Confessions of a Caterer

The Lady Pamela

2011-10-05T13:01:00.000-07:00

The Lady Pamela is a most impressive yacht. I don’t have any idea how many feet she is or what she draws (I should have asked), but I was told that the water depth at the Sandestin Marina is tricky for her.

When I was a kid, the first time I lived in Destin, I used to crew with my dad in small sailboat races (small boats and small races!), so I have this sense of myself as a sailor, even though it’s been a long time. A very long time. And we were prepared!

While the Lady Pamela is a big boat, even a very big boat, she’s not a house, and the food and equipment we loaded into the galley were a little daunting at first.

But we got it sorted out and set up, and worked the way we work together, smoothly, knowing the food, each other’s strengths and rhythms. We set the food out on time.

Bar Menu

Savory Provencal Palmiers and Cheddar Olives

Buffet Menu

Crab Cakes, Smoked Salmon Tea Sandwiches and Natchez Pies

Sliders, Pulled Pork Quesadillas, You Ain't in Alabama Anymore Sushi

Fennel Smoked Tomato Tartlets and Shrimp & Grits

Dessert Menu

Key Lime Tartlets, Passion Fruit Tartlets

And Kim's World Famous Dulce de Leche Brownies

Beverages

Our Secret Sparkling White Sangria

The day turned out to be too windy for the host and hostess to feel comfortable leaving the dock with so many guests aboard, but it was that sort of fine October day we all look forward to so much here.

We had a fabulous time, especially our fly deck bartender who danced with all the ladies!

The Lady Pamela is beautiful and we can’t wait to cook aboard her again.

Imagination & Curiosity

2011-09-28T14:13:00.000-07:00

Last weekend we had a chance to cook out of town and decided to take advantage to stay an extra night and rest our weary bones. We were on St. George Island, in a rented house on the bay. We all took snacks and booze. I took magazines and cookbooks.

People who work with food for a living never really stop working. You have to eat anyway – though in my case, people might say “Really, Kim, less could be more.” But no matter what else is happening in a cook’s life, her culinary curiosity is on, 24/7.

This was my view, my muse, if you will.

I started Sunday morning, almost with the rise of the sun, and with coffee.

I continued, late into the morning, with a Bloody Mary. It looks like work, pages ripped out of magazines, notes made in little journals, but it’s a kind of hunger that real food doesn’t satisfy. It has to do with creative sparks, concepts, nudges from pictures or words that later turn into suspicions of thoughts, then genuine ideas.

In an interview by Nicole Alpert, published in Food Arts, July/Aug 2010, Nicole asks Julia Child a question:

NA: "Do you ever get tired of cooking?"
JC: "No, never. Food is a boundless resource for the imagination. And the real joy is in the doing. There’s always so much to experiment with, so many ways to explore one’s passions in food.”

Michael Batterberry, who along with his wife Ariane, founded both Food & Wine, and Food Arts, and who died in July, 2010, was eulogized in the New York Times on July 29, 2010. Among the many details of his life and exploits, Margalit Fox had this to say about him: “In his work, and in his many appearances on television and the radio, he made clear that his interest lay not merely in food per se, but in food as a mirror of the collective national psyche.”

Some of us regard food as the source of our nourishment, others as the magic carpet of our imagination; the very lucky ones see it as both. What I know, is that it can completely occupy me on a sunny Sunday on St. George Island.

Chores

2011-09-22T13:37:00.000-07:00

If you’ve got to drive 279.7 miles to pick up a relative in a distant airport, it might as well be your much-loved sister in New Orleans. That was my task on Monday, September 5th. I started out barreling west, directly into the very blowy path of Tropical Storm Lee. That and the hour-long traffic jam just east of the Mobile tunnel had me arriving at Louis Armstrong International Airport ninety minutes late to pick up my sister, Susan.

We’d had plans to dine at August. We’d had lunch there before, a couple of years ago, a lunch so lovely that we couldn’t find our way afterward to the airport to send her back home, so she had to reschedule her flight and spend the night. I’d told a friend that dinner at August was the plan, and she’s such a good friend that she suggested we dine instead at Emeril’s, where she could absolutely hook us up. Three days notice was all she needed.

But miss August, Chef John Besh, amazing August?

“I know,” she said, pounding on the table “have appetizers at August then your entrée and dessert at Emeril’s!”

There was nothing not to like about this plan; it was bold, self-indulgent and culinarily luxurious, everything I love about New Orleans.

Unfortunately, Lee and
Mobile traffic dashed our
hopes for making the August reservation,
which left us to drink
bubbly (delivered to
our room gratis as
part of the French
Quarter Fling Package)
from our balcony
overlooking Bourbon
Street.
We had no trouble at
all making our 9:30 p.m.
reservation at Emeril’s.

