Kupros Bistro - Sacramento, CA

I've been to Kupros several times.  Many times.

Okay, I'm a bit of a regular.  Semi-regular, but a regular nonetheless.  I've become a familiar with a couple of the waitresses and bartenders, and those I've become familiar with know my name.  I've had many beers and sampled much of the food.

And in the time I've been going to Kupros my opinion hasn't really changed, but, in fact, has become reinforced by multiple visits.

I really, really like the place, but it's actually just a pretty good place to visit.

Let's start with the service.  It's the first thing you notice when you walk in and take a seat at the bar.  When a bar is busy, you don't expect to be acknowledged right away.  You need to wait until the bartender gets to you.  It's the nature of a busy bar.  But when a bar isn't busy, when there are plenty of open seats, you - I - expect to be acknowledged, either with a, "Be right with you," or a nod, or... something.

Customer acknowledgement is iffy at Kupros.  Some of the bartenders will acknowledge you.  Especially if they know you.  Other times, you can sit down at an empty bar but you'll be waiting five to ten minutes while the bartender is off in their own world.  Possibly at the cash register.  Okay, he/she is working.  Or they're talking to another co-worker.  Okay, he/she is wor- oh, nope, they're laughing and just hanging out.  I've found it's not a big deal; when you go to a bar, you're there to relax, so there's no rush to have someone come and serve you, but I do find it odd that when the bar is near empty the service isn't more immediate.

Now, despite the deficiency in greeting, the service itself - the actual service - is very, very friendly.  Most of the people I've met there are really nice, make conversation, and make you feel welcome once they've acknowledged you.  When there's time, expect to make small talk with one of the bartenders or a server that is in between tables.  When I'm there, I don't feel like I'm just another number out for alcohol.  I feel relaxed, invited, and befriended.  It can be hard to just leave after paying the tab without saying goodbye and thank you to the person who has served you.

The service is befitting the environment, because it really is a good-looking house. Literally.  It's a house that's been beautifully remodeled.  It really is a comfortable place to go and have a drink and a bite to eat.  It's replete with semi-dark wood but not in a gaudy way.  The stained glass above the bar adds a splash of color in an otherwise brown room, which give the room a bit of life.  The bar is smack dab in the middle with tables lining the perimeter and there's seating upstairs for a more private, quieter time.

Now, let's get to the food.

When a small plate listing is titled "Mixed Greens" and described as being a plate of mixed, seasonal vegetables, and what is served is just a spring-mix salad with a vinaigrette, one does feel a large sense of disappointment.  And psychology does have a great affect on how one perceives their meal.  So, as you can imagine, when I received my plate of the so-called "Mixed Greens", I wondered why I got the smallest salad in the world.

Kupros serves a variety of fries, from regular to garlic, from sweet to poutine, the Canadian staple of fries, gravy, and cheese curds.  Fries, in my opinion, should be crispy on the outside.  I'm pretty sure that the opinion of the majority of French fry lovers.  And for good reason.  Soggy fries and just not fun to eat.  A crispy fry provides a contrast of textures in a single bite: the crisp crunch of the golden, brown, and delicious outside, and the soft, mealy inside.

I have not once had a crispy French fry at Kupros.

The fries at Kupros are pretty one-dimensional in texture.  When they arrive, they appear brown and tasty, but they're flimsy and floppy, no matter how thick they are.  You can see the oil glistening in the ambient lighting, but when you bite into one you may as well be biting into a roasted potato stick.  There could be any number of reasons for such a soft French fry: perhaps they don't blanch them beforehand, prepping them to be finished off in hot, hot oil; maybe they sit in the window too long before they're run to the table; maybe the oil isn't hot enough.  In any case, a soggy fry is an unappetizing fry, even when covered in gravy and cheese curds.

(And yes, there's a difference between a soft fry and a fry that's crisp but softened by gravy)

There are other deficiencies in the food, but to get to the point, the best food you can order at Kupros is the hearty comfort food.  The mac-and-cheese is good.  The pappardelle with puttanesca is a favorite of mine, when it's on the menu.  The chicken piccata is light and simple yet very enjoyable.  The burger, while note quite worth $11, is quite good - too much cheese, though, and reminiscent of a Squeeze Inn-style burger but without the actual fried cheese skirt.  But, decent enough.  Filling, tasty, and featuring good ingredients.

When you've got a little bit of money but want a decent amount of food, they do offer a 3-small-plates-for-$10 deal, which gives you a good sampling and is enough for a small, shared meal for two.

