On Steak

After Tuesday's steak fiasco, I thought it best I give grilling another go. I feel fairly certain I won't ever be working the line at a steakhouse, but you never know. And knowing how to cook a steak without killing someone is a skill that might come in handy someday. And let me tell you that as stress-inducing as class has been that is how relaxing "studying" is. Cooking for and with people, I think, will always be one of my favorite things. It's right up there with sleeping and drinking wine. And thankfully, I have a number of friends ready to help me study for culinary school.

With two big ribeyes from Wohlner's wrapped up in my fridge, I called on Liz and Sean to come to the rescue and help me eat the meat. I like steak. A good steak is simple; it consistes of a nice cut, salt, pepper and a little bit of oil and yet the end product is complex in flavor. Even considering this, I am not a big fan of steak. First of all, there's just always something else I'd rather eat. Like vegegtables. For me, meat alone is lifeless, but served alongside sauteed or braised vegetables and you've got something.

Because I don't currently have a grill (a travesty, I know), I had pan sear the steaks to medium rare, which involves heating a sauce pan (or sauteuse, as I now snobbily know) until scorching in a 500-degree oven, searing the seasoned and oiled steaks for 30 seconds on each side before popping it the 500-degree oven to cook for 2 minutes on each side. My steaks were pretty thick, and this didn't quite do the trick. But this time I recognized that they were still raw and threw them back in the oven for a bit. They came out tender and juicy and, as you can see below, medium rare.

I served them with a side of creamed spinach that Chef O'Donnell apparently pilfered from some famous steakhouse in New York. The spinach was more the sort of thing that you dip tortilla chips in, which also meant it was really hard to stop eating. As I was stirring together the concoction of wilted spinach, cream cheese and yogurt (instead of sour cream) I decided the dish was missing some toasted pine nuts. I was right. Topped with parmesan cheese and scattered with pine nuts, the spinach seemed more like an American version of Florentine classics verses the spinach and artichoke dip one gets at a bar and grill.

Even better than the cooking was the eating and wine drinking. Liz, Sean and I made quite the ruckus going on about boys and girls and love and whatever other topics one covers after a satisfying meal. All these things, the prep, the cooking, the serving and revelry-making, that is most definitely why I come to the table night after night.

Epic Fail

Culinary Foundations causes me a fair amount of anxiety. The night before class I was up ironing my uniform, double checking my supplies and going through my already-completed homework to see if I missed anything. Same story when I was walking out the door. Turns out the thing I forgot wasn't my homework or any part of my uniform, it was the day's recipes.

I expect even more anxiety before next week's class because this week was a complete and total disaster. The assistant chef described it pretty accurately as a clusterf***. Thankfully, it wasn't just me. Only two people in the class of 15 actually wrote down notes for the four recipes we were responsible for reproducing today. Chef Tim demonstrated Pommes Anna, a classic dish of sliced and crispy potatoes, and then set us lose on Pommes Duchesse, twice baked potatoes and a creamy baked spinach dish and that's not even considering the steaks. I jumped in a group of very capable boys whose names I didn't have time to catch until the end of class because we were running around boiling water, sauteing onions and making a general mess of things for the next five hours.

Our Pommes Anna did not fall out of the cast iron skillet in a lovely floral pattern the way they were supposed to. Our twice-baked potatoes didn't even get baked once, and while the spinach and Pommes Duchesse looked alright, they were completely lacking in all flavor. What had come of the cheese, the salt and the pepper? The steaks were the only things that turned out--all completely thanks to the boys who were practically running each other over to get away from the potatoes and onto the grill.