Susan was quick to tell the sommelier that we couldn’t possibly have the $240.00 bottle of whatever it was he suggested that might work well with both the steak and the duck, but she wasn’t nearly as steadfast when it came to the $130.00 bottle of Pinot Noir.

Thai BBQ Lamb Ribs with Crunchy Asian Pear Slaw, Toasted Peanuts, and Sesame

“Cowboy” Ribeye with Crisp Vidalia Onion Rings, Fresh Watercress, Roasted Garlic–Marrow Butter and Sauce Carmouche

Sorghum Smoked Duck Breast with “Dirty” Fregola Sarda, Red Cabbage Choucroute and Truffle Pate

No, we hadn’t done our homework and we weren’t prepared. We’d neither Googled nor Binged, so we opted to share the chocolate soufflé and completely missed out on the Emeril’s Banana Cream Pie with Graham Cracker Crust, Caramel Sauce and Chocolate Shavings. Photo is a little worse for wear, a result of our having tucked into the souffle with more haste than thought.

Followed by a smooth double espresso.

I think it might have been the
bubbly and our focus on the
food, but we discovered

– at the very end of our meal –
that we had too much
wine left to … leave.
Was it too tacky to ask?
Could there possibly be …
to-go cups?

“It’s New Orleans, ladies, of course we have to-go cups!”

We snapped a pic of our cups next to Emeril’s Sansevierias while waiting for our taxi.

Lee had left cool air in his wake, and the view from the balcony the next morning was peaceful and clean. But the chores weren’t over and it turned out that there was no way we could leave New Orleans without first making our way down to the river to Café du Monde.

It still didn’t end there. I’d made the mistake of telling my sister about the amazing oysters at the Half Shell Oyster House in downtown Gulfport, Mississippi, so that’s where she forced me to stop for lunch. The first dozen oysters were Charbroiled, with creole seasonings, parmesan and garlic butter, and the second, a mix of Rockefeller, Bienville, Orleans and Charbroiled.

We shared their Cinnamon Roll Bread Pudding for dessert but I already felt put upon by all my chores and refused to snap a pic.

Arriving back in Santa Rosa Beach, I was able to drop Susan with Mom and Dad and my work was done. Burp.

Butter

2011-08-29T10:07:00.000-07:00

It will kill you. Yes, I know. But when it’s got to be butter, it’s truly got to be butter.

Two buttery recipes.

Radis Roses with Butter and Fleur de Sel

The first time I tasted French radis roses was the day I moved to Paris, in March of 2003. I knew that "radis roses" simply meant pink radishes, but there’s a little something romantic in the word rose that elevated the radish from a mere root vegetable. They were served to me with a little cross cut in the root end for the golden Normandy butter, and flaky Fleur de Sel salt. Oh my.

Sole Meunière

Ok, theoretically, the star of the dish is the Dover sole, a lovely, pricey, delicate, firm-fleshed fish, found in the cold waters of northern Europe. And I’m sure there are lots of ways to cook it that don’t involve butter (well, surely there must be!), but there’s something symbiotic, synergistic and deliciously synful about butter and this fish, that explains why it’s such a classic.

Buy your fish from a reputable fishmonger. Otherwise, chances are excellent you’ve paid for flounder.

Salt and pepper your beauty on both sides. Heat a sauté pan over medium high heat then drop in a good knob of butter. A couple of tablespoons or so. When the butter foam subsides, gently lay in the fish, starting from the position closest to you, and moving away, so as not to splatter yourself with hot butter. Quickly brown the fish on both sides but don’t burn the butter.

Remove the fish to the serving plate (carefully) and add more butter to your pan. Watch it go brown. Have a lemon ready to squeeze into the browning butter at the precise moment before brown goes to black. It will sizzle like mad so best not to cook this naked.

Remove the pan from the heat and toss in a tablespoon or so of parsley. Pour the whole of it over your fish and add a little more parsley over the top. You might want to have cooked something to go with it, like parsleyed potatoes or green beans. Or you might have wanted just fish. And wine, of course.

Bon appétit!

Photographs courtesy of Jeff McDowell.

Paradise at the Top of a Mountain

2011-08-04T12:14:00.000-07:00

I shouldn’t have doubted our intrepid little rented Peugeot, but I’ve never driven to lunch in first gear before. Our destination was Domaine de Capelongue, a magnificent hotel and restaurant in the Relais & Chateaux group, that’s situated at the very tippy-top of a small town in the Luberon region of Provence called Bonnieux. The chef, Edouard Loubet, is Michelin-starred and well published (his books are available Amazon.com, though not all are translated into English).

We were early for our 12:30 lunch reservation so we took a few pictures of the whimsical and beguiling entrance.

We were seated on the terrace with flutes of champagne, a simple crudité with anchoiade (a classic Provencal dip of anchovies, garlic and olive oil) and wispy black truffle crackers, perched in narrowly carved indentations in a fat, black stone. The view over the grounds and the valley distracted us briefly from the food and drink but not long enough for me to get a picture of either! The landscape remained in spite of my gluttony and soothed us into quiet contemplation.

