the staff field trip to Fountain Prairie Farm, the farm that raises all of our beef. I met with Weinstein at Graze then Ed the former fish cook, now third man in charge, picked us up and drove us out to the farm along with his girlfriend. We got there and the whole staff was waiting for us. There was a massive set of bleachers on wheels being pulled behind a tractor. We jumped on, and the whole tour started.
Let me start by explaining. The beef that we get is Highland Beef, an heirloom breed of cattle from Scotland. It is grassfed then finished on hay and corn just before slaughter. It is some of the best beef I've ever had. The farm is 280 acres of beautiful pastures. They have just over 400 animals on premises. They really did their best to recreate a natural environment for the cows. Natural wetlands, lots of green pastures, and rolling hills of long grass that reminded me of the kind of stuff that I lose my balls in on golf courses. It is breath taking. The cows are extremely happy, and are free to roam around and eat whatever and whenever.
The tour led us to the top of a hill in a corner of the property that overlooked the whole farm. Had I not known that it was a farm, I would have sworn to god that I had just stumbled upon last wild herd of cattle in the world. Weinstein who was standing next to me at the top of the hill looked at me and said, "You know, this is where all beef should come from." And it makes sense. Why more people don't do it like this I don't know. All of the commercial beef in the U.S. is locked up and not allowed to move, fed hay shipped in from other pastures, and the manure produced is shipped out as hazardous waste. The cows at Fountain Prairie graze from the pastures on premises, they walk around so they are happy, and the manure they produce fertilizes the fields and keeps them green. It means less money spent by the farmers, less labor necessary from the farmers, and a happier animal which really does effect the quality of the beef.
Did I mention they have Mangalista pigs on premises... The finest pork known to man. I spent nearly an hour just sitting next to their pen, watching them. Pigs, for those of you don't know, are really entertaining animals. They're like big smelly dogs. We joke about it in my family because my parents say the reason my dog loves me so much is because I'm just like a bigger smellier dog. Which would, by the transitive property make me a pig, which also makes sense. I guess pigs have always just fascinated me. Brent one of the cooks at Graze took a picture of me, I didn't know it at the time, but he took a picture of me, kneeling down by the pigs, just kind of mesmerized by them. I'll see if I can get a copy of that picture and upload it later, but it reminded me of when I was a little kid. My first posession in this world was a stuffed pig. And it is still in my bed to this day. Pig, as he was aptly named, was my best friend as a kid. I remember my evil sister once tried to tell me that Pig was her's first then my dad stole him form her and gave him to me. I was little and just started crying and said, "I guess you can have him back." She for once in her young life, felt some sort of shame and pity, and let me keep what was rightfully mine. I would sleep with Pig under one arm, and with the other hand, I would rub his plastic eyeballs with my fingertips as I slept. It was strange, the thing I noticed most about these pigs was their eyes. They were massive, and so bright. It really made me realize what a beautiful animal the pig is, and how I have to spend my whole life making people realize that beauty.
Cows are smart animals too. They say cow can predict things, they have an extra sense. They can predict weather, natural disasters. They sensed something about me too. The finishing lot, the fenced in area where they fatten the cows up for slaughter when they're mature enough, is right by the barns. All the staff members lined the fences, and the cows seemed unbothered, but when I came to the fence, alone, the cows backed up, and formed a straight line, in exactly a twenty yard radius from me. Something about me unsettled them. I stood by that fence looking at them, and all of them were staring directly back at me. Not daring to move. They were terrified. They could see that as I looked at them, the only thing that passed through my mind was slicing their cheeks off of their faces for a sick braise and carving their ribs off of the rib loins and throwing them in a wood burning oven. As I looked at those cows, ready for slaughter, I smiled and whispered, "I'll see you in about twenty one days." (The standard aging period for all of our beef.)
(Pictured Above): Highland Beef skulls... stored behind the barn at Fountain Prairie Farm
After the farm Ed, his girlfriend Mayu, and Weinstein took me to their hidden gem in Madison. Saigon Noodle. Its a little Vietnamese noodle restaurant on the west side, but on the way, we were almost in serious trouble. Some crazy lady cut across three lanes of traffic and forced us to swerve out of our lane. Ed, who is Korean and whose japanese girl friend was in the car, caught up, flipped her the bird, then when he cooled down said, "Crazy fuckin asian lady drivers." I laughed uncontrollably for about ten minutes.
Saigon noodle was incredible. I had the #19. Its Pho Bo, beef noodle soup, with tripe and soft tendon. I added chili oil and lime juice like I always did at school. It was amazing. Some of the best stuff I've ever had, it put the CIA stuff to shame.
Well I've gotta work a morning shift and its getting late so I'd better go. I hope my extra writing made up for the weeklong absence of blogging... take it easy.
Mike
Thursday, September 2, 2010
It's official, Im the badass at L'Etoile.
Today was one of the longest of my days at L'Etoile. We only did 32 covers and I was smooth running all day, but when I explain what happened to me yesterday, hopefully it will all make sense.
