Ages ago under another name I blogged about the countless songs in which food is celebrated. My thoughts today though, are on music that is played in cafes & restaurants.
This morning after I sleepily unlocked the door to start today’s proceedings, as per usual, I hovered over the sound system to peruse the stack of CD’s & what to put on first. Now our motley pile seems to grow & contract with whatever we all bring in. Some stuff will never go live, like the Ben the apprentices’ swag of Linkin Park CD’s. Nor the industrial funk of another staff member. Although I think my taste is broad & interesting, I too have been banned from putting certain songs on. At least we all agree that the CD choice is for the CUSTOMER & not the staff. So often a bad CD choice can kill an atmosphere in a dining room quicker than Damir Dokic can attack a free buffet at the tennis. Appropriate music choice is crucial.
One of my earliest memories of music being entirely appropriate for the venue was in Iain Hewitson’s ‘Last Aussie Fishcaf’, a restaurant which reflected its love for the fifties & sixties & the music that shaped it. Music & in this case jazz, was a central theme that Simon Goh, founder of the Chinta Ria restaurants tried to weave into the dining experience in his places.
Way back when Mario’s in Brunswick St still had its namesakes owners on the floor roster, the café was filled with mostly jazz of the Ella Fitzgerald type or at least it always seemed to be, such is my unreliable memory. Taking this music inspiration further, they went on to open the much loved & sadly missed, The Continental.
In the suburbs though, when cafés started to branch out from the more familiar precincts, it was all Enya territory. I can’t tell you how many times I grimly endured ‘Orinoco Flow’ whilst eating my Tagliatelle Verdi Alfredo. Some of these cafes upped the ante & broke out the Clannad, talk about extreme-folk!
The Standard Hotel in Fitzroy, once co-owned by the ex-Moodist who reinvented himself as Handsome Steve had a penchant for playing lots of Hillbilly Country & Hank Williams was on high rotation. Perhaps it was here that I developed my tragic taste for pedal steel guitars, the merest murmur of a twang has my eyes glassing with tears! Then all of a sudden, it seemed that every hip café had to have Massive Attack, Portishead & Morcheeba permanently glued to the CD player. In the last couple of years you couldn’t go anywhere without having your eardrums assaulted by the laconic Jack Johnson, the melancholic David Gray or the monotone of Pete Murray.
A few years back at Soulmama St Kilda, there was a 200 CD playlist (before MP3 players really changed things) that was programmed throughout the day, everyday. It started with ambient artists in the morning & evolved throughout the day getting jauntier & upbeat, progressing toward a fever pitch for the dinner rush & then predictably the late evening bought you back to more tranquil sounds. We were so battle hardened to this daily musical score that we would practically do our mise en place by it. For instance it was not uncommon to hear, ‘Quick, get the curries on, bloody Moloko is on already!
Of course many ethnic eating houses have an aural backdrop of indigenous music of which I can cope with but I find it irritating that many Italian trattorias insist on playing cheesy Dean Martin songs in the hope to create an authentic atmosphere-it does the exact opposite I’m afraid.
Sometimes & rarely, a restaurant or café just doesn’t need anything at all, just the noise of happy punters enjoying themselves & the hum of a busy service, but I think a little music helps.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Comforting food, in this case Gnocchi
No doubt we are all well accustomed to the notion of comfort food. We all reach for its warm familiararity in times of stress, sickness or even in good health. My belief is that people are blueprinted with this comfort reaction which manifests itself in food, after all it’s what we all seem to return to when consoling someone who is ill & what we expect others to do for us when we are similarly disposed.
Our family tonight has finally been collectively scythed down like barley stalks in a swaying field with the most persistent & determined virus, their workings, movements & speech clogged up by some phlegmy quicksand. Still valiantly untroubled & constitutionally robust (even though I have a reoccurring chest rattle, a major hindrance for an asthmatic) I swoop in & gallantly corral the unruly rabble of ingredients in the pantry to morph into a proverbial lullaby of soothing & sensory appeasing bites with each incremental taste, acting like a pacifying salve.
‘What dish?’ I hear you enquire, breathless with wonder & bewilderment.
And before you can all incant, nodding your heads knowingly, Spag bol, Lasagna or Minestrone you are wrong but your choice of country & its cucina is on the Lire.
Ours was in fact Gnocchi.
In Ghosts Of Apprenticeships Past, Italian waiters I knew said that ‘Gnocchi’ meant ‘simpleton’ & was a dumpling made from mostly potato & flour but could also be made from semolina or even polenta., either way it was a simple dough & to borrow a phrase from the tobacco lobby, was a ‘sauce delivery device’.
Gnocchi, being so simple are of course prone to over working by people intellectualizing them to the point where they bear little or no resemblance to their forbears. We in this day & age are fanatical about one particular aspect of their manufacture & though I don’t have hard evidence to underpin why we are so, it seems ‘lightness’ is the divine character most eagerly sought. Notwithstanding my own recipe is very light & adheres to the a la mode doctrine but this is by chance more than by slavishly following the perceived convention.
I served it simply with nut brown butter fried sage leaves, cooked pumpkin, onion dice, slivers of garlic & peas, reduced with cream & enriched with grated parmesan & is simpatico personified plus.
For gnocchi that a Nonna would be envious, start with potatoes that are NOT waxy or starchy. Many people overcomplicate the method mostly due to improvable notions that may have worked once so they became the benchmark for future renditions that in turn become part of folklore. I have dispensed with the action of rolling a fork along the gnocchi, which act as 'sauce catchers' & look nice but are not only un-necessary but add another step in their process.
Once cooked well, drain the spuds & let dry until they are soft & chalky to touch.