The cravings of my stomach over reason persisted through the amuse-bouche of a wedge of the local cavaillon melon in a light sauce of wine scented with very classy balsamic vinegar. Which is why I don’t have a picture of that either!

Happily my dining companions reminded me of my responsibilities so I was able to capture the first course before having completely consumed it. I’d had a hard time understanding this course when explained to me by our server because I just didn’t understand sunflower as food. I get the seeds of course, but sunflower?

It turns out that sunflower heart has a texture very similar to that of an artichoke and is amazing. It was served in a wild celery vinaigrette with sautéed girolle mushrooms and slices upon slices of black truffle. Once the plates had been set in front of us, our server circled the table, shaving off more of the truffle until we felt cocooned by the heady aroma. We repeatedly caught the same scent throughout our meal as other diners were regaled with their own perfumed clouds.

[The baseball sized truffles for this course were kept in a pedestalled cake plate under a clear glass dome on a nearby table. Something came over me as our first course plates were being removed and I asked the very young server if they weren’t afraid somebody would steal them. He appeared shocked only giggled his answer.]

The second course of smoked rack of lamb was presented to us for inspection from a heavy black cauldron opened dramatically at the table. Smoke of fresh Herbes de Provence from their gardens billowed around us and we sat back in quiet and confident anticipation. We were each served three of the chops in an impossibly delicate jus along with a cauldron of potato gratin reported to be from Chef Loubet’s grandmother’s repertoire. We were told to stir it thoroughly as to incorporate the wild leeks and herbs from the bottom of the little enameled casserole.

We didn’t feel the dessert quite lived up to the standards set by the rest of the meal though a smoky cappuccino cream served in a glass domed bowl sustained the smoke and perfume theme of the meal. The mignardises (tiny bite-sized sweets) made up for whatever the dessert had been lacking and I was able to get a picture before we inhaled them.

Coffee was served to us in the at a table for four in the garden. We chose this spot in the sun, under a statue of a wrought iron man contemplating the valley below. The coffee arrived with little shot glasses of chocolate ganache with small kabobs of local fraises des bois (teeny and intensely flavored strawberries) and raspberries.

We might have sat there forever as serenely as the wrought iron figure above us had we not remembered suddenly our 5:00 p.m. deadline at Europecar back in Aix-en-Provence.

The next morning I walked up the twisty Aix street to the marketplace for lunchtime provisions, and came across these beauties offered for sale at a vegetable stand. I sat for a moment with a coffee and contemplated the adventure that is travel and the joys of discovery.

The Garden of Eden

2011-05-03T07:40:00.000-07:00

It’s still spring. It will still be spring when the sweaty nights begin to feel like summer but, for the time being, it’s spring and feels like spring. Since we work outside most of the time, that’s a pretty important distinction.

There were bugs, yes, noseeums and mosquitoes but the family had thoughtfully provided an array of bug killing options so they didn’t trouble us much.

It was perfectly still when we arrived; our chit-chat, laughter and lifting-grunting the only sounds. Well, there were birds. And we were alone: before the wedding coordinators, the florists, the musicians, the photographers, the caricature artist… the guests.

It picked up, the musicians began to strum and sing, the florists prettied up the place, the wedding coordinator organized, guests trickled in, fires were lit, steak and grouper sizzled on the grill, the sun set, liquor was poured and the party was on.

But for a short time, this little corner of paradise had been all our own.

Thanks to H&M Tent and Party Rentals, Christina Gillon, Fete Events, Nouveau Flowers

No, you can't eat it!

2011-04-12T04:39:00.000-07:00

Fresh Gulf Shrimp

Every once in a while we get
to do something completely
different, something more like
play than work.

The Classic Canape'

And such was the case when we were invited by Southern Bride Magazine to provide food props for a photo shoot last month at Seaside.

I asked a bunch of questions and they said blue was good. I agreed, of course, blue's good, but it doesn't appear naturally in food very often and - according to people who should know - it isn't a color that does much to excite the palate.

Well, it turned out that it didn't all have to be blue and that was a relief.

And at the end they asked if they could eat the food. "Good grief, no! It's for pretty, not tummies.

Well, ok, you can eat the blueberry trifle!

Some photos provided courtesty of Jeff McDowell.

Vegas, Baby!

2011-03-08T10:01:00.000-08:00

It's billed as the the most extensive catering educational conference offered anywhere in the industry, with over eight thousand catering and event professionals, industry leaders and suppliers in attendance. And this was my fifth year. The first year, 2007, I charged every penny and didn't completely pay off the debt until 2008. It's the single most energizing, educational, inspiring and professionally mind-expanding thing I do for myself and my company.