And let's not forget about the liquor.  They have a good collection of whiskey and Scotch, a small wine list, and plenty of beer.  They have good draft selection and as well as a premium bottled selection.  They even have domestic swill on hand for those that like to drink beer-flavored soda water on the cheap.

So, why do I like the place so much?  Comfort.  It's such a comfortable place to go and have a drink, get some enjoyable food, and sit.  I feel welcome there.  I like the environment.  I feel sociable, even when I'm not in a social mood.  It's just... nice.  It's really, really nice.  It's such an easy place to become a regular at that I've become a regular.  And I enjoy it.

The verdict?

	I would never go to another bar.
	I frequent this place like I frequent my own refrigerator.
	As comfortable as a good lounge chair.
	It'll do in a pinch.
	Why bother?

I give Kupros 3.5 stars.  I feel comfortable and invited every time I come here, and I do come here often enough to be considered a regular customer.  It's not the greatest place you can go to for food and drink, but it's still quite good.

Kupros Bistro

1217 21st Street

Sacramento, CA 95811

(916) 440-0401
www.kuprosbistro.com

Don't Tell Us How To Feed Our Kids...

...Educate instead.

According to a story broke by the Carolina Journal, a preschool girl's homemade lunch was deemed nutritionally incomplete according to USDA standards and was supplemented with school-provided food.  Confusion ensued and the girl, supposedly thinking she was not allowed to eat the lunch packed by her mother, ate only the chicken fingers given to her by the school, choosing not to eat the other supplements because she didn't like them.

Here's the story, and a follow-up here.

(Have you read the stories?  Okay.  Good.  Let's move on)

My problem isn't just that schools are required to supplement homemade lunches that, upon inspection, are considered nutritionally incomplete - this in and of itself can cause confusion with young children regarding the food sent to school with them: what's wrong with the food my parents' made for me?  Should I still eat what I brought?  Will I get in trouble if I don't eat my lunch?  I don't like the school food! And my problem isn't just that there is evidently lots of room for error in interpreting the USDA regulation by whomever is inspecting these lunches.  

My problem is that there is a federal agency telling us what and how to feed our children, and has actually found a way to force schools to physically put this regulation into practice.  Now, while I appreciate that schools are required to provide a "balanced meal" to those children that need to buy their lunch from the school cafeteria, that should be the extent of it.  Lunches brought from home should be left alone.

This leads me to what I think is the bigger, more general problem: the government should stop trying to force everyone to eat healthier.  I say, if parents want to feed their kids crappy food - which is not the case in the preschool girl's story, as her mom packed her a healthy lunch - then let the parents do so.  Let them feed their kids food that may eventually lead to diabetes and/or obesity.  Then, let them deal with the consequences of their parenting.

(And before you start going, "Oh, but what about the kids?!", just keep reading)

I think education would have a much better long term effect than the government forcing their will upon the people by, for example, having schools supplement a child's lunch with food the parent doesn't even know their child will be eating.  When the government takes over the parenting responsibilities from the actual parents, the actual parents could possibly a) rebel by acting out, intentionally doing things that are opposite of what the government wants, negatively affecting their children, b) rebel by causing a ruckus, and that's when news stories break, c) become lazy due to additional, outside "parenting", d) not learn anything about improving their parenting skills.  Or none of these things could happen.  Those are just possibilities, and before anyone suggests that offering these theories is a sign of slippery slope on my part, I'll say that these theories, illogical or not, would probably not exist without the premise of government "parenting".

Now, let's talk about the kids.  When the government takes over the parenting responsibilities from the actual parents, the kids a) can get confused about what they're supposed to do, b) can get confused about their parents' actions, c) start questioning their parents' actions, d) they may not learning anything useful.

In the case of the preschooler, A and B did happen.

Since I don't really want to live in a place where government mandate leads to small-time fascist action, and I don't want to live in a place where I'm told what to do on a such a basic level - what to watch, what to listen to, what to read, what to eat, I support the notion of education being the manner in which we learn how to feed our kids.  The government can outline what they think are safe cooking temperatures, what amounts of what foods equals a balanced meal, and can even campaign against diabetes and obesity.  That's all great.  But good parents know their kids and will tailor their food preparation according to how their kids eat in order to get them to eat nutritiously.  Bad parents will not and, so long as their actions don't go so far as to be considered abuse-by-way-of-unhealthy-diet, those parents will have to suffer the consequences.  And yes, I understand that the kids will, too, but there's a way to combat that.  It's called education.