Mince through a potato ‘Ricer’ or ‘Moule’ to break up the starch. Transfer to a mixing bowl with a dough hook & mix a third of the volume of spud to strong flour, preferably Durum wee & a good pinch of salt. Mix slowly & evenly until all the flour is incorporated. Check this by dropping the unconvincingly mixed blob into the boiling salted water, should it not go to mush is a good sign!
Special note: Don’t over mix as this will develop the gluten in the flour which will give your gnocchi the characteristically glueyness that many people associate with not only poorly made gnocchi, but gnocchi in general.
I put my gnocchi mix into a piping bag & over a bowl of tumbling boiling water I squeeze the bag until a tube of mix spurts through. Using a sharp small knife I slash the spurting tube of mix into similarly shaped tubes which then fall into the boiling salted water. When they rise I scoop them out & ‘refresh’ them into ultra chilled water. You might find your gnocchi has ‘furry’ bits of unevenness along their lengths; these will harden up in cold water. Let then cool completely before reheating them in boiling water, then the sauce. You are ready to serve!
This particular meal was met with Mona Lisa smiles of contentment which permeated throughout our whole, cold little house, them first respite for the evening until the heaters kicked in!
Our family tonight has finally been collectively scythed down like barley stalks in a swaying field with the most persistent & determined virus, their workings, movements & speech clogged up by some phlegmy quicksand. Still valiantly untroubled & constitutionally robust (even though I have a reoccurring chest rattle, a major hindrance for an asthmatic) I swoop in & gallantly corral the unruly rabble of ingredients in the pantry to morph into a proverbial lullaby of soothing & sensory appeasing bites with each incremental taste, acting like a pacifying salve.
‘What dish?’ I hear you enquire, breathless with wonder & bewilderment.
And before you can all incant, nodding your heads knowingly, Spag bol, Lasagna or Minestrone you are wrong but your choice of country & its cucina is on the Lire.
Ours was in fact Gnocchi.
In Ghosts Of Apprenticeships Past, Italian waiters I knew said that ‘Gnocchi’ meant ‘simpleton’ & was a dumpling made from mostly potato & flour but could also be made from semolina or even polenta., either way it was a simple dough & to borrow a phrase from the tobacco lobby, was a ‘sauce delivery device’.
Gnocchi, being so simple are of course prone to over working by people intellectualizing them to the point where they bear little or no resemblance to their forbears. We in this day & age are fanatical about one particular aspect of their manufacture & though I don’t have hard evidence to underpin why we are so, it seems ‘lightness’ is the divine character most eagerly sought. Notwithstanding my own recipe is very light & adheres to the a la mode doctrine but this is by chance more than by slavishly following the perceived convention.
I served it simply with nut brown butter fried sage leaves, cooked pumpkin, onion dice, slivers of garlic & peas, reduced with cream & enriched with grated parmesan & is simpatico personified plus.
For gnocchi that a Nonna would be envious, start with potatoes that are NOT waxy or starchy. Many people overcomplicate the method mostly due to improvable notions that may have worked once so they became the benchmark for future renditions that in turn become part of folklore. I have dispensed with the action of rolling a fork along the gnocchi, which act as 'sauce catchers' & look nice but are not only un-necessary but add another step in their process.
Once cooked well, drain the spuds & let dry until they are soft & chalky to touch.
Mince through a potato ‘Ricer’ or ‘Moule’ to break up the starch. Transfer to a mixing bowl with a dough hook & mix a third of the volume of spud to strong flour, preferably Durum wee & a good pinch of salt. Mix slowly & evenly until all the flour is incorporated. Check this by dropping the unconvincingly mixed blob into the boiling salted water, should it not go to mush is a good sign!
Special note: Don’t over mix as this will develop the gluten in the flour which will give your gnocchi the characteristically glueyness that many people associate with not only poorly made gnocchi, but gnocchi in general.
I put my gnocchi mix into a piping bag & over a bowl of tumbling boiling water I squeeze the bag until a tube of mix spurts through. Using a sharp small knife I slash the spurting tube of mix into similarly shaped tubes which then fall into the boiling salted water. When they rise I scoop them out & ‘refresh’ them into ultra chilled water. You might find your gnocchi has ‘furry’ bits of unevenness along their lengths; these will harden up in cold water. Let then cool completely before reheating them in boiling water, then the sauce. You are ready to serve!
This particular meal was met with Mona Lisa smiles of contentment which permeated throughout our whole, cold little house, them first respite for the evening until the heaters kicked in!
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
What's going on? Thank you Marvin Gaye
Food products I really hate & will probably not be asked to endorse in the near future.
Frozen pizza-Seriously, how hard is it to make dough, roll it out, put topping on & cook the bugger?
Canned soup-Yes I can see the convenience factor, but seriously, a chopped onion, some peeled & chopped pumpkin & some cream, how hard IS that really?
Biscuits-Sure I still buy ‘em, but through gritted teeth! As the blog famously says: Butter, Sugar Flour, oh & what it doesn’t say, & Eggs!
Packet cake mixes-Fuck them off right off now & get baking!
Shake‘n Bake pancake mixes-OK, ‘when you are camping’ they MIGHT be a convenient
alternative if the ingredients list doesn’t make your skin crawl. Surely carrying a bit of SR flour with your other roughing–it staples won’t overload you & it’s all you need to make ‘em?
OK a biggy- Oven fries. For a start if you buy the right spud, don’t even peel the bugger, chip it into chip ‘shapes’, toss in a bowl with oil & salt then arrange on a baking tray, cook at a high temp & BINGO there’s your oven fry!
Anything like a frozen burger, shawarma, souvlaki, hot dog or gyros. Believe me, they actually exist in supermarket freezer cabinets & no matter how hammered you might be, you are ALWAYS better to buy them from a vendor that turns over heaps rather than getting them pre-prepared & frozen from a freezer cabinet.