Classes on presentation

Classes on Leadership

Classes on food

More classes on food

Parties and food

More ...

More...

But it's Vegas, Baby!

A Night at The Marquee, produced by Cade and Ingrid Nagy, Catering By Design, Denver, CO

Leadership slide provided by Warren Dietel, President, Puff n'Stuff Catering, Orlando, FL

First appetizer slide provided by Jonathan Chovancek, Chef de Cuisine,

Culinary Capers Catering, Vancouver, BC, Canada

Second appetizer slide provided by Chef Eric Levine, from his book:

Stick it, Spoon it, Put it in a Glass: Recipes for Small Bites

Pub: Catersource, 2010

Ahhhh... Truffles!

2011-03-06T14:05:00.000-08:00

It was so cold that my

gloveless right (camera) hand

looked the same color as my

red suede glove protected left

hand! But we were there,

at 8:38 AM, in front of the

Hotel de Ville of Carpentras,

France, awaiting the beginning

of the Friday Truffle Market.

Some, like me, were there for
the show, but others carried
lumpy bags of all shapes and
sizes. The air was almost too
cold to smell but every once
in a while, a pungent, earthy
wisp of truffle went by.
Like a tease.

Just inside the Hotel de Ville

gates, a number of

enterprising truffle retailers

displayed their precious baskets.

Yours truly was found with

her nose in one of them!

At 8:45, the whistle blew and

the people moved slowly into

the courtyard, where an open

rectangle of wooden tables had

been assembled. On the inside

stood the buyers and around

the perimeter, waited the sellers.

The buyers moved around

slowly, examining the bumpy

little sacks and baskets. They

then huddled briefly in the

center. The price was set,

truffles exchanged hands,

the crowd dissolved.

I then shuffled as fast as
my numb feet would take me
to the closest cafe. Inside,
I ordered a croissant and
a Cafe Crème. It was as
I was bringing the hot cup
to my lips that the truffle
perfume drifted toward me
from a distant table and
distracted me from my
coffee. Who knew the
transactions would continue
inside?

Sometimes it's just fun!

2009-12-09T07:00:00.000-08:00

On November 7th we had our last catering job of the fall wedding season. Then, on November 8th, we were to serve little nibblies to three hundred and fifty wine enthusiasts in support of the Destin Charity Wine Auction Foundation.

We were beat. We were blackened-crispy around the edges. We wanted a deep breath, a long deep breath but the Sunday event was important, for a good cause and, besides, I'd been committed to it for months so there was no way 'round it. Not only that but I'd submitted our menu very early in the season in a moment of madness, forgetting (perhaps a result of the same brain chemical that allows women of child bearing years to forget the agony of the previous birth in order to further the population) how we'd all feel at the end of the season.

The week before, while also working on the twenty-seven dishes for the two hundred guest wedding on the 7th, we planned furiously and bought five hundred empty, perfectly formed egg shells. We tested them with two eggs per half cup of cream, with two yolks and one egg per half cup of cream, with one teaspoon of white truffle oil, with three quarters of a teaspoon of white truffle oil, in water baths, out of water baths, in cardboard egg cartons, in cardboard egg cartons with the bottom points cut off. At 325 degrees, at 300, at 280... we tried and tested every conceivable combination of temperatures, water and timing.

Then we thought it was perfect but plain, it needed something. We tried whipped cream: plain. We added porcini dust, salt and pepper and the magic started to happen. Topped that with a few truffle shavings and voila, White Truffle Flans in eggshells with Porcini Whipped Cream and Black Truffle Garnish.

And somewhere in between all the food for the wedding and the trials and tribulations of flan creation, and even though only one dish was required, we produced enough Sweet Ginger Sorbet and Chocolate Tuiles for the aforementioned three hundred and fifty wine sipping guests we'd be serving. Because there should always be dessert.

We knew what lay ahead of us that week. It would be a forced march, a siege, a tighten up your belt and suck it up sort of thing. But we could do it, we'd done it before, we were professionals. Then the gods gave us a gift, such a precious gift, who'd have expected it? The final email from the coordinators confirmed it: the event didn't begin until 3:00 PM. We could sleep in, we'd have time to bathe, we could, well, we could meet before at The Red Bar in Grayton Beach for brunch and Bloodies. All the food would be cooked, right? There was nothing to do but pack it up, drive to the venue, set up and smile.

Sunday, November 8th, was a spectacular day. Crisp and clear, sunny, breezy, lovely. We chose the porch of The Red Bar 'cause that's the best place to be and the breezes battered our umbrella a bit but we ate as though we'd not eaten for days (had we not eaten for days?), drank our Bloodies and headed to the event. Smiling.

There were three of us there, plenty of staff to smile and serve, hand out cards and explain the little eggshells and warm peppercorn insulation they sat in. So, we set up and ... well, after all, it was a wine tasting! There were wines to the left of us, wines to the right of us, wines everywhere and we were diligent in our research, taking turns to wander around, using our little sorbet cones to sample.

