Chef J. Looney

Stage (pronunciation rhymes with Taj, not age) is an audition for a job in the kitchen. You want to work in a particular restaurant? you go there, work from the time the chef says “GO!” until he decides he’s done with you. You do this for free, and you pray to the culinary god’s to smile on you and keep you from doing/saying something stupid. It’s an experience like no other, and something anyone outside of the culinary world may never understand. Notwithstanding, this pretty much sums it up:

You’re about to explode. There’s too far too much blood and oxygen coursing through your veins, and your eyes your pupils are so dialated that they would catch the attention of any police officer you came across. You just finished your stage, and it went so beautifully that you’re too wound up to eat, or drink, or even talk about it. This is one of those perfectly fleeting moments, so you just sit there on the bus, missing your stop, so you can soak it all up. You start Tuesday as the new fish cook. Unless:

You blew it. It seemed like your stage was going ok, but right around the end of the first turn the sous told you that you could take off. You considered protesting, but instead you decided to change, have a smoke and get a bite to eat. Sitting down at the bar, you order your food and a drink, and sometime later the chef tells you that you’re welcome back anytime…but no job is discussed. And you dont ask about one. Your stage is over, and you wasted it. So how did this happen?

Prep:
You went into the restaurant between lunch and dinner service dressed appropriately, resume and knives in hand. For a week you’ve been reading the menu on-line, and bringing yourself up to speed on the background of the chef and the restaurant itself. After your chat with the chef, you let him know that you’re ready to stage that evening if he would like. He tells you to come back Friday instead. On Friday you show up early, smiling and introducing yourself to any staff that you come across. You take your knives and a spoon out of your kit that you slimmed down a bit, and settle in with any prep work that they’ll give you–herb picking, cutting bread, citrus supremes. You work quietly and cleanly, with eyes and ears open so you dont miss a thing. Unless:

You drop into the restaurant as you walk by, and approach the chef who is expediting a fairly busy lunch service. He doesn’t have time to talk to you right now, but tells you to come back that evening at 4 for a stage. You tell him that you have tickets to a show, but could you come in tomorrow? He asks for a resume. You dont have it with you. When you do show up for your stage, the chef asks you why you want to work in his restaurant; what is it about this place, this food, that turns you on? You stumble through some bullshit answers. He smirks at you. Unpacking your kit you pull out 6 knives, a spatula, tongs, and a handful of spoons. The sous steps in next to you.
“Um. What’s all that shit for?”
Working through your prep, you dont shut up–about your last job, your opinions on how things should be done, and who you think should win top chef. No one really responds to you, but you go on anyways.

Service:
The chef had told you that he needed a fish cook, so this is the station that you stick with through prep, line-up, and into service. During line up you politely ask if you can taste mise, and as you taste dishes you take notes, and try to memorize the station set-up. Just before service you sweep the station and wipe down everything for the cook. You ask the chef if he wants you anywhere else during service, but he says no. During service you pull plates, and garnish, but generally try to stay out of the way and observe. Eventually the pace starts to build a bit, and the cook catches your eye.
“Alright. We’re going on 7 fish and 6 scallops. We’ll go together, ok? You take the scallop dish.”
An hour later you’re cooking all of the proteins on your own, with the fish cook plating and garnishing for you. When the sous asks how it’s all going for you, you tell him you love it, and want to close the station that night. There will be no end of shift meal or drink for you. Just a cold family meal, a watery iced tea, and a nod of approval from the brigade. Unless:

You bounce around the kitchen getting all up in everyones shit, but not really absorbing anything. You taste without asking, and more than once you criticize the food. During one of your rants about how you used to do it at your last job, the grill cook catches looks at you and growls “Well that’s so fucking interesting.” Most of your evening is spent leaning against the ice machine, and when you do step in, you’re so fucking slow wiping plates and garnishing that the sous knocks the chervil out of your hand and shouts “JUST FUCKING SEND IT!” You cook zero orders, and when you sit down to eat at the bar, you order an expensive cocktail, and dont tip. You. Fucking. Blew. It.

There is nothing like a stage in any other field of work. Sure, athletes have tryouts, and actors have auditions. A stage is both. It lasts many hours, is physically and mentally draining, and everyone is already expecting you to fail before you even begin. It’s the culinary equivalent of getting jumped into a gang. You get one chance to get it right, and being thrust into an unfamiliar, borderline hostile environment guarantees that if you don’t fail outright, you are at very least probably going to make a stupid mistake.

And at the end of your stage, it’s all of this pressure that makes succeeding all the more sweet. To have cooked well, and won over the cooks that let you into their home is a special thing. It’s a re-affirming rite of passage, and a fleeting feeling you only get to enjoy every once in a while. Don’t let your stage just pass on by.