Sea bites, Captains Shanties, Crab sticks or whatever might masquerade as bona fide seafood is actually reconstituted; compressed, reclaimed seafood extender dollied up to look like it comes from a real underwater animal. Extender? Extending what?
Pre mix bread mixes-The cornerstone of many a franchise popular bakery, just dump the water in & stir. My particular favourite that gets my goat up, a product that imitates the flavour of sourdough without the fermentation time & am I going to name it, no.
While I’m on it though, many franchise bakeries just use packet mixes for much of their products, from Hedgehog mix to Lamington mix & much in between.
Bought-in frozen-then-defrosted-cakes-&-slices-Oh how much does this happen you ask? Freakin’ too often & everywhere. Nest time you pop in for a double-shot, caramel syrup infused, fair trade, upsized latte & want a little sweety item to go with it, ask of its provenance, you will be devastated
I despise popcorn in cinema multiplexes-Do not get me started
Ready bought custard! For crissakes come on, custard!
The humble pie-Now that it only has to have say, 5 % meat in it, you can stick it!
Pre-frozen schnitters, crumbed calamari tube rings, prawn cutlets, demi-glaces, or any kind of ‘convenient’ sauce for, all well represented on menus everywhere.
GE foods. Full stop.
Or this example which was ‘outed’ a few weeks ago. Not content to let a cook prepare a humble lamb shank, now a few places are buying in pre-cooked & sauced shanks, just heat’n’serve. Is this the kind of cookery we want to teach apprentices?
What is going on?
Frozen pizza-Seriously, how hard is it to make dough, roll it out, put topping on & cook the bugger?
Canned soup-Yes I can see the convenience factor, but seriously, a chopped onion, some peeled & chopped pumpkin & some cream, how hard IS that really?
Biscuits-Sure I still buy ‘em, but through gritted teeth! As the blog famously says: Butter, Sugar Flour, oh & what it doesn’t say, & Eggs!
Packet cake mixes-Fuck them off right off now & get baking!
Shake‘n Bake pancake mixes-OK, ‘when you are camping’ they MIGHT be a convenient
alternative if the ingredients list doesn’t make your skin crawl. Surely carrying a bit of SR flour with your other roughing–it staples won’t overload you & it’s all you need to make ‘em?
OK a biggy- Oven fries. For a start if you buy the right spud, don’t even peel the bugger, chip it into chip ‘shapes’, toss in a bowl with oil & salt then arrange on a baking tray, cook at a high temp & BINGO there’s your oven fry!
Anything like a frozen burger, shawarma, souvlaki, hot dog or gyros. Believe me, they actually exist in supermarket freezer cabinets & no matter how hammered you might be, you are ALWAYS better to buy them from a vendor that turns over heaps rather than getting them pre-prepared & frozen from a freezer cabinet.
Sea bites, Captains Shanties, Crab sticks or whatever might masquerade as bona fide seafood is actually reconstituted; compressed, reclaimed seafood extender dollied up to look like it comes from a real underwater animal. Extender? Extending what?
Pre mix bread mixes-The cornerstone of many a franchise popular bakery, just dump the water in & stir. My particular favourite that gets my goat up, a product that imitates the flavour of sourdough without the fermentation time & am I going to name it, no.
While I’m on it though, many franchise bakeries just use packet mixes for much of their products, from Hedgehog mix to Lamington mix & much in between.
Bought-in frozen-then-defrosted-cakes-&-slices-Oh how much does this happen you ask? Freakin’ too often & everywhere. Nest time you pop in for a double-shot, caramel syrup infused, fair trade, upsized latte & want a little sweety item to go with it, ask of its provenance, you will be devastated
I despise popcorn in cinema multiplexes-Do not get me started
Ready bought custard! For crissakes come on, custard!
The humble pie-Now that it only has to have say, 5 % meat in it, you can stick it!
Pre-frozen schnitters, crumbed calamari tube rings, prawn cutlets, demi-glaces, or any kind of ‘convenient’ sauce for, all well represented on menus everywhere.
GE foods. Full stop.
Or this example which was ‘outed’ a few weeks ago. Not content to let a cook prepare a humble lamb shank, now a few places are buying in pre-cooked & sauced shanks, just heat’n’serve. Is this the kind of cookery we want to teach apprentices?
What is going on?
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Let it go
Over the years I have worked with many chefs, cooks, waiters, owners, kitchen-hands & other restaurant people. They have ranged from the truly gifted through to people that frankly should have chosen another field in which to make their living. It takes all sorts & I have come to accept that it is all but part of the diverse & curious potpourri that life throws at you. I have also come to the realization that just because it might not work out for someone at a particular place, it doesn’t preclude them for excelling at another, in fact it can make one revise why this latter situation didn’t unfold in the first place, with you or me.
Whilst I have embraced this ‘Que sera sera’ retrospective there remains a niggling bit that refuses to be suffocated by the politically correct, carefully worded performance appraisal & I am left scratching my head, confused why the elephant in the room never gets mentioned & it concerns the following situation:
I have never understood it when chefs, cooks, wait-people & owners slag-off the food or service that they had recently endured at a café or restaurant whilst at the same time complacently & sometimes even negligently serving food or giving service that is clearly not up to par themselves? Are they so blindsided to their own obvious shortcomings? Perhaps they are , why else would they expend so much energy cutting down the efforts of others?
Sure, we’ve all had a whinge now & again, myself included, but bearing a sustained grudge on a person or place is hard to explain especially when it can come from someone who quite clearly hasn’t got a reputation themselves for fine food or service? Does this mean conversely that those with credentials are qualified to snipe constantly? I don’t think so either, in my opinion it just makes them look small minded.