Oh, did I mention the view?

Ok, we bought a couple of bottles too!

When a plan comes together

2009-08-22T07:21:00.000-07:00

Last fall I started looking around for a partner because I felt I'd taken my wee company as far as I could on my own. I considered just hiring somebody but I didn't believe I had the money to do it and, besides, I wanted the somebody else to be as invested emotionally and financially as I. So I wanted a partner, a person who'd take over the kitchen/production part of the business and allow me the time to focus more on what I'm good at. Well, what I'm better at.

I searched the archives of a catering forum I belong to (catersource.com) for information on partnerships and the one bit of important information I came away with was that partnerships are like marriages and they shouldn't be ... arranged.

I pursued a sushi chef I know, whose integrity (both personally and professionally) had always really attracted me but he had different ideas for his future so that was that. Forgetting what I'd learned on catersource, my desperation had me dialing the number of another chef, whose superlative skill with vegetables, frugality and uncompromising standards had provoked my admiration, even though I knew that he hated a monster chunk of catering reality: the schlepping. He said he'd think about it but the next time we spoke we both wisely pretended the first call had never happened.

Then a surprising thing happened. In February, Angus, the man who'd been working with me as my gig chef for almost two years, suddenly expressed an interest.

"But you don't like risk," I said.

"My wife thinks it's a good idea too."

"But you don't like risk," I repeated.

"Not gonna think about it."

In March we consulted an attorney and even paid her for a written agreement but there really is no formal relationship yet. The informal relationship is as follows: We both work our butts off week after week and get paid less than we deserve, in anticipation of wonderful future things to come.

Here's the reality: I sell the jobs, I create the menus, I do the client meetings and vendor days, I am FOH at our tastings, I work up the prep schedules, I write the pull lists, I design the events, I coordinate with all the other vendors except our suppliers, I manage the staffing, I update the blog, facebook and website and I pay the bills. But I haven't cooked a lick in months and, in the last six weeks (our slow, sultry mid-summer season), I haven't worked one gig.

I was at the kitchen on Tuesday, waiting for a potential client who'd called to say they'd be a little late. My partner and I were sitting at the table, waiting to put the pancetta and parmesan gougères back in the oven so they'd be freshly baked and heartily perfuming the kitchen when the family arrived.

"I'm bored with the menus," I said, apropos of nothing. He's a man of few words so he used none but gave me a sideways look. "I know, I update them all the time," I continued "but they feel stale to me."

"I guess you'll have to work on that," he answered, and got up to put the gougères back in the oven.

Friday I joined Mom and Dad for one of our cocktails-on-the-beach evenings we try to do once a week and they asked how it was going, though not with the same urgency they'd asked that question a couple of years ago. "I want to work on the menus, they're a little stale."

The thing about cocktails on the beach is that the gulf wavelets, the sun, the sweet breezes, the scotch, all conspire to soothe us, so a little time went by before I continued. "But, it's going great. We're booking well for 2010, Angus is handling everything to do with the kitchen and I'm doing all the other stuff. So," I continued, "I'll probably work on the menus next week. It's pretty cool having the time to do it."

And that's when Mom piped in. Mom who'd thought going out on my own was the worst possible decision, who'd fought with me about my reasons (I mean, really, artistic freedom?), who, with Dad, had given me the 5K it took to install the hood vent and return air systems in my kitchen, who had, in the last four years washed more sidetowels, aprons and t-shirts than anybody seven decades on the planet should have to wash, said, "Well, that was the plan, right?"

Parmesan and Pancetta Gougères

1 c milk
4 oz butter cut into cubes
¼ t salt
1/8 t pepper
1 c flour
4 lg eggs at room temp - maybe 5
¼ lb finely grated parmesan
¼ lb finely minced cooked pancetta

1. Set the oven to 400 degrees.
2. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
3. In a saucepan heat milk, butter, salt and pepper over medium heat and bring to a boil.
4. Immediately remove from the heat and add all the flour in at once; stir briskly for 1 minute.
5. Return to heat and stir with gusto until the mixture begins to film the bottom of the pan.
6. Remove from heat and allow to cool for three minutes, then add the eggs, one at a time beating well after each addition. You have added enough egg when the mixture forms a slowly falling "hook" when you lift a bit of it from the bowl with a wooden spoon. If it doesn't, beat the fifth egg and add a little at a time until the batter says that it's done.
7. Add the parmesan and pancetta and beat until completely incorporated.
8. Use the gougères mixture to secure the parchment to the cookie sheet by putting a smear of it under each of the four corners of parchment paper. Then drop the batter by spoonfuls (or pipe) about ½ inch apart. If you pipe them or if they have "sharp" points after loading on the cookie sheet, be sure to press the points down softly with a wet finger to keep them from burning at those points while baking. You can freeze them or bake them immediately. If you intend to freeze them, put them straight into the freezer; once frozen they can be stored for a couple of months in a zip-lock bag.
9. Bake them (from the freshly prepared stage or frozen) for 10 minutes at 400 degrees then reduce the temp to 350 and bake until golden brown, about 20 minutes.
10. Serve warm

