Food Consciousness #3 - In Memoriam for Tito Long

My Tito Long passed away in February this year and I miss him terribly. The following emails relate a touching story of human compassion found in none other than the restaurant world. Sometimes it's not about covering food costs and how many numbers you've done for the night. Well done, Ben and Emily Ford. This shows true class.

Patrick Gealogo to Friends
date Thu, Mar 26, 2009 at 3:36 PM subject Fwd: A little story about my Dad and Ford's Filling Station

Hi Guys, Ford's Filling Station is honoring my Dad, Long Gealogo starting next Tuesday the 31st - (also my Bro-in-Law Dodd's Birthday - so greet him if you know him!!)By placing nothing but Blue Irises as a dedication to him! This was the last restaurant where I was able to eat out with Dad and it means a lot to us that Emily and Ben Ford are doing this for Dad. Please read the emails below and pass this on to anyone who might like to eat at Ford's Filling Station in Culver City! It's owned by Ben and Emily Ford - And yes there is a relation to Indiana Jones and you'd know it if you saw the feature on FOOD Network. The info is at the bottom of this email. It's a highly rated restaurant and I personally love the food - as do my fellow co-workers here at the Culver Studios! Please make it a point to go there if you have a moment even for a drink - And mention that you are a friend of ours if you do! Thanks again for all of your continued support and Love, Patrick


---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Patrick Gealogo Date: Thu, Mar 26, 2009 at 2:49 PM
Subject: Re: A little story about my Dad and Ford's
To: "Beretta, Emily"

Hello Emily and Ben, Wow! Your email brought tears to my eyes! I didn't think that was possible now that I've spent most of them in recent weeks. That's a very thoughtful and beautiful gesture on your part. I would be honored - my family would be honored, to see them in your restaurant. I do give you my permission, but don't be alarmed if I cry like a baby while happily eating your very scrumptious Chowder.But I promise not to make a scene. I will make it a point to go there at lunchtime sometime next week for sure -I'm over due for the soup!!.

With All Sincerety,
Patrick Gealogo....


On Thu, Mar 26, 2009 at 2:18 PM, Beretta, Emily wrote:

Dear Patrick, Please accept our condolences on the passing of your father. Thank you for sharing your story with us. It means a great deal. Irises are just coming into season. Ben and I would like your permission to honor your father next week starting Tuesday by having nothing but blue iris in our vases as a dedication. Thank you for continued patronage, and we hope to meet you in person in the near future. We are usually around during the weekdays at lunch, so please ask for us the next time you are in.

Warm regards,
Emily and Ben Ford
Ford's Filling Station
310.202.1470 (restaurant) 310.202.0428 (fax)


From: Patrick Gealogo
To: Ford's Filling Station
Sent: Thu Mar 26 12:43:25 2009
Subject: A little story about my Dad and Ford's

Hi Guys, Recently, I ate at Ford's - I believe it was Friday the 19 the of February.For the very first time during my 9 year employment at The Culver Studios, I had the opportunity to eat lunch with my Dad & Mom, who just happen to be in the area.I suggested Ford's because I am addicted to the Clam Chowder in particular, and I wanted them to have a nice meal since they are usualy in the Pasadena area.We had a chance to talk about my latest projects, including creating a toy with my friend Nathan Hamill - the son of Mark Hamill, based on his artwork, and some of my other toys in manufacturing -- The food as usual was top drawer -- Dad a home chef himself - an Excellent one I might add, was very impressed with the subtleties of the food.the sevice was excellent and the Flowers at the table, OUR table were beautiful. My Dad asked what it was, but since I didn't know, I asked the bus boy who asked a waitress, and they told us that it was a Blue Iris -- the one at our particular table. We had a wonderful time and then it was time to say goodbye though they lived in Eagle Rock and I lived in Pomona -- Long commute to Culver City, I know.What I didn't know was that it would be the last meal I shared with my Dad.He passed away on Tuesday the 23rd of February of a sudden heart attack - in his sleep. My mother was devastated -- our entire family was devastated - since this is the first tragedy we've had in our very close family. From the day he passed, paranormal activities have occurred like his Ferrari turning on by itself, his Picture sliding sideways, etc (as in at least 10 paranormal occurrences) - I guess his way to show us that he isn't gone forever, just in a different location...=)but these occurrences were in addition to just very pleasant coincidences inlcuding a very special one concerning flowers. They day I went to the viewing for the very first time, I noticed a beautiful arrangement of flowers from my place of employment the Culver Studios, but what my sister had to point out to me in my grief was that ist was a huge arrangement of none other than Blue Irises...I cried b/c it was a flower that he had admired...and I'd never known him to admire flowers prior to that From now on whenever I go to Ford's I'll make sure to ask for a table with Blue Irises if you still have them. This is my last connection with him and also one reason I hope that your restaurant flourishes and remains a culinary staple in the restaurant world.