I’m not really a fan of baked fruit pies, as I don’t rteally dig on mushy fruit. Besides, when you bake a fruit pie, you inherently lose the natural fresh fruitiness, which is what I like about the fruit in the first place. Especially when it comes to peaches. I mean, think about it, would you rather have an overly sweet, sticky, mushy, peach-flavored mess on your plate, or a fresh, cool, crisp pile of peaches just overflowing with sweet-tart peachy goodness?

I thought so. So here’s my recipe for the latter. Enjoy.

Fresh Peach Pie

Crust
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup shortening
1/2 cup water

Preheat oven to 350°.
In a large bowl, combine flour and salt. Cut in shortening until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Stir in water until mixture forms a ball. Divide dough in half, and shape into balls. Wrap in plastic, and refrigerate for 4 hours or overnight.
Roll out dough on a floured counter. Don’t over work it. place it in the pie dish, and then cover with baking parchment. Fill the parchment with rice, beans, or baking weights. Bake for 20 minutes, then let the crust cool completely.

 Filling (the good stuff)
8 lg. peaches
1 c. sugar
1 c. water
3 tbsp. cornstarch
Salt
Pinch of nutmeg
1 tsp. butter
1 tsp. vanilla

Peel all the peaches and slice them thinly.

Blend 1 cup of peaches into a puree, reserve the rest.

Mix the sugar and the cornstarch thoroughly together. Cook water, sugar and cornstarch mixture and salt until thickens. Add nutmeg, butter and vanilla. Cool the mixture, then add the peach puree.

Carefully layer the remaining peaches in the pie shell, using a few spoonfuls of the liquid to create a thin glaze between each layer of peaches. once the shell is full, eat the rest of the peaches, and drizzle the remaining liquid over the filled pie crust. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour before serving. Serve with whipped cream if you’re into that sort of thing.

Spain is pretty much surrounded by water on four sides, so consequently, seafood is a pretty big part of their diet. Paella is traditionally made with several different kinds of shellfish and other seafood, and it’s really pretty much open to interpretation, so feel free to add or edit ingredients as you like.

Paella

Ingredients
1 pound tomatoes
9 cups low-sodium chicken broth
3 cups converted rice
20 threads saffron
2 sprigs rosemary, leaves stripped from sprigs
3 teaspoons kosher salt, divided
1 teaspoon smoked sweet paprika
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 pounds bone-in, skin-on, chicken thighs and legs
1 pound shrimp, peeled and deveined
1 pound crab meat
1 red bell pepper, diced
1 green bell pepper, diced
1 yellow bell pepper, diced
1 large spanish onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced

Method
Quarter the tomatoes and run them across a cheese grater over a mixing bowl to scrape off all the flesh. Discard the skins. Set the juice and grated tomato aside.

Heat the stock in a saucepan over medium heat.

In a very large skillet, heat a few tablespoons of olive oil until rippling. Add the chicken and sear both sides, about 5 minutes each side. Move the chicken to the outside edges of the pan and add the onion and garlic. Sautee just until the onions begin to clarify. Add the peppers and sautee a few minutes more. Add the tomatoes and simmer until the tomatoes begin to darken, about 10 minutes. add the rice, saffron, paprika and rosemary, along with 4 cups of the broth and simmer. DO NOT stir the paella again. Add the shrimp and crab, along with another cup of broth, and continue simmering. Add the remaining broth a cup at a time as needed.

Remove from heat, and serve immediately.

I was recently asked what my favorite dessert was. I’m not really sure I have a single favorite, but Crème brûlée is right up near the top of the list – the smooth, rich, creamy custard, the crispy, caramelized sugar shell on top – it just doesn’t get much better.

The truth is, it’s not all that difficult to make, either. I know I’ve always said to adjust recipes to your liking, experiment, don’t be afraid to play a little, etc. DO NOT deviate from this recipe. I promise if you do you won’t be as happy with the recipe.

Crème brûlée

Ingredients
1 quart heavy cream
1 vanilla bean, split and scraped
1 cup sugar, divided
6 large egg yolks

Method

You’ll need four 5-6 inch ramekins and a 9×12 pan.

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F.

Put the cream in a sauce pan over medium heat. While the cream is heating, slice the vanilla bean lengthwise and scrape the seeds out using the back of the knife. As soon as the cream starts to bubble around the edges, add the vanilla bean and the seeds, and simmer for 5 minutes. Remove the cream from the heat, cover tightly with plastic wrap, and let steep for 15-20 minutes.