But, but, through a miscommunique, we only plated one serving of steak, potatoes and spinach. We got to the tasting and the chef looked at our empty places and sent me and two of the guys from my group back to the grill. There were exactly three steaks left in the fridge, which we haphazardly grilled. My first presentation to the chef was a completely raw but carmelized New York strip with perfect grill marks--the only good thing about it. I had tested the temperature of the meat on the grill and it registered improperly as much much much hotter than it actually was. I sat at the grill turning and poking and sighing until I was the last one there with my medium rare steak serving the chef who said he would take it even though it was undercooked. I thought for more than a few moments toward that I might cry. I coped by imagining lying my head on the steering wheel of my car and heeving heavy tears, thinking quite poorly of my skills and wondering what in the hell I was thinking going to culinary school. This is nothing like cooking in my own kitchen. It's frenetic and nothing I make tastes good. But by the time we had finished cleaning, the moment had passed. It was a "there's no crying in baseball" moment. There's no crying in the commercial kitchen. There's certainly plenty of reasons to cry--I made the worst steak ever, that cow died to make nothing delicious--but that's just it, there's just no crying.

If I were 22-year-old Lainey, I would be having a complete existential crisis at the moment. But somewhere in the past four years, I stopped flipping out as if the world were coming to an end and I just reimagine the world--probably as it will never be. I live a lot in my head. Obviously, I will not be working at a steakhouse. I don't know exactly where I'll be, hopefully, it will be in at a home writing about food and people. Or maybe it will be a nice, happy, open kitchen that serves caprese salads and cheese plates with mini gherkins alongside house wine. My sister, serendipidously, sent me a link to this cafe she discovered in London called Look Mum No Hands! It was opened by cyclists who love good food. Allison saved the day, because while I now have the utmost respect for the steakhouse, what I really love is a niche cafe.

And when all else in my mind fails me, I will go to this moment, sitting outside at a street cafe in bustling Madrid sipping this exact coffee.

Even with all the people running around in the street, that is such a quiet memory for me.

Lessons in Flipping

"Studying" for class, and you might guess, involves a fair amount of eating. I'm still working on egg mastery, and as you can see based on the picture below, I have not perfected the art of flipping an egg.

Chef Tim made it look so easy, just sliding the egg out of the pan, coaxing it into a gymnastic manuever and setting it down gently and unbroken to cook on the opposite side. In class, he instructed one of my lab partners to flip his egg right after his perfect dismount--and she nailed it. She passed the egg and pan off to the next person who flipped it right onto the floor. Back at our work stations, I tried my hand at flipping to a small audience of four and managed to toss only half the yolk on the floor. It's apparently all in the wrist.

Sunday afternoon, I gave it another go with what seemed like perfectly good eggs. However, there must have been something wrong with them because all they did was this:

And then this:

No self-respecting egg would ever act in this manner, falling apart and slopping all over the place. Whatever is the world coming to? No matter. They still tasted good even if they would have failed me out of class.

Chef Tim said of fried eggs, "It's a basic skill, but could you call yourself a chef if you couldn't even flip an egg?"

Botulism Is Bad

As I was reading through the first assigned chapter out of the text for my culinary foundations course, I realized how lucky I am to be alive. Though that luck may run out once I eat these canned tomatoes because I'll probably get botulism from bacteria toxins. My home kitchen is a hotbed for mold, bacteria and viruses ready to wreak havoc on my intestinal tract.

Canning tomatoes was probably the most sanitary thing I've done in my kitchen. I sterilized the jars and lids in hot water for probably 30 minutes. I added extra lemon juice to add extra acid the pot of already acidic stewed tomatoes, which was actually closer to the consistency of tomato soup--this is what happens without a recipe. The tomato slop went into the sterile jars. Lids on, the jars went into a vat of boiling water for 15 minutes, which I now know far surpasses the minimum temperature required to kill bacteria in vegetables. Still, I doubt Chef O'Donnell would eat my tomatoes, and that man knows what he is doing.

I was a hot mess the first day of class. Thanks to my own idiocy, I thought classes started on Wednesday. Why would they start on Wednesday when it would make more sense to start the day after Labor Day? Right, they wouldn't. Katy saved me from missing the first class and getting kicked out for that reason. Maggie saved me from getting kicked out from not having a uniform. I showed up the first day, and everyone was wearing the proper chef coat, chef pants, skull cap and apron. I had just the coat donated from Maggie's brother. Like I said, hot mess. The chef docked me a few points and tossed me a hair net. 