Most Sincerely,
Patrick Gealogo

Gastronomic Concepts #4 - A Field Guide to Cooks

back in 2003, i picked up a great book called The Hipster Handbook . it's a humorous, tongue-in-cheek reference guide to identifying common, everyday pop culture and sub-pop culture personas, namely hipsters. for example, hipsters are always wearing some combination of american apparel, aviator sunglasses, corduroy, cowboy boots, and some sort of ironic thrift store t-shirt (that is always skin tight). they also live off their parents as they don't have jobs and sit at sidewalk cafes all day smoking cigarettes.

i thought it would be a great idea to write a field guide to cooks. the following descriptions are EXAGGERATED stereotypes, but if you're a cook, you'll either find yourself or co-workers as a mixture or as dead-on depictions.

1. Culinary Student/Extern (aka Fresh Meat) - you'll know them by their smile, super-white school uniforms, new pens/thermometers stuffed in their coat pockets like 80's nerds with their packed pocket protectors. they have full sets of brand new shun knives (that they don't know how to sharpen) and you could publish their enthusiasm as it is a desperate re-hash of what they've learned in school and are trying to prove themselves. they are like lambs to the slaughter, deers caught in headlights; unknowing polly-annas ripe with inspiration and soft hands and fingers ready to be nicked, burned and cut off. they call themselves "chefs" yet despite their training, don't know how to cook, and quickly learn this after the first day at REAL school.

2. Veteranos (aka Grumpy Old Men with Knives) - these guys don't mess around. they aren't there for show, but to work and make money. a lot is riding on them for families back in the homeland (mexico, guatemala, southeast asia) and most have worked in their same jobs and restaurants for at least 15 years. their work is perfection, as they've been doing the same thing over and over to the point that doing it blindfolded wouldn't be a problem. they are full of machismo, are mad prep machines, gripe about the whipper-snappers that work at night and how they don't prep anything, and usually leave once the lunch rush is over.

3. Crack Pots - no station is safe from these cooks, as every service is complete meltdown with dirty towels littering the floors, product in half cater-wrapped nine pans spilled on cutting boards, while they literally swing pans and curse as they cook. they also have a habit of making a lot of noise by smashing their pans on the burners and grunting as a way to pump themselves up and help work off the coke (with red bull/rockstar chaser) they did in the bathroom or car before starting the shift. they run around like chickens with their heads cut off, and are sometimes capable of great work, but it is never consistent.

4. Food Monks - if Bruce Lee was a cook, he'd be a food monk. much like veteranos, they aren't in the kitchen to socialize, but to work. however, it's how they work, quietly, deftly, dynamic and efficient in their movements almost like a dance. and you don't need to tell them what to do. they are already gliding over "crouching tiger, hidden dragon" style to the station that's in the weeds to help out. they never complain, and usually take up bigger responsibilities as they can be counted on. you don't know when they've arrived or when they've left as the work is always done and the station is left immaculately clean. calm and serene, their work is always consistent.

5. Pastry Princessas - patisserie. even the name sounds prettier than hot line. and so are the pastry cooks. immaculate uniforms, perfect makeup, they even smell good from all the baking, vanilla and sugar they are covered in. mostly women, these goddesses grace us with their presence and make short work of the bumbling runners and busboys that try to engage in conversation. it's not that they're rude, they're pastry (cue angels singing in the background). they provide a stark contrast to the rest of the kitchen that is sweaty and oil-stained. they also provide some interesting gossip as they are constantly having girl talk.

6. Class Clowns - just like all class clowns, all they do is disrupt the environment with their concern for funny stories, making animal noises during prep time (i've heard monkeys, donkeys, whale song, you name it) and outright dancing and singing on the line. there's a time and place for such things and sometimes we all need a little breather, but for class clowns, it's ALL the time. less disruptive class clowns tell their whole life stories during service to everyone and they don't shut up. even though they may be disciplined, it never lasts long and the "shenaniganz" quickly ensue.

7. Kitchion Biotch - women who have been working in kitchens long enough that they have good cred and reputation. they also have an attitude that would make most mothers hide their sons at home to keep them safe. often intimidating, straightforward and crass, they have no problem cutting down Fresh Meat with a mere look. they are ball busters as they've had to work harder to prove themselves, yet they can also get away with more by using their feminine wiles, whether they be the "Don't make me come over there and beat you like yo' Mamma did" or the "wouldn't you like to see what i look like, out of uniform? NOW PEEL THOSE POTATOES!" approaches. never get into an argument with these women as, like all women, they are always right. these women would also do well as a dominatrix. the less civilized and sophisticated version resorts to screaming at any given moment to get whatever they need done and done fast. needless to say, all Chefs (regardless of gender) fall into this category.