While the cream is steeping, mix the egg yolks and the sugar in a metal or glass bowl. Whisk them together vigorously until the yolks are a very light yellow. Strain the vanilla bean from the cream, then slowly whisk the cream into the yolks. Place the bowl over a saucepan of gently boiling water, forming a double boiler. Whisk the custard mixture slowly until it thickens, then remove from the heat and pour it through a strainer into the ramekins.

Place the ramekins inside the 9×12 pan and fill it with enough water to come half way up the side of the ramekin, and place it in the oven. Bake for 40-45 minutes, or until the custard is set. You can tell it’s set when it doesn’t jiggle when gently shaken.

Put the ramekins in the refrigerator for at least two hours, and preferably overnight.

Just before serving, put about a tablespoon full of sugar in each ramekin. Using a torch, melt the sugar. This is the easiest part odf the process to screw up, so here’s a few tips:
Spread the sugar in the ramekin as evenly as possible before you start to melt it.
Don’t use one of those tiny “culinary” torches you find at Target and Costco. Go to Home Depot and get a decent propane-fueled torch to use. It’ll caramelize the sugar faster and more evenly.
Make sure you get the sugar good and dark, don’t be afraid to get plenty of color on it.

Once the sugar is caramelized, put the ramekin back in the refrigerator for 5-10 minutes to set the sugar.

Serve with fresh berries, or whatever else you like.

Cuban cuisine? Does Cuba even HAVE cuisine?

Yes indeed, and it’s ridiculously tasty stuff.

Cuban food is influenced largely by Caribbean, African and Spanish flavors, techniques and spices – paprika, cumin, allspice, etc.

One key ingredient in much of Cuba’s cuisine is sofrito. It starts with a base of onions, tomatoes and garlic, but the variations are endless – add peppers, tomatillos, spices…whatever.  The purpose of sofrito is to add several layers of flavor all at once.

And sofrito is great for lots of different dishes. throw some in soups to kick up the flavor, marinate meats in it, it always add flavors to roasts, and is great in chili. This recipe makes about a gallon, and I usually freeze it in 1/2 cup ziploc snack bags for future use.

Sofrito
2 medium Spanish onions, cut into large chunks
3 to 4 Italian frying peppers or cubanelle peppers
8-10 tomatillos
16 to 20 cloves garlic, peeled
1 large bunch cilantro, washed
3 to 4 ripe plum tomatoes, cored and cut into chunks
1 large red bell pepper, cored, seeded and cut into large chunks
1 anaheim chile

Chop the onion and cubanelle or Italian peppers in the work bowl of a food processor until coarsely chopped. With the motor running, add the remaining ingredients one at a time and process until smooth. The sofrito will keep in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. It also freezes beautifully. Freeze sofrito in ½ cup batches in sealable plastic bags. Now, sofrito purists will tell you that is has to be simmered or braised before it’s a true sofrito. I disagree with this entirely. At least the way I use it, it always gets cooked anyway, and why would I braise it just to leave all that flavor in the braising pot? I say throw it together raw, and let it cook and meld flavors in whatever dish you’re making as it cooks.

Now on to the good stuff, the meat!

Ropa Vieja (old clothes)
One 2 ¼ to 2 ½ pound chuck roast or two 1 ¼ pound flank steaks
kosher salt
Freshly ground pepper
Onion powder
3 tablespoons canola oil
½ cup Sofrito
¼ teaspoon ground cumin
Two 8-ounce cans Spanish-style tomato sauce
1 ½ cups water
3 tablespoons coarsely chopped pimiento-stuffed green olives
2 bay leaves
4 celery stalks, with leaves, cut into ¼-inch dice
3 medium carrots, trimmed and cut into ¼-inch dice

Preheat the oven to 350° F.  Season both sides of the beef generously with salt, pepper and onion powder.

Heat the oil in a large, oven-proof, heavy skillet over high heat until rippling. Add the beef and cook it until well browned on both sides, about 10 minutes.

Drain or spoon off most of the fat from the pan. Stir in the sofrito, 2 teaspoons salt, cumin, tomato sauce, water,  olives, and bay leaves. Bring to a boil, cover the dish and bake until the meat pulls apart easily with a fork, about 3 hours. Let stand in the sauce until cool enough to handle.

Shred the meat coarsely by hand or using two forks. Return it to the sauce and add the celery and carrots. Bring to a simmer over low heat and cook until the vegetables are tender, about 10 minutes.  Watch the liquid as it cooks, and add more broth or water as needed.

Tada. Enjoy.

Oh, and if I promised to post a recipe and you don’t see it here, just email me and let me know, I’m, happy to post whatever you like.