Paradise at the Top of a Mountain

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

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!

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!

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...







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!

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!

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

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