Last week, a few unrelated but weirdly synchronistic events occurred which were kind of surreal & spun me out a bit. They concerned several planned & unplanned meetings of sorts with old employers & staff I once worked with. Feeling anxious already about the planned ones, the spontaneous ones had me almost red-lining with trepidation. However something strange happened, like a little spirit touched me on the shoulder & whispered in my ear, ‘It’s OK, let it all go, that was then & this is now, they’ve moved on & so should you’. You know what? I felt better immediately!
It’s no good hanging onto these past & perhaps perceived injustices & as I write this with the morning sun streaming into the house I am struck that it is really a new day.
Whilst I have embraced this ‘Que sera sera’ retrospective there remains a niggling bit that refuses to be suffocated by the politically correct, carefully worded performance appraisal & I am left scratching my head, confused why the elephant in the room never gets mentioned & it concerns the following situation:
I have never understood it when chefs, cooks, wait-people & owners slag-off the food or service that they had recently endured at a café or restaurant whilst at the same time complacently & sometimes even negligently serving food or giving service that is clearly not up to par themselves? Are they so blindsided to their own obvious shortcomings? Perhaps they are , why else would they expend so much energy cutting down the efforts of others?
Sure, we’ve all had a whinge now & again, myself included, but bearing a sustained grudge on a person or place is hard to explain especially when it can come from someone who quite clearly hasn’t got a reputation themselves for fine food or service? Does this mean conversely that those with credentials are qualified to snipe constantly? I don’t think so either, in my opinion it just makes them look small minded.
Last week, a few unrelated but weirdly synchronistic events occurred which were kind of surreal & spun me out a bit. They concerned several planned & unplanned meetings of sorts with old employers & staff I once worked with. Feeling anxious already about the planned ones, the spontaneous ones had me almost red-lining with trepidation. However something strange happened, like a little spirit touched me on the shoulder & whispered in my ear, ‘It’s OK, let it all go, that was then & this is now, they’ve moved on & so should you’. You know what? I felt better immediately!
It’s no good hanging onto these past & perhaps perceived injustices & as I write this with the morning sun streaming into the house I am struck that it is really a new day.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Mothers Big Day Out & Protests of all sorts
What a great day yesterday was. Once the order in which the cards were to be presented & by which child, was agreed on, all this after much fierce lobbying & unfortunate screeching, they were proudly handed over whilst my wife supped her tea, their protests of the unfairness of it all, behind them.
All of us weary but cheery, we assembled provisions & gathered layers for a ‘day out’ in the forests. The kids & C, weary from soccer & canteen duty & me from two preceding fourteen hour days. On the way up we listened as the ABC told us of a large protest at 10am in the Florentine Valley & I noted several cars going in our direction, crammed with what Central Casting might label as ‘Protester Types’. Thinking of protesters & having seen Mr. Bob Brown only the day before I wondered if he did much frontline protesting these days?
By 10.30 we had swapped farmland for forest & moments later we were deep into its sanctuary. We chose to do a quite longish circuit which we wouldn’t have considered when the kids were younger as their protests would have made it unbearable, not to mention carrying them.
C couldn’t get the smile off her face the whole time, she being in her element, which was pleasing & made me feel good. Curiously we came across a very large but weirdly hushed party of Japanese tourists who were snapping copious pictures of themselves in front of a giant Regnans. An absurd comedic & embarrassing thought came into my head as they do this one replete with cultural misunderstanding, ill informed opinion & a bigoted view.
I imagined an uneasy scene unfolding where an outraged but hopelessly inept & ignorant protester stumbles upon these same Japanese tourists whom he mistakes for wood-chipping scouts & outraged, begins to hurl abuse & protestations. Meanwhile they look on, eyes blinking in disbelief. Funny scenario, well it made me chuckle!
It was soon time for a break & whilst the family marched down a looping path, I chose to lie on a seat, close my eyes & listen to the sounds of the forest, it was magic, restorative.
Arriving back at the Visitors centre we found a sunny spot & laid out lunch.
Hoummous, tabouli, dolmades, fresh sourdough, ham, tomatoes, lettuce, tuna, Tongola Capris, Bretons, in a ‘make what you want’ assembly line, of ingredients. We all prefer this style of picnic to pre-made sangas no matter how good they are because we all get to assemble what we want. I can’t recommend this type of picnic highly enough.
Later we had quince tea cake & a thermos of tea to enjoy it with.
Driving home through the Derwent Valley was a pleasure as its Autumnal colours sparkled golden in the low afternoon sun & we passed many an old Oast house & their strange, netted hop growing paddocks.
Sadly the wailing of several police & ambulance sirens darkened the mood & their roared past toward what we learned later to be a tragic head on collision in New Norfolk, the danger on our roads an ever present reality.
Safely home, the fire started I finally got to read the papers & a story from Victoria intrigued me with its irony. Seems that the deer hunting fraternity are lobbying to save the Sambar Deer from indiscriminate culling as they have been deemed a pest by the Victorian Wildlife Act Committee as their status has now been downgraded from once being a protected species.
The Greens however want it eradicated as the breed is destroying much native flora.
So these shooters want to save an animal in order to be able to shoot it at their leisure & the Greens want to shoot them anyway cos they’re a pest. I think the poor Deer’s days are numbered whatever the outcome, funny old world innit?
My mum would have enjoyed the irony & her dark humour will always be with me.
All of us weary but cheery, we assembled provisions & gathered layers for a ‘day out’ in the forests. The kids & C, weary from soccer & canteen duty & me from two preceding fourteen hour days. On the way up we listened as the ABC told us of a large protest at 10am in the Florentine Valley & I noted several cars going in our direction, crammed with what Central Casting might label as ‘Protester Types’. Thinking of protesters & having seen Mr. Bob Brown only the day before I wondered if he did much frontline protesting these days?