The lesson of day one at culinary school could be summed up as "forget just about everything you knew about cooking because it was at least off if not totally wrong." You think you know how to make scrambled eggs properly until you've tried Chef O'Donnell's eggs. I am not exaggerating when I saw that they were mind blowing, at least for me. It was so simple. Hot pan, add a teaspoon of canola oil, whisk two eggs until they are completely homogenous (and I mean no unblended egg whites), add the eggs to the hot oil, let sit for just a moment, scrape ever so gently with the corner of a spatula, season lightly with salt while still scraping, just before it becomes completely solid, remove from heat and toss in about a teaspoon of butter, fold it in. Pour the eggs from the hot pan and serve.

These eggs were creamy, just barely salty, and as one student noted, tasted a little cheesy. But after my bite was gone, a flood of sweetness washed over my entire mouth. The eggs delivered even after they were gone. Yes, these were eggs that someone would pay for, but now I don't have to because I can do it too.

Back from Peru

I'm back. After quite the hiatis: a week in Peru, five days in Minnesota's Boundary Waters and a week of finishing up things at Home & Away and getting ready for school and a part-time job. I do not feel prepared at all, but classes will not wait. Life pushes me on, and Culinary Foundations is tomorrow from 8 a.m. until 4 p.m. I'm still breathing and actually not that stressed.

My two-week vacation was amazing. I couldn't stop staring at the mountains in Peru. I even got to hike up one of them. The people were fantastic, especially in the little Andean villages. And the food, lord the food. The Incans are apparently the source of everything good and tasty in the world--so said our overly proud guide. I don't disagree when it comes to ceviche, savory sauces and quinoa. I've had quinoa a couple times before, but this trip to Peru put the wholesome grain on my short list. This recipe is directly inspired by some quinoa salads that we were served--and I made it without a recipe.

I just love the texture of that quinoa--it's soft like rice but has this barely-detectable crunch to it. And here's the big draw: It's the only complete source of protein in the natural world that does not come from meat. Take note all you vegetarian friends. Supposedly, you could live on quinoa alone--plus it's a really fun word to say. This salad barely made it to a Labor Day party--my friend Liz and I could have downed the entire thing without a little self control.

Peruvian Quinoa Salad:

1 cup quinoa

2 cups water

olive oil

2 garlic cloves

olive oil

salt and pepper

1 large tomato

1 bunch of cilantro

juice from 1/2 a lemon

Cook the quinoa according to directions in salted water. One cup of dry quinoa makes about four cups cooked. It cooks like rice, so you don't have to drain it.

Place cooked quinoa in a serving bowl. In a saute pan, heat olive oil. Cook diced garlic for a couple minutes until lightly golden brown. Pour over quinoa. Dice Tomato and cilantro. Toss with the grain. Season with lemon juice, salt and pepper.

Another Adventure

I'm writing this night before setting off on the last big adventure with Home & Away. I'm really going out with a bang here: Tomorrow I fly to Lima, Peru, to see Macchu Pichu and the Sacred Valley. Who gets that in life? Not many. And I choose to leave it all. I quit my job earlier last week to go to culinary school full time in September. It's scary, even scarier writing it. Now it's out there to be judged by all these people. I love cooking. I love writing. I've done the writing; I still want to do the writing. I still will for The Reader.

Talking to friend, I worried today that I might be one of those people who can't be pleased. I hope not. I feel more content with me, myself than ever before. I want to take a crack at it though, the bakery/pastry thing. I want to add to what I already know. More than what I know in my head, I want to add to what I know in my hands. It's scary. I could mess up. I could hate it. I might never get health insurance ever again. But I don't think so. Nothing gets me excited like cooking.

New Music

I've been working on a new mix of music for at least a month or so. Here it is.


1. We're Going to Be Friends by the White Stripes
2. I Still Remember by Bloc Party
3. California by Rogue Wave
4. Wash Away by Matt Costa
5. Maps by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs
6. Islands by the Xx
7. Is This It by the Strokes
8. Too Afraid to Love You by the Black Keys
9. Peach, Plum, Pear by Joanna Newsom

Outstanding in the Field Iowa

July 27, I had the chance to head to this thing called Outstanding in the Field, which is a farm-to-table meal held in Waukee, Iowa, to cover the event for The Reader. You can check out the full story here, I just had some extra images that I wanted to share.

