Poetry In Motion

Even though I promised myself not to embed so many videos from The Guardian, I just can not resist publishing this beautiful video on how to make sushi. Pure poetry in motion...

Cooking Traditions

Recently, the British cook, Jamie Oliver, received a TED Prize and gave a rather entertaining and informative presentation. Basically, he more or less said we have to cook again and eat real food. Something you would think is self evident, but none the less, the statics of the average citizen's eating habits speak otherwise.

Yesterday when I was walking past the local vegetable shop and saw these bundles of soup greens. I rejoiced in their colour, as well as to the fact that they were still being sold. Not only small vegetable shops, but also large department stores sell selection of vegetables that you make into a soup base for making soups. This means people are not only making their own homemade soups, but they are making them according to the traditional method.

For those of you who have never made soup base but would like to give it a try:

Lia's method for making soup base

Cut up carrots, celery root, leeks, parsley into 2-3 cm sections
Add 2-3 tbsp of olive oil into bottom of large soup pot
Saute the vegetables in oil at high temperature for 5-10 min.
Mix in generous amount of salt
Add loads of cold water into pot and bring to boil
Let the vegetables boil at lower temperature for 30-40 min.
Remove vegetables when soft and mushy
Let soup base cool down and remove any film at top of pot

Off Cooking

I'm off to The Restaurant to work in the kitchen. Thursday afternoon between three and six. Preparation time. Can't do so much damage. The guys are relaxed. They don't mind that I carry out their instructions slower than a Tai Chi master.

Last week, the cook I was working with whipped up a apple tart. Delicious. Really wish I could remember some of the things I help cook. Brain is a sieve, there's no doubt about it.

Cooking Course January 2008

It was just a fantastic day yesterday. But, boy, am I tired today. So, just to show you guys what we prepared, feasted upon, and delighted in learning to make…

(Claudia, can you send the descriptions of each of the courses?)

Note to all, we made Everything. No opening jars, or taking out of packages… the chefs were amazing at keeping us all busy beavers, even though it must be three times the amount of work to delegate instead of just doing it themselves. Three times… say ten times.

Entré I

Some sort of liver paté (didn’t eat since I’m vegetarian) with some sort of chutney

Entré II

A shrimp thing

Not an entré but don’t know what it is called…

Ravioli with goat cheese, something, something, and parmesan stuffing, Thai asparagus

Not an entré but don’t know what it is called…

Red snapper

Main course

Quail breasts, artichoke hearts stuffed with sweet potato mix with mozzarella melted on top, a flaky pastry stuffed with a potato/vegetable stuffing (I ate everything but the quail)

Dessert

A pineapple and estragon salad, a chocolate ball (when the hardened exterior is punctured, out pours liquid chocolate), and roiboos tea ice cream

A harmonious group of workers, considering the fact that we didn’t really know each other beforehand. Not complete strangers; two of my friends and I each invited two other friends and this is how the group of nine was formed.

Hats off to the chefs.

Stay tuned. The gods willing, there will be a slideshow in a few weeks time.

Cooking Course

I'm off to take a cooking course. A friend and I gathered up a group of people to attend this course. We don't know what awaits us. I might cook or I might just take photos and put together a slideshow of the course. I haven't quite made up my mind yet.

I'm still going and working in the kitchen of my favourite restaurant (also where the cooking course is being held) every Thursday afternoon. Great fun.

Really, I am not a baker

As some of you know, I am not a baker. Most Germans are.

A few evenings ago, a friend reminded me of an episode where I exposed my ineptitude for baking before my son’s entire 3rd grade class.

His teacher asked whether I could come and help her and the children bake traditional Christmas cookies. I hinted to her that I was “not much of a baker”, which I hoped would translate as “not at all”, but she interpreted my message as “I’m a whiz, but a modest one”.

On the appointed day, she leaves me with a group of boys, a table of “stuff” and a recipe, a very complicated recipe, for making Lebkuchen. These are spectacularly delicious spice cookies covered in chocolate icing; a specialty from Nuremberg.