Going Green

2009-07-02T05:59:00.001-07:00

Back in the fall of 2008, I threatened the staff almost every day: "In 2009 we're going green," I'd say. Every few days I'd say it, expecting grumbling and resistance. "That's good," they'd say, "that's what we need to be doing." Sometimes "Yeah, good idea, Kim, let's do that." Or "It's about time, Kim, how are we going to start?" Or even, "Why are we still talking about it?"

One slow cooking evening after everybody had gone home, I went to Home Depot and bought four bins. I took them to the kitchen and found a Sharpie: Paper, Glass, Alum and Plastic.

The prep folks and my partner were already there when I arrived the next morning.

"See the bins?" I asked.

"Yeah, sure, we saw 'em. They take up space."

"Don't you think it's important that we do this?" I asked.

"Sure, yeah. We've got a kitty."

"Kitty?"

"You know, for the money, when somebody screws up."

"Any money in it?"

"Nobody's screwing up."

It's not easy to recycle where we live; the powers that be don't care and they don't pick it up. When our bins get full we take them to the containers at the Chamber of Commerce Annex, about ten miles away. Ten miles isn't a big deal, but you have to want to do it.

A few weeks ago we suffered along with the rest of the country in triple digit temperatures and all three of our Saturday night gigs were outside. One of our clients had resisted all our efforts to convince them of the benefits of PLA and bamboo. "No," they said, "we want those clear plastic plates like they have at Sam's."

A little after nine pm my partner and I were sitting at our big kitchen table going over the Saturday schedule. He with a beer, me with a couple of fingers of scotch.

"It's going to be rough tomorrow," he said.

"Well, we've got a bunch of low-cal Gatorade and the five gallon water thermoses."

"And you've also got all that plastic."

"So?"

"You're going to bring it back to recycle, right?"

Oh my God, oh my God, we'll be like dishrags by the end of the night, like cooked spaghetti. We'll be dreaming of the kitchen a/c. We'll be hating the venue, the client, the weather gods, each other. And now I have to recycle. That's what I was thinking. "Yeah, sure."

"I'll take it up to the Chamber," he said.

"You will?" So all I had to do was get approximately 200 9" plates and 450 6" plates back to the kitchen and he'd take it from there. My hero, he was my hero, the wind beneath my ... whatever.

"It's sorta the whole money where your mouth is thing, Kim."

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. "No, yeah, you're right."

So we did and he did and we all felt a little noble.

There's still no money in the kitty.

So you wanna learn to cook!

2009-02-13T16:23:00.001-08:00

Well, that's what she* said and then she decided to make a party of it. A Christmas party. And the thing about cooking classes as parties is that there's an inverse ratio between alcohol consumed and lessons learned. Which is really ok because there isn't a test at the end.

We learned about making Gougères.

We learned about making Fettucine.

We learned about making Kim's World Famous You Ain't in Alabama Anymore Sushi Roll**.

Ingredients
1 cup slow roasted pulled pork in the best possible BBQ sauce available
(Kim's World Famous BBQ Sauce comes to mind)
½ cup Carolina Slaw (recipe follows)
2 cups Sushi Rice (recipe follows thanks to Martha Stewart)
Mamenori Soy Bean Wrappers (There are many online sources for this product.)
Sushi bamboo rolling mat wrapped in plastic wrap
A bowl of water large enough to wet your palms
Endless Patience (thank or curse your parents)

Procedure
1. Place a half slice of the wrapper lengthwise on your rolling mat.
2. Wet your hands with water so the rice won't stick to them and scoop up a palm full of rice.
3. Spread the rice along the wrapper, to the edges.
4. Place a couple of tablespoons of the pulled pork (mixed with BBQ sauce) horizontally across the lower center of the rice, distributing it evenly.
5. Place a forkful of slaw on top of the pork

6. Begin rolling the sushi, rolling away from your body, using the mat to pull the wrapper and rice over itself. You may find that you're wrapping up the bamboo mat and, if so, stop that.
7. When the sushi is completely rolled, use the mat to squeeze the sushi gently but firmly into shape.

8. Cut into slices and enjoy.

And we might have learned about making Soufflés but, well, they so often come at the end of a meal and we didn't so much care about learning by then.