8. Rock Stars/Poseurs - these cooks never wear hats, as they interfere with their hairstyles (usually mohawks or some elaborate dye job), always have the top buttons of their chef coats undone, have numerous tattoos (sometimes food or pirate related) wear sunglasses (for that added bit of mystique) and sport some sort of bling (one pierced ear, leather wrist cuffs with studs, pinky rings). it's not important that they know how to cook (but it's THE BEST when they do as then they are true rock stars and not poseurs); they're just so bloody gorgeous and charming that you'll want to either sleep with them or give them money to start their own restaurant. in fact, they do a lot more talking than actual cooking, kissing ass in the dining room while the rest of the kitchen is working. young sous chefs, especially when not in the presence of the exec chef (never steal the boss' thunder) fall into this category, as they have the bump in pay, title, and pussy notches to prove it.

9. Hacks/Shoemakers - for a complete description, see this previous post. it is important to note that hacks can fall into any of these categories (especially the culinary student/extern), making them the most insidious kind of cook. there are also two kinds of hacks: the ones that don't know what they're doing (aka Fresh Meat) and the ones that know what to do but cut corners anyway (Shoemakers). i find the latter far worse than the former. don't be mistaken. no matter how much veterano cred, crack pot intensity, food monk zen, pastry princessa perfection, class clown humor, kitchion biotch attitude or rockstar finesse, hacks are ALWAYS found out.

popular combinations are:

Fresh Meat + Hack

Veterano + Food Monk

Kitchion Biotch + Rock Star

Crack Pot + Class Clown

i happen to be a good combination of food monk/fresh meat (especially now with concentrating on learning the new station) + class clown (in moderation, although i do a mean roger rabbit) + hack (even though i have experience, i'm still learning) + kitchion biotch (when i've lost patience for the runner that comes and eats my mise, i let the whole kitchen know that i'm not happy with a nice loud "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY STATION!"

i currently work with a rock star and kitchion biotch, both of whom can back it up, a new sous chef which makes him fresh meat (HAHAHAHA), two food monks that i used to see only on the weekends, a crack pot desperately trying to be a rock star, a food monk who can't stop talking on the line, a pure hack, and some good fresh meats that are learning really fast. i miss the veteranos, and morning food monk, but i still see them.

if i've left anything out, let me know and i'd be happy to add to the field guide.

-I

A Cook's Life #3 - Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

there is an old adage "Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea." it originated as a nautical reference, and according to the International Maritime Dictionary by Kerchove, the devil is the seam in a wooden deck which bounds the waterway or a seam in the planking of a wooden ship on or below the waterline. if you imagine yourself standing at the top mast on a footrope under a yardarm, and are at the risk of falling, you'll most likely land on the deck within the devil's plank or in the water outside the devil's plank, and be killed.

this sense of being between a rock and a hard place has dogged my steps ever since i changed careers. a lot of people don't realize that once you become a cook, your life is completely different from most of your friends. unless you're a veterano, you will work at night and put in your dues. this means working from 2pm til closing and breaking down, which could mean 11:30 pm or if particularly busy past midnight. you'll also get paid around $8 or $9 an hour which means that you'll get a second job to make ends meet. if this surprises you, know that this is the standard. even working for a hotel may get you $12 an hour, but it doesn't get much better. most culinary students after graduating have a debt of at least $50K, and after working in a restaurant for a short time, change careers because they can't pay their loans. i did this for around seven months, working at two different kitchens a lunch and dinner shift, sometimes only getting one day or staggered half days off. i only ate the food provided by the restaurant (couldn't afford regular groceries and i was never home anyway) and had as many butter sandwiches to keep my energy going. i only saw Matt because we lived together, i never saw my friends, still barely made only enough money for gas and rent, and lost my mind.

thankfully, i have only the one job and with some careful lifestyle changes (getting rid of the car and walking to work, not eating...so much) i am...still barely able to make ends meet, but at least i am more rested and in a positive work environment. i had been working the lunch shift at my restaurant for a year, and once i quit the night job, took some time and enjoyed getting out of work at 3pm, and having weekends off (two full days in a row off? incredible), and seeing my sweetie. i made the conscious decision to start working double shifts, at a moment's notice, and 6 day weeks because after working two jobs, you start to feel kinda lazy, or at least i did. this eventually turned into a split work week where i had three nights and three days as the kitchen suffered a major cook shortage, mainly due to the cooks not being able to earn a living.

