Don McLeans classic: 'Abats for a pie'

“Buy buy some abats for a pie
Drove my car to the abattoir but the sign said goodbye
And just when I needed some juicy lambs fry,

And Huon boys just don't care to ask why,
Singing, it’so sad to see this place die,
It’s just so sad to see this place..die”

Oh I should probably explain this post and risk sounding didactic however this great article by Elaine Reeves might explicate a bit better.

The Resume

Menu

Canapes
1982 First year apprentice at the Fox and Top Hat, carvery pub, Warburton, Vic
1986 Completed apprenticeship at Gunther Schnellings, Olinda, Vic

Amuse buche
1987-1990 Commis chef, Ratfinks Pool and Larger Bar, St Kilda
1990-92-Commis chef, The slug and Thimble, Lower Snugly, Shropshire

Entrée
1992-1997 Demi chef de partie, Spreadeagles Hotel, Troon, South Ayrshire, Scotland
1997-2000-Jnr Sous chef, Ciabatta & Sons, Thames wharf, London
2000-2002- Sous chef, Mr Dickies members Club, Soho, London

Main Course
2002-2004 Head chef, Ego Brasserie, (part if the Sir Branston Pickle group) Clerkenwell, Greater London

Palate cleanser
2004-2007 Executive Chef, The Meat Locker, Smithfield, Greater London

Cheese course
2007-2009 Executive Chef, The Chophouse at Crown, Southbank, Melbourne
Regular co-judge of reality TV cooking Show, ‘Cry baby cooks’

Dessert

2009 Consultant at large, various venues, the Anos Group, Melbourne
Petit Fours
2009 to present, co-owner and chef patron of Locale, Red Hill, Victoria

AA Gill does a Lars Von Trier at Sydney Writers festival 2011

Yesterday on Radio National their was a coverage of a panel discussion at the Sydney Writers Festival featuring AA Gill, Anthony Bourdain and was convened by Tony Bilson.



Whist most of it was hilarious, mostly due in part to Tony Bilson not being able to keep up with the rapid fire deliveries of his guests, it strayed momentarily into revealing a shocking truth from Gill.

"I also don't really care if animals suffer, If I'm being perfectly honest, I don't give a shit". "You know, once you've heard one pig scream, the second one's easier".
I was stunned for a moment. Could this be true? Since then the twitterz have confirmed that he did utter this sentiment but I can't confirm the exact words. Here's the original session, Food fighters.

It makes his clever and outrageous observations now take on a sinister sheen. Perhaps he was just doing a Lars Von Trier but sadly I suspect not.

Planktoning-the new craze for whales

Just in: the new craze confounding marine scientists.

These are some incredible images of the latest craze amongst the whale population of 'Planktoning'.

Apparently whales swim with their mouths gaping open to collect as much plankton as possible whilst another whale takes a photo and uploads it to Youtube and Facebook.

We live in strange and interesting times.