Carolina Cole Slaw

½ cup apple cider vinegar
6 tablespoons sugar
6 tablespoons vegetable oil
2.5 teaspoons dry mustard
1 teaspoon celery seeds
1 medium white or purple cabbage finely shredded
1 large sweet Vidalia, thinly sliced
1 large green red pepper, thinly sliced

1. Combine vinegar, sugar, oil, mustard and celery seeds in a small nonreactive saucepan.
2. Stir over medium heat until sugar dissolves and dressing comes to boil.
3. Remove from heat, season with salt and pepper and cool completely.
4. Combine cabbage, onion and bell pepper in large bowl and toss with dressing.
5. Can be made one to two days ahead.

Sushi Rice

1.5 cups Sushi Rice
3 T rice wine vinegar
2 t sugar
2 t Mirin (Japanese rice wine)
2 t Sake or water
1.5 t kosher salt

1. Place rice and 2 cups of water in a medium saucepan and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat to low and simmer, covered, until the water has absorbed, 12 to 16 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, combine the vinegar, sugar, Mirin, sake and salt in a small saucepan. Warm the mixture over medium-low heat until the sugar and salt are dissolved, about 2 minutes. Set aside to cool.
3. Transfer the cooked rice to a large mixing bowl. Slowly add the vinegar mixture to the warm cooked rice, folding as you would egg whites into a soufflé, until all of the vinegar mixture is incorporated into the rice. Cool completely.

*Thanks to Robyn Bomar for these photographs.
**Thanks to Chef Eric Levine for this inspiration.

Peace

2008-12-08T14:04:00.000-08:00

My towels are clean, the sheets on my bed are clean and the shower curtain is soaking in the washer with 2 cups of Clorox. After an hour I'll start its soak in OxyClean. The cats' litter box is clean, the plants are watered and the dishwasher emptied. The outstanding bills have been paid - with sincere apologies. I can once again see the floor of my office. And am pretty much finished scouring the floors of my kitchen.

The cats are back to eating on schedule but I'm not sure they like it 'cause it means no more midnight meals. The plants are also being watered on schedule and I'm quite sure they like it. I only lost two this year to neglect. The oregano died and the old leggy geranium is no longer with me, but at least I didn't lose the expensive Crown of Thorns.

I'm eating on schedule as well. So odd to prepare dinners in the evening. Well, dinners for me. And last night I roasted a chunk of grouper in my pristine oven. Pristine because it hadn't been used since ... I think it was Mother's Day when I baked my mom Crème Brulée.

I have a mountain of menus proposals to produce in the next few days and rental RFPs to send out. Still so much work to do but it's time to pack. Because it's November and November means a trip across country for a visit with my sister and brother-in-law. We have Thanksgiving together every year but the bird isn't the highlight of the trip; it's the time spent with my sister on a remote Pacific Northwest island, indulging ourselves in that year's gastronomic curiosities. And not much else because there's no agenda, no calendar, no clocks, no obligations. 'Cept to eat all that we've brought with us before it spoils.

The view.

The oysters: Kumomoto, Quilcene, Belon and Penn Cove. And my sister's skilled hands.

Himachi and Tuna on Himalayan Salt Block.

The Dungeness Crab.

White Asparagus with Chanterelles and Shitakes in garlicky, thyme-y butter.

One of a couple of clear sunsets: this one the night before we left.

Remains of Thanksgiving Apple Tart

Colors

2008-10-13T05:19:00.000-07:00

I remember every wedding I cater but each has a specific hook that keeps it in my memory: sometimes it's the bride, sometimes the venue. It could be the weather, my terrific crew, a new dish I'm serving for the first time.

This October 4th, it was the colors.

Clams

2008-07-06T10:48:00.000-07:00

I knew what Mom would have said: Keep smiling and the client won't panic. She would have also said that it's easier to calm the client when the smile isn't obscured by smoke. I shook my mother's voice out of my head and took a swig from my bottle of Evian. "Wait 'til you taste these."

George coughed discreetly. "Good, eh?"

"I think you'll like them." I gave the skillet a good chef's shake for emphasis. The shells inside clinked against the stainless steel.

"Does it always make this much smoke?" he asked.

"It's called cooking a la plancha and the pan has to be white hot." I shook the skillet again, slamming it against the cast iron burner. "It's very quick though," I added, my caterer's smile radiating reassurance.

George smiled back tentatively over watering eyes.

Peeking under the lid I found the shells open, tossed in a palm full of garlic and parsley, gave pan another quick shake and doused it all with thickly green olive oil. I slid the contents into a shallow serving platter and placed it in front of George and the five guests waiting on the smoke free side of the kitchen island.

The five hesitated. George reached out and took one of the small clams in his fingers. He closed his eyes, tilted back his head and nibbled the tender bivalve into his mouth. His eyes bulged open and his grin was full of delight. "Wow."

I felt vindicated but decided to keep the smoke incident from Mom anyway.