Parents should be the first food educator to their child.  After all, they will feed the child most often.  But since school is a place that children will attend throughout the week, and is a major part of their days, food education should most certainly take place in the classroom.

Is a young student, even in preschool, ever too young to learn about what could happen if they eat too much candy?  Too much McDonald's?  Too many potato chips?  If you eat too much sugar, one day you might rely on giant, scary needles everyday!  If you eat too much fatty foods, you might become so overweight you'll never get to play kickball or on the swings again!  Too many salty foods might stop your heart!  There are tactful, useful, and effective ways to teach young kids at school about food just as they are taught other subjects, and if they are continuously educated - and I'm not talking about a special health-day during a single school year, either - the facts will stick in their brains.  They may not be able to think about it on the level of an adult, but at least the possibility of questioning their snacks and meals at home is very, very present.  And if a kid actually requests to eat an apple at home rather than an Oscar Meyer's Lunchables pack, or drink a glass of juice instead of a soda, what is the likelihood of a parent saying no?  Forcing a kid to eat supplements that are supposedly missing from the homemade lunch they brought to school doesn't educate in this manner.  And lunch isn't necessarily the best time to deliver this lesson, despite the fact that lunch is feeding time.

There are a few different food education programs that exist to teach young school kids about food.  But what I want to see is something that isn't an event, something that doesn't have a clever or fancy title, something that doesn't draw attention to itself because it's special.  Because making basic food knowledge stand out makes the acquisition and practice of that knowledge special instead of normal.  But normal is what we want, right?  When kids - and adults - know that eating too much of one thing can be bad, that eating certain types of food more often than others can be good, that there are consequences to eating just like there are consequences to stealing and fighting with classmates, it has a greater chance of becoming part of their everyday set of useful tools, like math, English, and history.

An ongoing, in-class, food education curriculum that offers basic food knowledge and presents opportunities for kids to try different foods and even prepare different foods themselves will help normalize such knowledge.  If we can help begin to normalize this knowledge in today's youth, then the next generation should benefit from it.

Reading, Writing, and Using Recipes - Part 2: Grab a Pencil

This installment is extremely overdue, but I promise it'll get you thinking.

Last time, I talked about what a recipe is, and I concluded that it is primarily a guide, a set of assembly instructions.  I also concluded that recipes don't really teach the user how to cook, but one could use them as teaching supplemental material and rewriting a recipe can certainly help with this.

For those that already know how to cook and are looking to become more efficient when following a recipe, a rewrite can be a great boon.

Whatever the case, what rewriting a recipe does is help to ensure that you, the cook, know exactly what you're supposed to do, that you understand what to do with the ingredients both in the preparation stage and the cooking stage.

Rewriting does not mean simply copying the recipe verbatim, however.  While this might help you to memorize a recipe, it may not necessarily help you to understand how to execute a recipe.

Let's use a recipe for the Tunisian spice paste, harissa, as an example:

• 1 tbsp whole caraway seeds
• 2 tbsp whole coriander seeds
• 2 tsp whole cardamom seeds
• 1 tsp whole black peppercorns
• 2 oz small dried chiles, such as Chili de Arbol, Thai chilies, etc.
• 1 tbsp salt
• 1 oz garlic cloves, chopped
• 4-6 oz olive oil

Toast caraway, coriander, cardamom, peppercorns in saute pan over med. heat.  Allow them to cool, then grind together.  Toast the chiles over low heat, then add them to the spices and grind together.  Grind the salt and garlic into a paste using a mortar and pestle, add to the spice/chile mix, and grind together.  Drizzle in the oil while still grinding until thick paste is formed.

When I began rewriting recipes, I started by simply writing down the ingredients and then the instructions in my own shorthand.  

Toast caraway, coriander, cardamom, peppercorns in saute pan, med. heat.  Cool.  Grind together.  Toast the chiles, low heat.  Add to spices, grind together.  Grind salt and garlic into a paste, add to spice/chile mix, grind together.  Drizzle in the oil while still grinding until thick paste is formed.

By writing down the ingredients, you can become familiar with what ingredients you'll need to use and what you'll need to buy if you don't have them.  This means you'll also be less likely to forget ingredients while in the middle of cooking.