By 10.30 we had swapped farmland for forest & moments later we were deep into its sanctuary. We chose to do a quite longish circuit which we wouldn’t have considered when the kids were younger as their protests would have made it unbearable, not to mention carrying them.
C couldn’t get the smile off her face the whole time, she being in her element, which was pleasing & made me feel good. Curiously we came across a very large but weirdly hushed party of Japanese tourists who were snapping copious pictures of themselves in front of a giant Regnans. An absurd comedic & embarrassing thought came into my head as they do this one replete with cultural misunderstanding, ill informed opinion & a bigoted view.
I imagined an uneasy scene unfolding where an outraged but hopelessly inept & ignorant protester stumbles upon these same Japanese tourists whom he mistakes for wood-chipping scouts & outraged, begins to hurl abuse & protestations. Meanwhile they look on, eyes blinking in disbelief. Funny scenario, well it made me chuckle!
It was soon time for a break & whilst the family marched down a looping path, I chose to lie on a seat, close my eyes & listen to the sounds of the forest, it was magic, restorative.
Arriving back at the Visitors centre we found a sunny spot & laid out lunch.
Hoummous, tabouli, dolmades, fresh sourdough, ham, tomatoes, lettuce, tuna, Tongola Capris, Bretons, in a ‘make what you want’ assembly line, of ingredients. We all prefer this style of picnic to pre-made sangas no matter how good they are because we all get to assemble what we want. I can’t recommend this type of picnic highly enough.
Later we had quince tea cake & a thermos of tea to enjoy it with.
Driving home through the Derwent Valley was a pleasure as its Autumnal colours sparkled golden in the low afternoon sun & we passed many an old Oast house & their strange, netted hop growing paddocks.
Sadly the wailing of several police & ambulance sirens darkened the mood & their roared past toward what we learned later to be a tragic head on collision in New Norfolk, the danger on our roads an ever present reality.
Safely home, the fire started I finally got to read the papers & a story from Victoria intrigued me with its irony. Seems that the deer hunting fraternity are lobbying to save the Sambar Deer from indiscriminate culling as they have been deemed a pest by the Victorian Wildlife Act Committee as their status has now been downgraded from once being a protected species.
The Greens however want it eradicated as the breed is destroying much native flora.
So these shooters want to save an animal in order to be able to shoot it at their leisure & the Greens want to shoot them anyway cos they’re a pest. I think the poor Deer’s days are numbered whatever the outcome, funny old world innit?
My mum would have enjoyed the irony & her dark humour will always be with me.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Make Lunch not war
Call it a character trait, call it compulsion, maybe even call it Mr. Manners as a friend of mine often calls them. When I make a quick on the go bite to eat, as bites to eat are often gobbled on the run in kitchens, I always ask my workmates if they want what I am having.
You see its no trouble really to make three or five of something when you intend to make it for one. It really isn’t a bother yet as I get older I am realizing that this isn’t a procedure that other chefs adhere to second nature. A while back I watched aghast as a new chef quickly knocked together a sanga for herself whilst the rest of us salivated on the sidelines. This incident is not just a blip on the radar but actually a more accurate snapshot of the current changes in attitude when it comes to these sorts of things.
In the first year of my apprenticeship I was chastised by a cook who told me it was incredibly selfish & impolite to make a snack for oneself only & went against the spirit of camaraderie of the kitchen. This has stayed with me throughout my whole working life together with another anecdote this particular cook had imparted on my impressionable young mind.
‘Never ever mix Bundy & Crème de Menthe’ he warned.
In many of the kitchens I have worked I’ve often found that an early morning bacon & egg roll for the staff, including those floor staff that were unlucky enough to get an early start, would ease the tensions & grease the wheels for most of the day.
I also like to start the day with a round of coffees for everyone. I know this might make me sound like a tea lady of sorts & you might be thinking ‘Next he’ll be handing out macaroons as well’, but again, how bad does it look coming back from the coffee machine with a singular coffee when everyone else is obviously gagging for one also?
Its just Mr. Manners innit?
Its also like my apparently arcane practice of saying Good morning to everyone who starts work for the day, apparently its OK to skulk into work & not say a word to your colleagues until you have to, their numbers are legion it seems & growing alarmingly.
How hard is it to say Good morning?
You see its no trouble really to make three or five of something when you intend to make it for one. It really isn’t a bother yet as I get older I am realizing that this isn’t a procedure that other chefs adhere to second nature. A while back I watched aghast as a new chef quickly knocked together a sanga for herself whilst the rest of us salivated on the sidelines. This incident is not just a blip on the radar but actually a more accurate snapshot of the current changes in attitude when it comes to these sorts of things.
In the first year of my apprenticeship I was chastised by a cook who told me it was incredibly selfish & impolite to make a snack for oneself only & went against the spirit of camaraderie of the kitchen. This has stayed with me throughout my whole working life together with another anecdote this particular cook had imparted on my impressionable young mind.
‘Never ever mix Bundy & Crème de Menthe’ he warned.
In many of the kitchens I have worked I’ve often found that an early morning bacon & egg roll for the staff, including those floor staff that were unlucky enough to get an early start, would ease the tensions & grease the wheels for most of the day.
I also like to start the day with a round of coffees for everyone. I know this might make me sound like a tea lady of sorts & you might be thinking ‘Next he’ll be handing out macaroons as well’, but again, how bad does it look coming back from the coffee machine with a singular coffee when everyone else is obviously gagging for one also?
Its just Mr. Manners innit?