It is sort of funny to think about people paying to go eat dinner in the middle of July at a farm. People traveled from all over just to attend this meal. There were folks at my table from nearby Des Moines and West Des Moines, Iowa City, and Orange City, Iowa. Then there was me, from Omaha (and a few others who wisely got a hotel and stayed the night), some ladies from South Dakota and people from Minnesota. I drove two hours to eat dinner on a farm, y'all. That's something I'm sure Nebraska farmers would balk at, but there it is and it was really a beautiful event.

The food (four courses plus hors d'oeuvres) all came from local farms and was cooked by a local chef Andrew Meek of Sbrocco. Wine was provided by Calcereous Vineyard in Paso Robles, Calif. Below is the first courses: a salad of tomatoes and melons served with basil and a citrus-honey vinagrette.

Second course was Mediterranean vegetables (zucchini, tomatoes, fennel, eggplant) with roast lamb and bagna cauda. I don't know exactly what it was, maybe the skin, but there was this cripsy, bacon-like meat that I was just making love to on the table. This courses was by far my favorite. The lamb was so tender. I loved the addition of the fennel just slathered in salty olive oil.

Meals were served family style, which was nice because I went alone and made friends with my table, particularly Madison and her mom Marilyn. In this photo, there's a good shot of the rainbow Swiss chard growing in the background.

Marilyn took this photo and emailed it to me that night (very nice!). I like it even though my attention is immediatly drawn to my teeth--holy crap, you can see all my gums. But I'm obviously having such a great time, who cares what I look like.

Slop

I suppose it's usually a good thing when I don't have enough time to put up another post. I've probably been keeping myself busy on purpose because my roommate is in and out and my parents are out of town, so it's just me and the dog in the apartment exactly one year after our scary break in. I just don't want to deal with lonely right now, so I'm making myself so busy I can barely think. I never thought I would ever get to this point and especially not after a year, but I'm actually glad the break in happened even though the whole ordeal was awful. Meg and I did end up very lucky in the first place; I doubt I'd be singing the same tune if things had been more traumatic. And I finally learned something about justice and mercy that I don't think I would have.

This time around, I've been having a lot of summer fun with friends cooking, swimming, going to concerts and whatnot. This meal, which I shall title chickpea-bacon slop, was just a bunch of stuff I had lying around that ended up being quite good together. I am quite the lucky genius you know, just tossing a bunch of plump-sweet corn and garbanzo beans in a pan. I wish the things worked out this weel every time I try this. The chili smoked things up a bit for the plain old corn-and-garbanzo combo. And then who could live without bacon and cheese? The choice was obvious.

Chickpea-bacon Slop:

olive oil

lime juice

2 ears of corn

1 15-ounce can chickpeas

1 clove garlic, minced

3 spring onions, chopped

2 teaspoons chili powder

salt and pepper

bunch of fresh cilantro

grated parmesan cheese

bacon, cooked and crumbled

Heat olive oil in a pan until it's warm. Add the garlic and onion and saute for a minutes until they have tanned slightly. Break the corn cobs in half and add them to the pot. Drain and rinse the chickpeas, toss them in as well. Season well with salt, pepper and chili powder, turning the corn so it cooks all the way around. Once the garbanzo beans have split, transfer to a serving bowl. Squeeze the lime juice over the top, sprinkle with parm, chopped cilantro and bacon. Serves two nicely.

Family Dinner

Midway through a droll Tuesday, I got word that a friend was back in town after a month's hiatus from the steamy Nebraska summer. Small dinner plans grew to incorporate seven people and lots of pretty vegetables. I don't think anyone saw these eggplants before they became the brilliant mush that is ratatouille.

I pulled these carrots myself from my mom's garden. I must say, it was intensely gratifying even though I did nothing to care for these miniscule carrots before they went into the pot. I even improvised a tomato-cucumber-feta cheese salad that was by far the best use of backyard cucumbers yet.