As for the instructional part, most everyone has seen recipes that have paragraphs written in nice, complete sentences that are, more or less, grammatically correct.  Sometimes there is more than one paragraph, and sometimes the paragraphs have several sentences.  And sometimes those sentences are long, as they often add details like what tools to use and about how long to cook something.

Now, there's nothing wrong with this.  Instructions of this ilk are pleasant to read and rather complete.  The point of these instructions is to let you, the cook, know what you'll be doing with what and when, so the more information the better, right?  But I have found that using these recipes during the actual act of cooking is difficult because finding the next step requires scanning these paragraphs to find where I've left off, meaning I had to quickly weed through what I'd already read.

By writing the recipe in your own shorthand, you can accomplish at least three things.  First, the act of writing will, again, allow you to become familiar with the instructions.  Second, by using your own shorthand, you show that you have an understanding of the original instructions.  Third, you increase the chances of more easily being able to find your place in the instructions while cooking.

All of this is very important because understanding what you're supposed to be doing in order to execute a specific dish will allow you an easier time during cooking.  An easier time during cooking means you'll more easily become familiar with some of the methods and techniques which you'll find used in many, many other recipes.

All of this is, of course, assuming that you, the one doing the rewrite, will be the one to use the recipe.  Your shorthand should reflect just how much detail you'll need to know.  If you know how to execute the risotto method, then there's no need to write out all of the steps to making a risotto if part of your recipe involves a risotto, right?  After all, it would be just more text to wade through.  The same goes for anything you already know how to do, and know how to do it well.  The less text you have to read during cooking, the better.

However, if you're writing for someone else, you may want to be more detailed in your rewrite.  Let's use the risotto example.  If you know how to execute the risotto method, you might write your instructions down for a mushroom risotto as follows:

Add butter and olive oil, med.-med.high heat.  Add mushrooms.  Saute until browned.  Remove half, add onions, sweat.  Add rice, stir to coat.  Risotto method.  After last turn, add remaining mushrooms.  Add salt and Parmesan to taste.

Now, this might be your version of a few different recipes that you've borrowed from in order to produce a mushroom risotto that you really like.  And your friend likes it, too, and wants the recipe.  He or she has never made a risotto before.  They may not know what a "turn" is.  They may not know what to look for during cooking.  So, as you write out the recipe for them, their lack of risotto experience is something to keep in mind, and thusly you give them instructions that perhaps read like this:

Bring chicken stock to a boil in a separate pot, then simmer.  In another pan, add olive oil and butter over med.-med.high heat until butter is melted but not brown.  Add mushrooms.  Saute until browned, tossing occasionally to prevent burning, but not too often to prevent searing.  Remove half, reduce to med. heat, add onions, sweat until translucent.  Add rice, stir to coat.  Add 1/3 of chicken stock, stirring frequently until absorbed.  Repeat with another 1/3 of stock.  Repeat, adding most of the last 1/3.  Check texture, making sure rice is al dente.  Add remaining mushrooms, stir in.  Add salt and Parmesan to taste.

That's a pretty basic example of how to construct a risotto, modified to include sauteed mushrooms.  An attempt was made to keep it simple and easy to understand while providing enough detail to give the inexperienced cook clues to look for so they can, hopefully, reproduce the dish.  Experience will hone the cook's skills but the recipe is a good starting point.

Knowing your audience, whether it's you or someone else, will determine how you write or rewrite your recipes.  Once you've determined how to write something, you can either leave it at that or you can take it one step further and play with the format of your recipe.

But that's a subject for next time.

My Externship Thus Far (AKA: A Long Overdue Post)

A post has been long overdue.  And I know that I owe this blog the second part of my thoughts on rewriting recipes.  But, being as this is the end of my second week of my externship (yes, it's basically the same thing as an internship), I thought I'd document my progress and experience thus far.

For the time being, the restaurant I'm at will remain nameless.  I'm new to the restaurant game and don't want to unintentionally burn bridges.  Let's just say that I'm fortunate enough to have been placed in a restaurant that is run by a celebrity chef, and this chef knows food.  In fact, this restaurant's food is ridiculously good.  Most everything I've tasted is just exquisite.  An overused word to describe food, I know, but it's the word that best describes what I'm thinking whenever I put the food in my mouth.

I am very interested in this restaurant's specialty (which I won't reveal because it's easy to guess what restaurant it is) and I knew I wanted a tough externship.  While the latter didn't really cross my mind when I signed on, I expected an environment of high standards.

And what I got was a pretty intense place.