Next week: Why we love soup

Here's why chefs are portrayed as tantrum throwers

I watched that Matt Moran clip that went viral the other night. We watch as Matt is seen filming a cooking segment and after the take, a stylists helper clears the scene and disposes of some food which, as far as Matt is concerned was still perfectly good to consume. He then berates the person in front of all the crew and then when someone tries to deflect this tirade, he then rounds on them before storming off set.
We later learn that this was a set up. The message in fact was not to waste food. We had all been Punk’d apparently. This situation was a tad embarrassing for the Sydney Morning Herald who later changed their story when details emerged that the ‘on set meltdown’ was actually a rehearsed play.
Now Mr Moran I believe in his early TV career, think; the Chopping Block, had been spruiked as our very own version of Ramsay. Now this latest outburst, though scripted seems to underpin this comparison. I don’t think this is wise especially for someone who is intent on making in-roads from kitchens to mainstream television.
As clever as this ersatz clip may be, it highlights some ingrained misconceptions about acceptable kitchen behaviour that are very anachronistic in this day and age.
In fact it unwittingly paints Moran as a bit out of step with the times which I'm sure was not its intention.
I recently viewed a few Ramsay clips end to end and was struck at how out of control he was. A few years back his tirades seemed to come from a passionate frustration but with the benefit of a few years they now just look like tantrums. And they are embarrassing to watch, a throwback and hopefully a thing of the past.
Now I’m not suggesting Matt Moran is in danger of any Ramsayesque tragedy but it did strike me as a bit ill advised and potentially damaging to his profile to appear like this.
Having said all this, I think it’s unreasonable to expect people who are angry not to appear angry. People show their emotions, it’s what we do, we are human. I am not excusing bullying or threatening behaviour for a minute but the fact is we are uncomfortable with any displays of anger. Instinctively we are uncomfortable by it even if we are not directly or obviously threatened and I believe not able to cope with its display. Most of us just shut down and retreat into ourselves which does nothing to negate the reason why someone is angry in the first place.
Conversely, in my opinion there’s something coldly and oddly calculating in someone’s ability to remain unmoved by obvious anger, it seems unnatural to me, like an automaton’s response. Give me real emotion every time over some eerie stifling response devoid of any sentiment.
In fact I will go so far as to say that in our quest to shuffle ones true and immediate emotional responses in the workplace under the proverbial carpet we have not addressed the fact that someone has not done their job properly. It has now been replaced by ‘How it was conveyed’. This strategy might fit neatly into the no-threatening patois of workplace relations but it also denudes the gravitas and repercussions of the actual event that started the whole thing. It also makes the person at the centre of the issue not take any responsibility for the situation, kind of like a no fault divorce and this poses the biggest problem for me and strikes at the core of this problem. It would be a whole lot easier if people realise that if they make a mistake, to just own up, take stock and move on.
In a recent blog post, a person tells why they left professional kitchens for good. This person said ‘if I’m doing a good job, praise me and if I’m doing a bad job, get rid of me’. What struck me was that there was no middle ground as far as this person was concerned. The realities are that not all jobs people do are praiseworthy but that doesn't mean they should be sacked.
Just turning up and mashing some potatoes does not in my opinion attract praise. Nor making just OK mashed potatoes is not a sack able offence.
I think the expectations of many people coming into kitchens need to be calibrated. Remember, the demands of meeting repetitive and urgent deadlines have their own peculiar stresses and this is not for everyone. It’s naïve to seek to apportion blame for the pressure exerted upon workers in a busy kitchen environment. Customers order food; they expect to get it reasonably quickly, all of their meal together, cooked as specified on the menu, hot or cold as described and served as cheerily and as professionally as possible. Sure, no lives hang in the balance however keep stuffing this scenario up enough times and stand back and see the repercussions in immediate loss of trade.
The systems in place to ensure this outcome is consistent are there to provide assurances not only to the customer but also for the staff who have to prepare it.
This system isn’t wrong just because one person might not be able to cope with it, in fact it suggests that that person must reconcile that they mist fit into the system or find another vocation. Whoa, I’m not saying all systems are perfect, nor all workplaces effective but those that do demonstrate that their procedures works effectively need not be tarred and feathered by the ones that don’t.
Just because the job was not for you does not always mean the system failed you.

Jamie Oliver-Stone-walled by apathy

I watched Jamie’s Food Revolution for the first time. He was in America and was questioning the amount of flavoured milk that the children in Californian schools were drinking as part of their school meals program. He also demonstrated to a small audience where the meat came from and how it was procured for the same school lunch program. The meat demo and the subsequent sugar content in the milk demo were truly shocking and had the small group aghast, some even in tears.

It seemed to this observer that many consumers are not only living in the dark as to the calorific intake of their foodstuffs and its provenance but the powers that be have made information gathering extremely difficult, as Jamie finds out first hand.

What I found though remarkable was the bit when Jamie finds an independent fast food operator, who agrees to let Jamie go ‘all healthy’ on the menu.

When it becomes apparent that Jamie intends to alter the flavour profile of the dishes the owner steps in and says enough is enough. In my opinion, the owner was very firm in his resolve but not at all unreasonable or rude but Jamie was completely flummoxed. He could not grasp that by altering the content of the meals he might be jeopardising the livelihood of the operator and his family.

For instance, in his attempts to lower the calorific content of in this case a milkshake by substituting ice cream for yoghurt the operator told him it was a delicious ‘Smoothie’ but a milkshake it was not. Oliver, piqued, countered with: as a chef he ‘interpreted’ the milkshake and made it healthier in the process. I found this very illuminating. It’s how a chef, not just Oliver, but any chef is often blinded by their own artistic licence, self-belief and ultimately, it must be said, ego.