Its also like my apparently arcane practice of saying Good morning to everyone who starts work for the day, apparently its OK to skulk into work & not say a word to your colleagues until you have to, their numbers are legion it seems & growing alarmingly.
How hard is it to say Good morning?
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
The high cost of duck & how to cook it
Interesting melee going on at Rita’s site regarding the issue of shopper dockets. What has become apparent to me reading the comments section is underpinning the great divide in expectation that customers & operators face & the associated perceptions that both camps have in relation to redeeming these seemingly innocuous vouchers, oh how the passions run deep!
Perhaps a salve is required to soothe these frayed tempers, can I propose how I come up with a price for a dish & perhaps this will illuminate why something costs as much as it does in a restaurant?
Take duck for instance, it’s a traditionally expensive restaurant dish, in mostly all its guises.
In the old days you could get away with serving duck Maryland’s (the legs) as they were the cheapest & arguably the easiest to cook & serve, in fact you could get 'em almost for free, such was there lack of currency. However, those days are well & truly over. Nowadays, those once el cheapo legs are worth a mint & in some cases worth more than even the breast meat!
In fact a single no 18 duck (meaning 1.8kgs) will cost about $14 to $18 per bird. Now if you divide this into 2 portions it’ll cost you roughly $7 to $9 per serve & that is if you portion it exactly as half, without butchering further or even cooking it at all. You see cooking it reduces the weight served so this weight gats ADDED to the original purchase price. Should you decide to serve it as a quarter as many do. The cost for the duck declines but you’ll have to ‘bulk it up;’ with all sorts of restaurant chicanery & this is how many places justify the price of their duck dishes.
What is ironic though, is that there are only TWO commercial suppliers of duck in the country. That’s right, TWO. Pepes & Luv a Duck. Sure both act as negociants of sorts, qualifying the price of duck from many different growers spread throughout the country but it seems EVERYONE who buys Australian ducks, gets them from these two purveyors & that includes Sydney where a duck main can cost $50+ or more. This is of course, unless they buy ducks from overseas & for how much cheaper I am not aware. They would I presume, also be frozen but having said that so many ducks sold here are also frozen.
This could explain the huge disparity of cost that many cheap’n’cheerful Asian restaurants manage to put a BBQ duck on the menu for under $20 when a duck breast or a leg in a modern Aussie fine Diner will easily set you back $35 or more. To underpin this I have checked the websites of five of Hobart’s’ better restaurants who feature duck & the prices range from $33.50 for a leg with bits & bobs up to $38.00 for a breast, similarly padded out with garnishes.
Recently I put a half duck on the menu for $33 which was a quantum leap in our pricing structure but guess what, no one cared cause it was duck! In fact it is my beleif that those who oredr duck just want the duck & plenty of it, garnish be dammed!
This leads me to believe that many restaurants over charge for duck because they know it’s a meat that people love but are afraid of or don’t know how to cook well.
Despite death threats from my colleagues I shall divulge my fail safe duck cooking recipe free of charge in the spirit of transparency. But please eat it at the RVL when its on not because I have left out a method or ingredient but because duck is the one meat I reckon I cook better than most else in my repetoire, not blowing my own trumpet BUT a fact that a noted food journalist observed when he boldly said that only the Chinese can cook duck properly but he thought Cumper was not a traditional Chinese name!
Ingredients
1.8kg duck (it costs me about $14 to $18 whole but frozen)
3 cloves garlic
Some thyme, rosemary or oregano
Sea salt & black pepper
Water or white wine or chicken stock
Olive oil.
Method
Take a deep roasting pan tight enough to fit one duck snugly.
Make sure duck is dry before rubbing in salt & pepper into duck skin. Scatter with smashed cloves of garlic & torn herbs & drizzle olive oil over the lot.
Roast in pre-heated oven (180C) until skin is golden.
Here’s the tricky bit. Add enough stock/water/wine to half cover the duck, that’s, err, half way?
Seal as tightly as you can with silver foil, careful not to get any tears or breaks. You want an impervious seal to ‘steam’ the contents.
Reduce the heat to 160C & cook for two hours.
Let cool completely, in fact let go cold in fridge.
Then remove the thick layer of fat & reserve (good for cooking spuds) & you’ll be left with a gelatinous liquid tasting of pure duck essence, ideal for a light but deep flavoured sauce.
Carefully remove the duck & portion into your required amounts, the meat will all be the same ‘falling off the bone’ texture.
To re-heat simply place in a pre-heated oven at 180C until warm & skin is crisp & serve with whatever you fancy.
So you see, don’t be afraid of duck, its not that hard & I hope many more people take the time to have ago at it. I know that it will a long time before it replaces the humble & oft maligned chook as our bird of preference but I also hope it never becomes so abused as well.
Take duck for instance, it’s a traditionally expensive restaurant dish, in mostly all its guises.
In the old days you could get away with serving duck Maryland’s (the legs) as they were the cheapest & arguably the easiest to cook & serve, in fact you could get 'em almost for free, such was there lack of currency. However, those days are well & truly over. Nowadays, those once el cheapo legs are worth a mint & in some cases worth more than even the breast meat!
In fact a single no 18 duck (meaning 1.8kgs) will cost about $14 to $18 per bird. Now if you divide this into 2 portions it’ll cost you roughly $7 to $9 per serve & that is if you portion it exactly as half, without butchering further or even cooking it at all. You see cooking it reduces the weight served so this weight gats ADDED to the original purchase price. Should you decide to serve it as a quarter as many do. The cost for the duck declines but you’ll have to ‘bulk it up;’ with all sorts of restaurant chicanery & this is how many places justify the price of their duck dishes.