So intense, in fact, that my first week-and-a-half was spent with me being really stressed out.  My current trainer, the main prep cook, comes across as impatient only because his job is to push me.  This man can do everything there: make bread, pasta, all the meat prep... whatever needs to be done at this restaurant in terms of prep, he can do.  And he expects me, a lowly intern, a person with no professional restaurant experience save for a single day doing appetizers and pizzas at a local Sacramento eatery, to be perfect on the first try.  And to remember every.  single.  thing.  he.  does.  If he shows something me once, he expects me to remember all of the subtleties and steps.  Me being new to this type of work, my observation skills are not exactly keen on all the details, which I hate because I am a details person.  I'm a technical person.  I like methodology.  Once I've got those things down, I can work on making my tasks more second-nature.  Put me in front of a drumline and my observation skills rival those of Sherlock Holmes (yeah, I'm being cocky.  It's for the effect).  But, when it comes to restaurant work, I don't have the motor skills this guy does, he who has been with the restaurant's head chef for nine years.  So, when watching this man make professional pasta with the grace of a ballerina (no joke), it is amazing.  And daunting.  And no, my current set of motor skills don't yet include those types of movements to handle that type of thin, delicate material.  But if I get it wrong, which I did - several times, in fact - I get a contemptuous looks and often a verbal berating.

But it's what they do at this restaurant.  They push.  Everyone pushes.  In fact, last night, he actually, and oddly, apologized for pushing me, but qualified it by saying, "But it's good for you."  I replied, "You're supposed to push me."

It's what's been happening the last two weeks, the last 89 hours of work I've put in so far.  Even the head chef, the celebrity himself, really got on my case the third day in because I was too slow at picking parsley.  And I didn't start my day right, either.  I forgot to change my shoes, something I never do.  I forgot my notepad, something I never do.  And he was not happy.  But, I haven't made that mistake since.

But, when I do a good job, or even an improved job, I do get told.

I have always told my drumline students not to take criticism, harsh or pleasantly put, personally.  It's our job to push.  It's our job to criticize.  It's been a long time since I've been on the receiving end.  I'm usually the guy who's giving it.  Now, it's my turn to take it.  Except that this is so, so much more intense than drum corps was when I marched.  And there was a lot of yelling and cussing, not to mention running and pushups and standing at attention for long periods of time.  Granted, that was many years back so perhaps the memories of that experience have softened, but my current experience compared to my drum corps experience?  The restaurant business, at least the intensity at which this one is run, is a harrowing experience.  My psyche certainly took a lashing.  Perhaps it's because, at the end of the day, paying customers are involved, as is money spent on ingredients.  It's a for-profit business based on volume.

By the end of my second week, I have improved.  I can do certain things with more competency.  I get "yelled" at a little less.  Yes, I still get pushed, and yes, my trainer will still look at me with those big, contemptuous eyes and a snide, ego-pounding remark, but I'm taking my beatings and I know that I'll come out the other end tougher, faster, and more efficient.

I'll post another update at a later date with other observations.  Until then, I need to make sure my return to work after a couple days off starts with me progressing and not regressing.

[UPDATED 10-13-2011]

Reading, Writing, and Using Recipes - Part 1: What The Heck Is A Recipe?

One of the things I hate most about recipes is reading them.

You read that right. I hate reading recipes. Well, most recipes. They're generally a list of ingredients with amounts, sometimes with minor instructions (eg. 2 cloves garlic, minced), underneath of which are further instructions, sometimes written in paragraph form, and sometimes the steps are numbered.

In some of the books I have, the ingredient list and instructions are side by side and sectioned off so that a batch of ingredients correlate with a set of instructions, then the next section will have another batch of ingredients correlating with their instructions.

And it's all so... wordy.

Before I started culinary school, I learned to rewrite recipes before cooking them so that a) I could understand, in my own way, what needed to be done, and b) I could format them in a manner that was easy to follow during the chaos that could ensue during cooking.  This is important because before you cook you have to understand what you're doing.  Unfortunately, recipes often tell you what to do but not necessarily how to do it.