Catalan Clams a la plancha

1 or 2 dozen small clams (don't crowd these - cook in batches if you have more)
1 T minced garlic
2 T minced flat leaf parsley
3 T very good quality extra virgin olive oil

1. Soak the clams in cool water for fifteen minutes. Remove them from the water by lifting them by hand into a colander (do not pour the water through the colander or you'll send the sand with it). Pour away water, refill the bowl with clean, cool water and return the clams to it. Repeat until there is no sand left in the bowl. Drain the clams and dry quickly in a kitchen cloth. Refrigerate uncovered until time of service.
2. Heat a stainless skillet with a tight fitting lid to a very hot temperature. Have the other ingredients ready in small bowls.
3. Remove the pan from the heat and dump in the clams. Quickly cover and, holding the lid firmly in place, shake the pan from time to time to distribute the clams. Check after three minutes then check each minute after that until the shells have all opened.
4. Throw on the garlic, parsley and pour over the olive oil, replace the lid, and shake the pan a few times to distribute the herbs and oil.
5. Discard any clams that do not open.
6. Pour the contents of the pan into a shallow bowl and serve with plenty of crusty bread for dipping up the olive oil and clam juices.

Spaghetti alle Vongole

1/2 lb spaghetti, linguini or angel hair pasta
1 to 2 dozen clams - cleaned per the above instructions
1/4 to 1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup dry white wine such as Pinot Grigio
2 cloves of garlic, in very thin slivers
3-4 tablespoons of minced flat leaf parsley
salt and pepper to taste

1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and cook the pasta until "al dente"
2. In the meantime, heat 1/4 cup of the olive oil in a large sauté pan with a lid and add the garlic
3. When the garlic is barely golden, add in the wine and butter and cover. As soon as the butter has melted, toss in the clams, cover and allow to steam without opening the pan for three minutes. After three minutes, check the clams and continue checking once a minute until all clams have opened.
4. Discard those that don't open.
5. Drain the pasta and add to the pan of clams; stir to combine. Toss in the parsley and season to taste with salt and pepper and a drizzle of the remaining olive oil.

Charcoal

2008-06-15T04:46:00.000-07:00

It wasn't triumph but my storyteller's instinct that had me dialing Mom at 8:30 the following morning.

"I don't understand why was he giving you such a hard time." she said.

"I guess he figured he knew more about grilling than some woman."

"Who was he?"

"Unfortunately he was the client, the drunken client."

"Where were you?"

"Rosemary Beach, I told you."

"No, I mean on a deck or what?"

"If we'd been on a deck I'd be toast by now. And sued penniless. No, we were in the patio, downstairs."

"You should have paid more attention to the bag." she said.

"It was pitch black out, Mom, and he'd been hovering around almost an hour, shoving the bag at me. I couldn't take it any longer so I grabbed it and poured. That's when I realized it was that charcoal with the lighter fluid in it, you know? It works really well. So I threw it. The whole flaming bag, like a meteor, and you won't believe this but it landed flat dab in the middle of the driveway."

"Did he say oops or something?"

"Neither of us said a word at first, we just stared at it sort of fascinated for a minute then he nodded and said, 'Good throw.' So I put my ribs on."

"What about the bag?"

I shrugged over the phone line. "It was kinda smoldering in the driveway when I left."

Bulgogi - Korean Ribs

5 pounds flanken beef ribs

Marinade:
1/2 cup soy sauce
1 cup mirin
1 cup pear juice
1 tablespoon sugar
3 tablespoons roughly chopped garlic
1 cup roughly chopped green onions
1/2 cup roughly chopped shallots
1 tablespoon roughly chopped fresh ginger
2 tablespoons Asian sesame oil
2 teaspoons Srirachi or other hot sauce
2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper

1. Combine all of the marinade ingredients in a food processor or blender and puree until smooth. Put the ribs into a large, non-reactive, oven-proof container and cover with the marinade. Allow to marinate in the refrigerator overnight.

2. In the morning, pour off the marinade into a saucepan, cover the ribs tightly with foil and bake at 325 for three hours. Remove the ribs from the oven and, if not finishing immediately, pour off the fat and store in the refrigerator until ready to serve. Remove the ribs from the refrigerator a half hour before you want to cook them.

3. Reduce the marinade over medium-low heat until thickened to a syrupy consistency.

4. When ready to serve, baste ribs with the reduced marinade and grill for 5 to 10 minutes until heated through. They can also be baked at 400 for 15 minutes or until heated through.

Asian Pear Slaw

1/2 head Napa cabbage shredded finely
8 (or so) green onions chopped finely
2 Asian pears (or regular pears) cut into strips (julienned)

Vinaigrette
1/4 cup rice vinegar
1 teaspoon or so grated ginger
1 medium clove garlic minced
1-2 T sugar, to taste
1/4 c light oil
1-2 teaspoons Srirachi to taste
salt to taste

Whisk the dressing ingredients until the sugar disolves and toss over salad.
The salad is best if it's allowed to sit in the dressing for at least an hour before serving.