What is ironic though, is that there are only TWO commercial suppliers of duck in the country. That’s right, TWO. Pepes & Luv a Duck. Sure both act as negociants of sorts, qualifying the price of duck from many different growers spread throughout the country but it seems EVERYONE who buys Australian ducks, gets them from these two purveyors & that includes Sydney where a duck main can cost $50+ or more. This is of course, unless they buy ducks from overseas & for how much cheaper I am not aware. They would I presume, also be frozen but having said that so many ducks sold here are also frozen.
This could explain the huge disparity of cost that many cheap’n’cheerful Asian restaurants manage to put a BBQ duck on the menu for under $20 when a duck breast or a leg in a modern Aussie fine Diner will easily set you back $35 or more. To underpin this I have checked the websites of five of Hobart’s’ better restaurants who feature duck & the prices range from $33.50 for a leg with bits & bobs up to $38.00 for a breast, similarly padded out with garnishes.
Recently I put a half duck on the menu for $33 which was a quantum leap in our pricing structure but guess what, no one cared cause it was duck! In fact it is my beleif that those who oredr duck just want the duck & plenty of it, garnish be dammed!
This leads me to believe that many restaurants over charge for duck because they know it’s a meat that people love but are afraid of or don’t know how to cook well.
Despite death threats from my colleagues I shall divulge my fail safe duck cooking recipe free of charge in the spirit of transparency. But please eat it at the RVL when its on not because I have left out a method or ingredient but because duck is the one meat I reckon I cook better than most else in my repetoire, not blowing my own trumpet BUT a fact that a noted food journalist observed when he boldly said that only the Chinese can cook duck properly but he thought Cumper was not a traditional Chinese name!
Ingredients
1.8kg duck (it costs me about $14 to $18 whole but frozen)
3 cloves garlic
Some thyme, rosemary or oregano
Sea salt & black pepper
Water or white wine or chicken stock
Olive oil.
Method
Take a deep roasting pan tight enough to fit one duck snugly.
Make sure duck is dry before rubbing in salt & pepper into duck skin. Scatter with smashed cloves of garlic & torn herbs & drizzle olive oil over the lot.
Roast in pre-heated oven (180C) until skin is golden.
Here’s the tricky bit. Add enough stock/water/wine to half cover the duck, that’s, err, half way?
Seal as tightly as you can with silver foil, careful not to get any tears or breaks. You want an impervious seal to ‘steam’ the contents.
Reduce the heat to 160C & cook for two hours.
Let cool completely, in fact let go cold in fridge.
Then remove the thick layer of fat & reserve (good for cooking spuds) & you’ll be left with a gelatinous liquid tasting of pure duck essence, ideal for a light but deep flavoured sauce.
Carefully remove the duck & portion into your required amounts, the meat will all be the same ‘falling off the bone’ texture.
To re-heat simply place in a pre-heated oven at 180C until warm & skin is crisp & serve with whatever you fancy.
So you see, don’t be afraid of duck, its not that hard & I hope many more people take the time to have ago at it. I know that it will a long time before it replaces the humble & oft maligned chook as our bird of preference but I also hope it never becomes so abused as well.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
Signs of concentration
When I am deep in concentration I tend to furrow my brow, breath heavily & stick my tongue out of the corner of my mouth. You can observe this when I am cooking in service, when I play scrabble, the guitar, read the papers or anything actually that requires me to focus on a task.
Many laughs have been attributed to the stories of the faces that people pull, particularly blokes, when they are shagging & I suppose the above description could be appropriate to me but luckily for you, I won’t go there.
I’m sure we all have our concentration faces that we pull or some idiosyncrasies that we display when we are attuned to a task.
Being an avid people watcher, I have come up with a few & perhaps they might translate to behaviour you have witnessed at home or in your place of work.
‘The Thousand bag starer’-aptly named as it’s the face people most acquire when they first recover from the shock of having to peel numerous 25kg bags of spuds before glazing over into slack jawed blank expression.
‘The Claw’-named so because when a person is using a one handed implement, say a wooden spoon to stir a pot, the other hand not being used often curls up resembling someone with a crippled arthritic condition. It’s as if the other hand doesn’t know what to do with itself.
‘The Tongue poker’-Someone who pulls this face(me) often leaves the casual observer to decide that they are doing a Quasimodo impersonation especially combined with ‘the Wincer’-see next
‘The Wincer’-usually is reserved for one eye only but occasionally, if you are lucky, you’ll witness a two eyed wincer. Their pained look can be alarming & you must resist the urge to ask them if they need some Anusol from the chemist or something, but they are OK, just concentrating.
‘The Pen or object sucker’-If you are like me & the sight of a gnawed biro end causes a mild gag reflex, keep all your biros, rulers & such in your pockets at all times.
‘The Tapper’-Whilst absorbed, the tapper will being a mostly rhythmic pattern of tapping any surface usually with their digits but sometimes even more annoyingly with a biro or a wooden spoon. Occasionally it will rise to a crescendo of Gene Krupa-like mania-god help you.
'The Sigher'-waits until everyone is deeply focused on a task & all are studiously quiet before they let out an irritatingly loud sigh, which seems to say, ‘This is so boring’, breaking everyone else’s concentration.
‘The Scratcher or Nervous Twitcher’-These are alarming because as they get deeper & deeper into a task, they often begin to scratch ferociously or twitch sporadically which can be quite unsettling, especially if you are close proximity.
Finally there’s ‘The Singer & The Mumbler’ or their lesser cousin ‘The Whistler’- Nothing is more annoying than having ‘The Singer’ impregnate your mind with an infuriating song that you cannot get rid of.
My personal fave though is ‘The Claw’, look out for it next time when you watch someone cook!
Many laughs have been attributed to the stories of the faces that people pull, particularly blokes, when they are shagging & I suppose the above description could be appropriate to me but luckily for you, I won’t go there.