What does that mean?  Well, when a recipe tells you to saute mushrooms on medium high heat for two minutes, do you know what saute means?  Let's get rid of the word saute and place it with cook.  Okay, now we have a more generic term.  We'll cook the mushrooms on medium high heat for 2 minutes... except the mushrooms are burning and they've only been cooking for a minute-and-a-half!  So, let's change for two minutes to until brown.  Well, not all mushrooms brown, are they?  That's just a generic term cooks use to describe caramelization and the Maillard reaction (another post, another day, folks).  So let's change that to until dark.  How dark?  Um... twice as dark?  Really dark?  And what if it takes a really long time?  Perhaps the burner you're using doesn't have high enough heat, even though it's on medium high.  Can you bump up the heat?  Or is it supposed to take a long time?  Well, it's supposed to take two minutes, right?  Oh, wait, we changed that...

Yes, that's kind of a worse-care scenario.  Not everyone gets that confused while following a recipe, but then again, some people do.  I have met people that are learning how to cook but following a recipe is still confusing to them; I met two girls who went shopping for a casserole recipe that stated six stalks of celery were needed.  Not being cooks, and therefore not necessarily being familiar with cooking or food terminology (or plant terminology, for that matter), they didn't know what stalks were... so they bought six bunches of celery instead of one bunch with six stalks.  That is a lot of celery left over!

Following a recipe can be difficult for people learning how to cook, or inexperienced cooks.  Even experienced cooks can probably have a difficult time following a recipe if it is written in a complicated manner, and yes... I've seen some complicated recipes.

The thing is, a recipe can't necessarily teach a person how to cook.  They're not technical manuals; they can't - or rather, don't - teach technique.  It can state what to do with food in order to cook it, which should result in a specific dish, but it doesn't explain the subtleties of a saute and how to make adjustments.  It doesn't explain what a braise is and why you need to do it for a particular piece of meat and why you shouldn't substitute another particular type of meat.  There are technical things that are left out of a recipe that help keep the text of a recipe shorter than it otherwise could be.

So... um... what is a recipe then?

A recipe is, quite simply, a set of instructions designed to instruct the user how to assemble a dish.

Think of a recipe like a map or GPS.  If you have your driver's license, you know how to drive, right?  (We're not going to debate the quality of your driving here...)  But, just because you know how to drive, doesn't mean you don't necessarily know how to get to every destination you need to drive to.  Thus, a map or a GPS can provide some sort of guide or instruction designed to provide you a route from where you are to your destination.  This is a recipe.

There are two words of note: assemble and guide.  Just because you're told or shown how to assemble something, doesn't mean you have the technique behind the methods to assemble the dish that will result in awesome, blow-your-mind food.  Or even to assemble it well.  Or, in some cases, assemble it so that the outcome remotely looks like edible food.  The recipe also acts as a guide because recipes are generally written in a step-by-step manner where the the steps are (hopefully) arranged in a chronological manner so that each task is presented in an order that allows efficient assembly.  For example, if making pizza, you wouldn't necessarily want to prep all your toppings and then start your dough, because the dough needs time to rise and rest.  Prepping beforehand would just make the entire process longer.  A good recipe will have you make the dough first, then prep your toppings, then instruct you to stretch the dough, assemble the pizza, then bake.  Think of it like this: You wouldn't want to be lead around in circles all over town by a GPS when you could have made a right, two lefts, and a final right, would you?

So, whether you're an experienced or inexperienced cook, it's a great idea to rewrite recipes before using them.  And, if you're intent on teaching yourself to how cook using recipes, one of the best ways to start is to rewrite them.  We'll get into how and why next time.

Genetic Fabrication - Meat in a Petri Dish?

It's been awhile, I know.

But don't worry. I've got ideas.

Since my last post, I've completed several classes and I must say, I can see how much I've learned and how much I've improved since day 1. Sure, not all of the lessons are as academic as I thought or hoped they would be, but many, many little lessons culminate into larger competencies.

Academia does enter the picture often, though. In my current class, Contemporary Cuisine (which, the instructor, Chef Eric Veldman Miller, said should be renamed "Play With Your Food"), the Chef started class with a discussion on the topic of what I refer to as "genetic fabrication", that is, the creation of meat from stem cells. He opened up the floor to student opinions, and the comments were quite diverse. Some thought it scientifically interesting but were worried about what the food would taste like. After all, an animal's diet influences the way it tastes. Then there were questions about how far such a practice could go; someone asked about growing humans in a petri dish and went so far as to mention cannibalism (I couldn't really hear the comment, but wow... but a leap!). There were questions of muscle development, to which the chef responded that electricity was run to the "meat" to stimulate the muscle in the absence of exercise. I even asked about fat development: if one grows meat in a petri dish, will there be fat development? It was postulated in class by almost everyone, including the Chef, that if muscles don't do any work, it starts to turn to fat (however, a quick Q&A here at Shape Magazine's website determines that, no, muscle cannot turn into fat. They're two different types of tissues. Thus, I would be skeptical about fat development from petri dish meat). Then there was the moral question of, "Just because we can, should we?" Someone even brought up how such practices would affect food costs in restaurants.