Tuesday, I came in to work a day shift. Scott the pastry cook was covering my shift on the line because my bosses wanted me to inventory the whole restaurant, and Graze while I was at it. It is the end of the month and that is how things go. Usually, each cook inventories his/her own food and the sous chefs cover every thing else... but hey, they've got Mikey the intern who does anything they tell him to with a smile on his face and a pep in his step. "Mikey you're working like nine days next week. You might just wanna bring a sleeping bag and sleep in dry storage." When I laughed and responded "Ok I can do that." Not fully knowing whether Pete was joking or not, my bossestold me I'm no fun and they want me to seem like I'm suffering or something. So instead I got to count and weigh every single food item in house for two large restaurants. This task included shivering in our walk in freezer for ten minute intervals until I started to feel hypothermia set in and decided to start weighing the baking goods. Then I'd go back in the freezer and eventually, my socks were frozen to my feet and my fingers were completely numb. And when Pete came upstairs around 6 and said ,"Oh thanks Mikey, we were going to have the porter inventory the freezer, you can go whenever" I felt like ripping my own hair out.
I set out for my new favorite pizza joint, Pizza di Roma, for a quick slice, then started my bike ride home. I was five blocks away from home when it happened. I was riding my bike along East Washington in the designated bike lane, when some ass hole decided to cut in front of me and turn right while I was going through an intersection. It was still broad day light but I don't think he saw me and I swerved to try and avoid him, I skidded along my left side and he knicked my front tire in the process. I guess I didn't yell loud enough or make enough contact with his car, because he drove off like nothing happened. I quickly jumped up, pissed beyond belief, only to realize that he was out of sight. I looked down at my left leg and it was bleeding. A lady in a mini van pulled over and checked on me. I thanked her, and jumped on my bike. By the time I got home The blood from my knee was half way down my shin, and I realized then that my foot was scraped up and my right hand was scraped too. I wasn;t in any real pain so I just kind of shrugged it off. My bike was fine, and I had escaped with a few cuts and bruises, no biggy. No need to call the cops. It was pointless.
But after I rode across town to visit my friend Mary and I was on my way home, my knee started to hurt, and so did my hip a little. I knew this hip pain, as it has been my Achilles heel for about 4 years now. I call it goalkeeper's hip, because after all these years of diving and throwing myself in harms way, landing akwardly time after time after fully extending myself horizontally 5 feet off the ground, my pelvis has given up. It's rotated at like a 40 degree angle and any kind of sudden stress to either hip will cause it to pop, But I know how to deal with it, I do these little stretches that ease the muscle back into place and within a few days all is good. I went to bed hoping all would be well.
I woke up, however, feeling like I had been runover by a train. I had a headache, my hip was aching, my knee was slightly swolen, and my foot was pounding. I popped a tylenol extra strength, iced down my knee, did my stretches, and set out for work. I got to work and Chris the chef at Graze said "Holy shit Mikey you alright." I was noticeably limping. I told him what happened, he laughed and asked what kind of car it was. I said it was a silver camry. He said "Oh shit my brother in law drives a silver camry. Im gonna call my wife." Turns out it wasn't his brother in law. Pete saw me limping and asked the same question. He asked me if I needed to go home. I looked him in the eye and said, "No sir, I'm fine." He pulled me aside and said, "Mikey, don't be a fucking hero, if you need to go, go." I said I was good and went back to setting up my station. Pete yelled from across the kitchen. "Hey Mikey, Aaron's sick again with an upset stomach, I can't to tell his ass you came in after getting hit by a car. Intern's got balls!"
I hobbled my way around the kitchen, news of my exploits spread all over the building, and even Graze servers were coming up to check on me. I couldn;t really bend over to get into my low boy easily, and going up the stairs was rough, but I managed to get everything done with relative ease. Service was rough, after being on my feet for five hours, my left leg started to tighten up, and I did everything I could to keep it loose. I eventually developed more of a limp as the day went on, and the scab on my knee opened up towards the end of service. Weinstein noticed that I was bleeding through my chef pants. I did what a cook would do, as soon as my board was clear of tickets I ran upstairs to the changing room with a box of plastic wrap. I padded my knee with paper towels and wrapped it in plastic. Then changed into a new pair of pants.
I came back down and finished the night. I rode home, and sat down on the couch. My whole body aches. I don't even want to get up to turn a fan on.
Tomorrow will be rough too, but I've just got to make it through Saturday. Saturday night Anna is coming up from Chicago to pick me up. Were heading straight back to Chicago to her new apartment and I'll stay until Monday night. We're going to a cubs game. I really could care less about baseball or the cubs for that matter, but I have been craving a hot dog for about three months, and I know I'll get a damn good one or five at Wrigley. Only I would pay twenty bucks for a ticket to stand in line and pay 5 bucks for a hot dog and a coke, when I could buy twelve of each for the same price at home. Hey, it's all about the setting.
Tune in Monday when I rant about how no one should ever put ketchup on a hot dog. Hopefully I'll be walking straight by then.
P.S. this made me feel a hell of a lot better when I got home. Just watch it. You will probably only kind of regret it.