I’m sure we all have our concentration faces that we pull or some idiosyncrasies that we display when we are attuned to a task.
Being an avid people watcher, I have come up with a few & perhaps they might translate to behaviour you have witnessed at home or in your place of work.
‘The Thousand bag starer’-aptly named as it’s the face people most acquire when they first recover from the shock of having to peel numerous 25kg bags of spuds before glazing over into slack jawed blank expression.
‘The Claw’-named so because when a person is using a one handed implement, say a wooden spoon to stir a pot, the other hand not being used often curls up resembling someone with a crippled arthritic condition. It’s as if the other hand doesn’t know what to do with itself.
‘The Tongue poker’-Someone who pulls this face(me) often leaves the casual observer to decide that they are doing a Quasimodo impersonation especially combined with ‘the Wincer’-see next
‘The Wincer’-usually is reserved for one eye only but occasionally, if you are lucky, you’ll witness a two eyed wincer. Their pained look can be alarming & you must resist the urge to ask them if they need some Anusol from the chemist or something, but they are OK, just concentrating.
‘The Pen or object sucker’-If you are like me & the sight of a gnawed biro end causes a mild gag reflex, keep all your biros, rulers & such in your pockets at all times.
‘The Tapper’-Whilst absorbed, the tapper will being a mostly rhythmic pattern of tapping any surface usually with their digits but sometimes even more annoyingly with a biro or a wooden spoon. Occasionally it will rise to a crescendo of Gene Krupa-like mania-god help you.
'The Sigher'-waits until everyone is deeply focused on a task & all are studiously quiet before they let out an irritatingly loud sigh, which seems to say, ‘This is so boring’, breaking everyone else’s concentration.
‘The Scratcher or Nervous Twitcher’-These are alarming because as they get deeper & deeper into a task, they often begin to scratch ferociously or twitch sporadically which can be quite unsettling, especially if you are close proximity.
Finally there’s ‘The Singer & The Mumbler’ or their lesser cousin ‘The Whistler’- Nothing is more annoying than having ‘The Singer’ impregnate your mind with an infuriating song that you cannot get rid of.
My personal fave though is ‘The Claw’, look out for it next time when you watch someone cook!
Friday, May 01, 2009
Two seasons on one page
The cold crept up all of a sudden whilst we were still clinging to shorts & daylight saving
Barbie’s were left un-cleaned from their last firing, their bottles perilously close to empty & the scraps of greasy carbon fouling the clean lines of the grill, like burnt treble clefs.
The last of the tomatoes huddle overlooked & unpicked as we collectively sleep, unaware of their dying screams during the midnights frosts.
‘We were just following the Seasons Orders’, we say, to our questioning conscience at the sight of their shriveled remains the next morning.
Foods sparkling with the primary colours of summer, twinkling like jewels with the golden slick of olive oil & the sun, are swept into the folds of the Long Coat of Autumn. Winter’s somber, wet-nurse.
Diets valiantly still cling to the remains of the diminishing sun like immigrants to a new country, creating ghettos of resistance to the inevitable change.
Menus also reflect this malady of resistance, though in their case its delusion & ignorance from chefs which are to blame rather than the more understandable fondness for the Old Country.
By May there should be no excuse for Ratatouille, anywhere in the Southern hemisphere.
Hopefully by June we will have welcomed Mr. Secondary-Cut, Ms Bean & Mrs. Pulse to our hearths, all ruddy faced & jolly with the frivolity of the annual get together.
Though the time is festive, the serious threat of starvation lingers, looming ever present.
Let us not forget, they are here to fatten our bellies, to stick to our ribs & for us to gorge.
It’s the way of the world, some must be sacrificed in order for many to live, and the chant resonates as the knife slashes, the liquid boils & the fat sizzles.
Middles broaden; flab blossoms & bellies protrude like tragic sunflowers drooping, pregnant with indulgence.
Bloated & dizzy from this suffocating, stuffy & predominately indoorsy subsistence the promise of the detox of Spring cannot come quickly enough.
Barbie’s were left un-cleaned from their last firing, their bottles perilously close to empty & the scraps of greasy carbon fouling the clean lines of the grill, like burnt treble clefs.
The last of the tomatoes huddle overlooked & unpicked as we collectively sleep, unaware of their dying screams during the midnights frosts.
‘We were just following the Seasons Orders’, we say, to our questioning conscience at the sight of their shriveled remains the next morning.
Foods sparkling with the primary colours of summer, twinkling like jewels with the golden slick of olive oil & the sun, are swept into the folds of the Long Coat of Autumn. Winter’s somber, wet-nurse.
Diets valiantly still cling to the remains of the diminishing sun like immigrants to a new country, creating ghettos of resistance to the inevitable change.
Menus also reflect this malady of resistance, though in their case its delusion & ignorance from chefs which are to blame rather than the more understandable fondness for the Old Country.
By May there should be no excuse for Ratatouille, anywhere in the Southern hemisphere.
Hopefully by June we will have welcomed Mr. Secondary-Cut, Ms Bean & Mrs. Pulse to our hearths, all ruddy faced & jolly with the frivolity of the annual get together.
Though the time is festive, the serious threat of starvation lingers, looming ever present.
Let us not forget, they are here to fatten our bellies, to stick to our ribs & for us to gorge.
It’s the way of the world, some must be sacrificed in order for many to live, and the chant resonates as the knife slashes, the liquid boils & the fat sizzles.
Middles broaden; flab blossoms & bellies protrude like tragic sunflowers drooping, pregnant with indulgence.
Bloated & dizzy from this suffocating, stuffy & predominately indoorsy subsistence the promise of the detox of Spring cannot come quickly enough.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)