I then took a turn at offering my opinion. My initial reaction was that, scientifically speaking, it's pretty amazing and if meat could be produced this way, a lot of hungry people around the world could be fed. However, I would fear a loss of appreciation for where our food comes from and for the food itself. If we can produce meat without raising it, would we appreciate how it was raised, how it was cared for, what it ate, and would we respect the animal by using it in its entirety (something we don't do much here in the US, but certainly is done more in the Old World - the Eastern Hemisphere)? I fear not. I fear that we would take meat more for granted than we already do. Mass produced meat in a petri dish would mean more readily available meat and would only promote gluttony (ever see Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs?).

The Chef, who I find extremely smart and is as curious as me when it comes to finding out how things work, posed a question as Devil's advocate: wouldn't raising meat in a petri dish be more environmentally friendly? We wouldn't be using natural resources to raise and feed the animals, thus preserving more of Earth's bounty. My response was this: if we don't learn to raise our food - animal or vegetable - in an environmentally friendly and responsible manner, we don't teach ourselves to live harmoniously with the Earth. In learning to cultivate food in balance with what the Earth provides, we can teach ourselves how to sustain our land and live with it, not against it, which is how I think we're supposed to be living anyway.

My opinion above was based on in-class discussion. I just read this article at npr.org (previously linked). And now that I've read it, my thoughts on electrical stimulation have been confirmed: it would be costly. After all, electricity has to come from somewhere, and natural resources would therefore be used, correct?

Also in the article is mention of how environmentally friendly petri-dish meat would be. After all, 20% of greenhouse gas emissions come from livestock. Then, of course, there's the need for water, feed, and land. As global population increases, we'll need to raise more livestock and therefore need more resources because, dammit, people want their meat! And then there's animal treatment. Commercial farms are known for treating their animals poorly. Force-feeding, small living spaces, brutal deaths...

The notion of raising more livestock, to me, just supports gluttony. Yes, I love my meat. But should I eat it every day? No. Should we eat it every day? NO. The article also dismisses the slow-but-steady rise in interest in organic and humane farming, where the production is smaller, sure, but the quality of animal life is much better and, allegedly, the quality of resulting food is better. Proof? Go seek out a show called Cook It, Kill It, Eat It and you'll see the difference between commercial farming and humane, sustainable farming. Are natural resources being used? Yes, but not in a wasteful way provided the farm is sustainable.

And really, is lower production such a bad thing? Or wouldn't it help us to learn how to eat within our means. Actually, a more accurate statement would be to re-learn how to eat within our means. After all, that's where humanity came from. We ate what was available to us. Therefore, if less meat is available to us, perhaps we should vary our diets to include, oh, I don't know... vegetables? Fish? Hell, even insects (dead serious). I'm not saying we shouldn't export or import food. Sharing is caring, right? But in terms of production, there is more food available to us than just beef and pork, however wonderful they may be. Smaller, natural, humane, and sustainable meat production could teach us to once again be more judicious about what we eat, how much, and how often.

Now that I'm on school break...

...I can make time to update this thing.

What with everything that's been going on in my life, I have neglected this blog, which is a shame. A lot has happened during my three months in culinary school.

I've completed my Food & Safety, Foundations I, and Foundations II classes, receiving an A in each, which is great. Not the highest grade in my class, which the competitive side of me hates. But, great grades do not make great food, right?

Right.

At times, I wish I'd been able to attend a 2-year culinary school. I don't know what a 2-year program is actually like; I know that there are several management classes that students have to take. I can only imagine that students have more time with actual culinary lessons; instead of spending a single day on, say, fish butchery, I wonder if students in a 2-year program get to spend a couple days learning and improving their skills. Perhaps this is a false assumption, but it is an assumption that stems from being enrolled in what is what one of the chefs has called an "accelerated curriculum".