The boys and I struggled valiantly with the recipe, while all the other children, under the supervision of their teacher, produced one cookie rack after another of cinnamon stars, oatmeal crisps, almond-sliver vanilla trees… on and on and on…

The cookies racks were stacked high, waiting for their chance to go into the oven. This was somewhat discouraging for my guys. We were obviously not keeping up with the others. The more cookies the others produced, the more hectic the efforts at my table became, and the more ruffled I got under the collar (sorry, I can’t remember the correct form of this expression).

The boys sensed I was about to sink into a mire of a baking defeat. So, they rallied together and managed to make up two cookie racks of Lebkuchen blobs. The teacher came over to see at how we were doing. She expressed surprise at the (lack of) form and consistency of the unbaked cookies.

I assured her that once we put the icing on the cookies and put them in the oven to bake, they would come out perfect. The teacher looked at me and dryly replied, “It sounds as if you are hoping for a Christmas miracle. Here’s a tip; icing goes on after the cookies come out of the oven, not before.”

Here’s a wonderful story, Shame of the Snowman, written by Rebecca Front in the in the Guardian today.

Sailing versus cooking

There are a few professions that I would give an eyetooth for just to be able get a glimpse behind the scenes of the profession. Locomotive driver, crew on a European barge, stage designer, and, most particularly working in the kitchen of a fine restaurant.

This week I am living out this later fantasy. I asked the chef at our favourite restaurant whether I could work in his kitchen for a week. He gave me this calculating look and then a quick nod of his head, and said I could work the preparation period (from three to six).

It has been a wonderful learning experience so far. I wish I could transform it all into some great story, but that is out of the range of my abilities. What I can say is that there are a lot of parallels between cooking in a restaurant and sailing in a regatta. Here are some of the parallels between sailing or sailors and working in a restaurant kitchen or chefs:

Most are males. (It turns out that I am the first female the chef has allowed in his kitchen.)

The guys are the right type of males: they can physically survive the rigors of working in the heat, in cramped spaces, under stressful conditions, and yet they have a fine, even sensual love for detail.

This reminds me of sailing when there is almost no wind and how the captain and crew coax every little breath of wind into the sails. There is something distinctly fine and sensitive about this, yet the guys also have the enormous strength needed to deal with gale winds.

They are very competitive. I get this underlying sensation that the guys are always trying to outdo each other.

They will compliment or recognise something well done, but such praise is hard earned and never lavishly spread. It can be expressed as a nod of the head or a grunt; and that is enough.

There is a clear hierarchy of who is to do what when. You do what you are told and try not to ask any questions. If there is a lull, then the chef or sous chef just might give you the chance to do something different. The moment things get serious, you are back to your proper job.

If the team works well together then everyone is moving quickly and smoothly. There is no bumping of elbows, not shuffling back-and-forth. You can tell the person who doesn’t quite fit because, no matter the size of his stature, they take up too much space.

There is an economy of space and movement practiced all the time. You don’t spread out your wares. You don’t travel through from the front of the kitchen to the back without something in your hands in both directions.

So that is what I have learnt so far. Here are few things I’ve learnt that are really surprising to me:

All the guys smoke. (Not in the kitchen, but one step beyond the doorway.)

They don’t use many (any) spices other than salt and pepper and next to no herbs, unless they are fresh. The only explanation I can think of is that it seems as if the food’s flavour should be brought out and not coated. Does anyone know if this is the case in other restaurants?

I couldn’t possibly stand the physical rigors of the job. After four hours I am pooped. It is impossible to imagine how people do manage to work ten to twelve hours a day.

This has been like a dream come true. Next, I’ll have to figure out a way to work on a barge…

Ode to Olive Oil

After these last weeks of story writing, think I am going to switch to making collages again. This one was inspired by a new brand of Italian olive oil we are using.

When I was young, I remember my mother using Crisco Oil. It was a “cooking” oil. Meaning we used it for everything. Years went by, and she eventually did buy some olive oil. I believe she used two or three tablespoons when making certain salads.

I moved out of our home early on and, I don’t quite remember when it was that I first started buying olive oil instead of Crisco oil, but twenty years or so ago it became the oil of my choice.

We might be able to go weeks without butter, but we can’t do without our lovely olive oil.