I know I’m concentrating on the smaller picture here but I think it helps explain the larger one. If everyone in the world agrees that a milkshake has ice cream and orders it knowingly, then aren’t they making an informed choice? They are responsible for that choice in the same way I think smokers continue to puff away despite the warnings. Pressing further, Jamie asked the operator if he would feed his own family the highly fatty, highly salty food and the reply stunned him momentarily.

Of course I wouldn’t, came the reply.

Jamie looked incredulous that someone could knowingly sell a food product that he knew would, if eaten regularly, contribute to the global epidemic of obesity in the Western world.
In other words, how could someone put their morals on hold for profit?

Welcome to the big bad world.
That operator is not alone in the world of food yet alone zillions of other questionable businesses. I learned a long time ago that most, yes most food businesses take the same approach all under the guise of ‘giving the customer what they want’. Translated: this just means ‘making it as cheap as possible’. However it would be easy to assume this cheapening exercise is all about maximising profits for the business until you understand that the consumer is demanding cheapness, the business is responding to this demand-the profits aren’t necessarily increasing. In fact more upward pressure is mounting on that operator in terms of wages, utilities etc. so in fact their margins are contracting.

Ultimately I think it’s a shocking realisation for any craftsperson/artist/passionate advocate of any discipline to be exposed to the reality that some of their number, their creed can put their morals aside in the quest for money. Whilst I put myself in this category, others might call me naive if I didn’t, if offered a princely sum, start spruiking some ‘Magic Sauce’ or another. Oliver, despite having lucrative contracts with numerous entities somehow has his credibility intact. This might go some way in explaining his energetically zealous crusades to make us look at what we eat. He must really believe that he hasn’t sold out.

Now back to that fast food operator and before you lock your ire on him, think about the response of his customer on camera when Jamie presents a ‘Jamie Burger’ v’s a burger on the usual menu. The punter loves the ‘Jamie Burger’ it’s a no contest and for a moment Oliver allows himself a smug grin. Then the canny operator tells the punter, that the ‘Jamie Burger’ will be twice the price and the patron immediately says he prefers the regular burger. There you have it. That sequence explained to me in twenty seconds why this whole dynamic was so fraught and Jamie was getting very despondent.

I really admire his chutzpah and here’s a bloke using his fame for what I actually believe is the greater good, a rare thing these days. By trying to change the content of fast food he is realizing that people won’t stop eating it so he’ll try to make it healthier. That’s noble, but like all choices in life people will continue to make the wrong ones if they are ill-informed and more sadly, when they are aware of the detrimental health effects.

Goldie-John and the three bears

One upon a time there were three bears. A little bear called Armando, a middle sized bear called Guy and a great big bear called Cheong. All were very busy bears and one morning they decided to leave their gilded cottage whilst their porridge cooled on the window sill. The little bear didn’t wander faraway but the middle bear and the great big bear wandered far afield as their porridge cooled.
The smell of the porridge finally reached the nostrils of Goldie-John and he thought it didn’t smell quite right so he decided to investigate.
Reaching the golden cottage he made his way in and gazed at the three bowls of porridge. He tasted all three and decided that they were not all quite right at all. In fact he was very disappointed. Feeling disgruntled he needed to sit down.
The great big chair felt as though it was very out of place in the cottage. The middle sized chair felt as though no-one had sat in it for quite some time and the little chair, though small, felt over-stuffed. More annoyed, he got up and looked for a place to snooze.
The three bedrooms in the golden cottage looked promising enough but trying all the beds Goldie-John determined that each seemed past its prime and could not find a comfortable place to nap.
So he conveyed his displeasure in a note to the occupants and he left.
The three bears eventually made their way back to their cottage and noticed immediately that someone had been there. They then read the note left behind and each flew into a terrible rage, porridge flew and chairs were broken but eventually calm once again returned to the gilded cottage and life as the bears knew it, returned as normal.
The End

Mr Smelly-Not a Roger Heargreaves character

When I worked in a restaurant that made its money selling fish dinners I would regularly come home smelling like I’d been doused in a fetid bottle of squid sauce that had been left out in the sun. No amount of scrubbing could wrestle the combined odours of cooked seafood from my hands, the hot soapy water lacquering the pong like a putrid decoupage. My nightly fumigations were epic. This was until an old Greek bloke told me to rub my hands with lemon juice, grab a fist full of sugar and start scrubbing. It really works

When you are around food all day it tends to get under your skin. Slice just one onion finely and your hands will be impregnated with its aroma all day.
Some people tend to attract some aromas more than others. I knew a bloke who if ever he touched ground cumin would reek for days of that old stale sweat stench that one can associate with the spice or a locker room at half time.
If I’m spending the day making sweeties in the bakery, my whole body feels like its been coated in a very fine mist of sugar that threatens to crack like cooling caramel if I stand still for too long. I leave the bakery gasping for the chill promise of clean sugarless air and also hoping to stave off type two diabetes.