In Le Cordon Bleu's accelerated curriculum, we learn a lot of things in each 28-day class. In Foundations II, my most recent class, we:

• made stocks, sauces, and soups
• reviewed and applied saute, braising, roasting, grilling, poaching, and even poele
• trussed a chicken
• butchered a chicken and fish
• learned egg, rice, potato, vegetable, and basic protein cookery
• learned about salads
• exercised a line cooking scenario

While, to the uninitiated, this may all seem like basic stuff you can learn at home, I can tell you that a) you're right, and b) you're wrong. With each lesson there are certain techniques employed that is meant to help the cook be more efficient, which you need to be in a professional kitchen. And, with each lesson and recipe, there are what my recent chef instructor called "competencies" - several smaller skills that you learn while making each recipe. Then there's the food science part of it. Salads, for example, may seem easy but within learning about different salads (and there are different classifications), we learned about temporary and permanent emulsions, proper blanching and shocking procedures (according to the chef), basic composition, seasoning (who seasons a salad? Everyone should!), and dressing... little things that most people wouldn't consider but, upon reflection, all make sense now that we've had those lessons.

And, of course, through it all, practicing our basic knife skills every day.

But the problem with the accelerated curriculum is we don't get to spend enough time in school practicing the larger lessons that we've learned. The smaller lessons get practiced almost every day, but the bigger ones are the more difficult ones to learn and become competent at. Of course, I could go out and, for example, buy a whole chicken and butcher it, but it's nice to be able to do it in school so that I can ask questions and get feedback. Thankfully, the logistics of the bigger lessons have been learned and at the very least I can practice at home so that the application side of it becomes more competent.

For our final, we had to make four plates consisting of protein, starch, vegetable, sauce, and garnish (the last item not being too important to our chef). We split the four plates into two days. The first day was Escalope of Veal and mushroom cream sauce with browned, glazed pearl onions, carrots, turnips, and wilted lettuce and a pan fried potato cake, and poached salmon with Beurre Blanc, rice pilaf, and sauteed tourneed zucchini.

During our practice day, the day before, my potato cake came out great. The chef told me not to change a thing. So what happened? During the final, my potato cake basically melted in the pan. Too much butter. What came out were bits of fried potato that looked like hashed browns. I was, obviously, pretty upset. But, the rest of the food was pretty decent and I got a good grade otherwise.

The second day of finals was grilled pork chop with a veal, dijon, gherkin juice sauce (it's good, really) and pureed potatoes (essentially mashed potatoes), and lamb stew with a side of polenta.

I finished my plates for the day in good time and was pretty proud of the way I'd plated everything: I ensured that my sauce didn't run into my potatoes and my stew (with veggies cooked separately - a modern practice) looked great. Then, as I was and one of the end sinks cleaning up, I heard commotion. I looked over and heard, "Whose is it?"

"It's Phillip's."

I came over and my suite mate told me that the student across from us had knocked my plated down from the shelf onto the counted. I looked and my pork chop was flipped off the plate, my sauce was all over, and my potatoes in a slump somewhere next to the chop.

Needless to say, I was pissed.

In the end, the associate chef told me to just show what I had; the chefs knew I'd done the work so all they needed was to taste the food. My first thought was, "Ew." My second thought was, "There's hardly any sauce left." My third thought was, "I'd better not get a bad evaluation or I'm going to flip out."

My pork chop was, essentially, perfectly cooked. Slightly pink in the middle (yes, PINK!) and juicy. The potatoes were good and the sauce, though he couldn't really judge consistency because there wasn't enough, was good; the associate chef, who evaluated my food) could tell all the components were there.

My polenta was good, and the chef really liked the color and flavor of my stew, which was, as he described, a dark, dirty sauce with intense flavor. Excellent. I could've cooked the turnips just a bit longer, but overall my dishes turned out well.

Before culinary school, I really liked cooking. Often, I loved it, especially when I was making something different and made the time to actually cook something substantial (you know, as opposed to eggs and frozen hashed browns for breakfast). Now, I love it more and more. I find that going to culinary school and cooking everyday has really made me love the act of cooking. I find myself wanting to cook at home, even though I spent all afternoon cooking (I can't say the same about the dishes, though).

I still don't know what I want to get out of culinary school other than the ability to get a job that I believe I will like. I don't know if I want to own a restaurant, become a private chef, get into catering, or what. This is one of the few times in my life where I have entered a field without knowing what I want from it in the end. I do know that I want to share my skills with my family and friends, at the very least, and I think my education will help my wife and me to eat better overall.

I'm looking forward to Foundations III, where the chef seems like he'll be a hardass (yes, I'm looking forward to that). Plus, I need to start work on my resume because the time to begin applying for an externship is coming up.