Mike
Tuesday, I came in to work a day shift. Scott the pastry cook was covering my shift on the line because my bosses wanted me to inventory the whole restaurant, and Graze while I was at it. It is the end of the month and that is how things go. Usually, each cook inventories his/her own food and the sous chefs cover every thing else... but hey, they've got Mikey the intern who does anything they tell him to with a smile on his face and a pep in his step. "Mikey you're working like nine days next week. You might just wanna bring a sleeping bag and sleep in dry storage." When I laughed and responded "Ok I can do that." Not fully knowing whether Pete was joking or not, my bossestold me I'm no fun and they want me to seem like I'm suffering or something. So instead I got to count and weigh every single food item in house for two large restaurants. This task included shivering in our walk in freezer for ten minute intervals until I started to feel hypothermia set in and decided to start weighing the baking goods. Then I'd go back in the freezer and eventually, my socks were frozen to my feet and my fingers were completely numb. And when Pete came upstairs around 6 and said ,"Oh thanks Mikey, we were going to have the porter inventory the freezer, you can go whenever" I felt like ripping my own hair out.
I set out for my new favorite pizza joint, Pizza di Roma, for a quick slice, then started my bike ride home. I was five blocks away from home when it happened. I was riding my bike along East Washington in the designated bike lane, when some ass hole decided to cut in front of me and turn right while I was going through an intersection. It was still broad day light but I don't think he saw me and I swerved to try and avoid him, I skidded along my left side and he knicked my front tire in the process. I guess I didn't yell loud enough or make enough contact with his car, because he drove off like nothing happened. I quickly jumped up, pissed beyond belief, only to realize that he was out of sight. I looked down at my left leg and it was bleeding. A lady in a mini van pulled over and checked on me. I thanked her, and jumped on my bike. By the time I got home The blood from my knee was half way down my shin, and I realized then that my foot was scraped up and my right hand was scraped too. I wasn;t in any real pain so I just kind of shrugged it off. My bike was fine, and I had escaped with a few cuts and bruises, no biggy. No need to call the cops. It was pointless.
But after I rode across town to visit my friend Mary and I was on my way home, my knee started to hurt, and so did my hip a little. I knew this hip pain, as it has been my Achilles heel for about 4 years now. I call it goalkeeper's hip, because after all these years of diving and throwing myself in harms way, landing akwardly time after time after fully extending myself horizontally 5 feet off the ground, my pelvis has given up. It's rotated at like a 40 degree angle and any kind of sudden stress to either hip will cause it to pop, But I know how to deal with it, I do these little stretches that ease the muscle back into place and within a few days all is good. I went to bed hoping all would be well.
I woke up, however, feeling like I had been runover by a train. I had a headache, my hip was aching, my knee was slightly swolen, and my foot was pounding. I popped a tylenol extra strength, iced down my knee, did my stretches, and set out for work. I got to work and Chris the chef at Graze said "Holy shit Mikey you alright." I was noticeably limping. I told him what happened, he laughed and asked what kind of car it was. I said it was a silver camry. He said "Oh shit my brother in law drives a silver camry. Im gonna call my wife." Turns out it wasn't his brother in law. Pete saw me limping and asked the same question. He asked me if I needed to go home. I looked him in the eye and said, "No sir, I'm fine." He pulled me aside and said, "Mikey, don't be a fucking hero, if you need to go, go." I said I was good and went back to setting up my station. Pete yelled from across the kitchen. "Hey Mikey, Aaron's sick again with an upset stomach, I can't to tell his ass you came in after getting hit by a car. Intern's got balls!"
I hobbled my way around the kitchen, news of my exploits spread all over the building, and even Graze servers were coming up to check on me. I couldn;t really bend over to get into my low boy easily, and going up the stairs was rough, but I managed to get everything done with relative ease. Service was rough, after being on my feet for five hours, my left leg started to tighten up, and I did everything I could to keep it loose. I eventually developed more of a limp as the day went on, and the scab on my knee opened up towards the end of service. Weinstein noticed that I was bleeding through my chef pants. I did what a cook would do, as soon as my board was clear of tickets I ran upstairs to the changing room with a box of plastic wrap. I padded my knee with paper towels and wrapped it in plastic. Then changed into a new pair of pants.
I came back down and finished the night. I rode home, and sat down on the couch. My whole body aches. I don't even want to get up to turn a fan on.
Tomorrow will be rough too, but I've just got to make it through Saturday. Saturday night Anna is coming up from Chicago to pick me up. Were heading straight back to Chicago to her new apartment and I'll stay until Monday night. We're going to a cubs game. I really could care less about baseball or the cubs for that matter, but I have been craving a hot dog for about three months, and I know I'll get a damn good one or five at Wrigley. Only I would pay twenty bucks for a ticket to stand in line and pay 5 bucks for a hot dog and a coke, when I could buy twelve of each for the same price at home. Hey, it's all about the setting.
Tune in Monday when I rant about how no one should ever put ketchup on a hot dog. Hopefully I'll be walking straight by then.
P.S. this made me feel a hell of a lot better when I got home. Just watch it. You will probably only kind of regret it.
Mike
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