Conversely, after a full day of slow cooking meats, letting them rest suitably before denuding the flesh from the bones, my hands and arms are regularly slick with the lubricants of collagen and connective tissue. Of course these unique whiffs cling to my body also: The Sweet hay, barn-yardy-ness of pork. The faint Mutton notes in a slow cooked Wether to the funkiness of a young Goat. They all leave the same meaty calling card that has our dog Nelly going ape-shit when I arrive home from work, her olfactory sense in hyper-drive. Reminds me of the joke about the friendless little boy whose Mum ties a chop round his neck just so the dog would play with him. For the record, I have friends!
But as yet I have not been guided by the wisdom of any more elderly Aroma-Shamans out there as to ridding myself of this particular fleshy haze so if you’re out there please make yourselves known.

Whilst I'm on restaurant smells, that old chestnut ‘If the smells coming out of the kitchen are good, grab a table’ ring very true nearly all of the time. There’s nothing worse that smelling the rancid oil from the deepfryer before you’ve stepped into the establishment. Once I was served some steamed wontons which I could detect before they left the kitchen and I preyed they weren’t intended for me. Before I knew it they were plonked in front of me and the bamboo basket lid was removed with an expanding cloud of noxious steam hitting me like a full jar of Vicks VaporRub in a hot water bowl with a tea towel over my head-except this almost made me chunder.

There was this one time I had all the kitchen staff beg me to say something to the kitchen hand whose BO was so bad no one would go near him, including me. It was a delicate situation that called for the most polished of diplomatic skills. As I neared him though my resolve crumbled as quickly as my oxygen dissipated and desperate for air I just blurted out, 'It's Tuesday mate, change clothes and wash day', before I staggered outside.

In my opinion all these smells, though overwhelming at times, are nothing compared to the stench of cigarette smoke that kitchen staff leave in their foul wake after inhaling a coffin nail in a desperate break amongst the grandeur of the restaurant bin area. What might be even more un pleasurable though, is being served by a waiter who has just jettisoned a ciggie into the outside gutter before grabbing your intended entrees and serving your table. Is there a worse clutching reek than ciggies?

Enough of me sounding like an insufferable ex-smoker, what about garlic breath? That’s a toughie because garlic is so damn tasty but eating too much of it can make you as lonely as a halitosis sufferer at a speed dating event. Actually that’s unfair, they have more luck than the garlic afflicted. Ok, on breath. Have you ever walked past a group of people gorging on fried or steamed dim sims? I have. It’s gag-worthy, especially if you have the misfortune to direct a question to the group and they all answer at the same time. Hello overcooked cabbage.
Anyways until NASA or someone in a suburban shed invents a gum or lolly that vaporizes unwanted mouth stench, it’s up those trusty XXXX mints and before I take my garlic and sausage laden pizza home I always make sure I’ve got a pack handy next to the sauce bottle in the glove box of the Ute.

What it takes to win

She podded the peas she had just picked. In a heavy pan, she bought a knob of butter to foaming before tossing in some crushed garlic and some fine slices of home cured bacon from her larder. The peas were then blanched in a pot of boiling salted water before being drained and added to the sizzling bacon. Deftly, she cracked two fresh eggs into the pan and gathered the mix together gently with a gnarled wooded spoon. She then added a handful of roughly chopped parsley, stirred in a crunch of fresh black pepper and carefully spooned the just set mix over some buttered sourdough bread.

She was eliminated.

He started the first layer of his twenty layer chocolate cake when in the queue at the specialty provedore waiting to purchase an allocation of the most expensive chocolate on the planet. Each layer was unique and took all day to make, assemble and decorate. One completed it was mounted on a small box with pyrotechnic facilities that would issue a burst of flames as each portion is sliced. Meanwhile a mechanised pulled-sugar angel on a swing will gently sway to and fro as the cake is portioned. Finally, as the cake is served, a small holographic projector illuminates the wall with a home-movie of the cake maker, as a toddler, mucking about in the home kitchen to the delight of his parents.

The judges were in tears.

He got through to the next round.