i've now been working solely nights for the past month (maybe longer) and am being trained as lead cook. this means i set the pace for the other cooks and need to be on top of everything as far as knowing what's going on, communicating with Chef, and i have the most intricate and highly technical dishes to deal with. as of this week, i've been lucky to have the lead station for four nights in a row, so i'm really starting to get it. it is a marked change working at night vs day, as the cooks are hungry with ambition, and menu is more extensive with a tasting menu and longer service. just last night we had a special tasting menu and it was amazing to see Chef in action.

this is where the devil and the deep blue sea come in again. i am lucky to have a support system with my wonderful boyfriend both financially and emotionally, but i do miss him terribly. the schedule change is being tolerated, and the recent mini-break has eased tensions, but it will get harder as the holidays come around since i will most likely be working. i'm lucky to even have a relationship because a serious cook's life forsakes everything to the point that you are selfless, and are working for an intangible, far off, and sometimes unrealistic goal. however, because i have started working nights, i have become that much better. cooking is a craft, and i believe a cook to be an artisan, one who is skilled in making food into art. it is the only form of expression that engages all of our senses, and no matter how breathtaking the sistine chapel is, you can't eat it so it doesn't interest me ;P.

the conflict is that if i could, i would work at night, but still be able to see my boyfriend and have a day schedule, and make hmmm, $20 an hour would be fine, i'm not greedy, and not get yelled at by Chef EVER because every service would be easy and nothing would go wrong, or better still would win the lottery (i'd be happy with $6 or 7 million) and that way i could still cook, but afford to eat at restaurants and travel and stage at other restaurants around the world and then buy some land up in portland or new zealand and run my own organic farm and attached restaurant with only 30 seats and make sheep's milk cheese.... i know, 'tis a fantasy. i've also been looking into becoming a culinary instructor, and while it would give me the financial freedom and schedule i desire, i would be away from all the amazing things i learn EVERYDAY at work. i also believe that if i'm going to teach, i need to be responsible to my future students and learn as much as i can, just i hope they would. i'm not ready to give that up just yet, but i also don't know realistically how much longer i can afford to NOT make ends meet.

so, the devil is every selfish desire for normalcy in my life like dinner with the family and weekends off, while the deep blue sea is every selfish desire for culinary greatness, and i don't mean getting my own show on the food network, but becoming the best possible cook i can, and in turn understanding Food so that i can write about it responsibly, and eventually teach new cooks that it's not just a job but a way of LIVING.

the devil whispers in my ear every afternoon when i walk three blocks to work, and i think of the time when i was able to put in a good day's work, come home, relax and read, cook dinner for Matt and i, perhaps meet up with friends that night or on the weekend. the deep blue sea whispers to me every night when Chef says to break down, and i realize i've done a good job, and i could keep going, and how i want to have such a noble sacrifice and purpose, and reach a true goal after many years of dedication and become a real chef, like the Chefs i work with who are so exceptional and so fully realized in their faculties that sometimes it makes me weep; they have become the EXTRA-ORDINARY, and chose to do what many others could not, and perhaps what i cannot because i refuse to give up those things that i need in life to be happy. thus, i am a knight of infinite resignation and not a knight of faith.

i have made compromises, but all this treading water wears on the body and soul. at least i've reached a sort of balance; as if the lesser of the two evils have cancelled each other out. i do have faith that ultimately things work out. no matter how horrible a service, things get fixed and are worked through, and no matter how terrible this busy season may be with at least 200 on the books every night, it will pass.

i can only do my best, and until i no longer feel that, i will keep on keeping on. today i woke up at 9 am, tidied up the loft, put in three loads of laundry, loaded the dishwasher, walked the dogs, written this post, and now will be off to start my day (night) at work. i'll get home around 11:30 pm, eat SOMETHING, then sleep (if i'm good) at 2 am. this is my life, every day, until it changes again, hopefully for the better.

A Cook's Life #2 - Crew Meal

"What's for CREW MEAL today?"

this question has elicited complete joy AND ran shivers down my spine, as it could mean a period of zen cooking or hellacious hospital experiment in a pan. the last two kitchens i've worked in, i have been responsible for making what's called staff meal or crew meal. basically, it's a meal provided by the restaurant for the employees. sometimes it's for front of the house (wait staff, hosts, managers, bartenders), back of the house (cooks, chefs, dishwashers, janitors), or sometimes both.

where i work now, i've consistently cooked crew meal for the lunch crew (roughly 25 people everyday) as long as i've worked lunch shift, and now i cook crew meal for the dinner crew (front of the house, at least ten orders) two nights out of the week. the reason for such extreme reactions to crew meal is because i never really know what i'm going to make. sometimes, i've been able to plan a day ahead with my sous chef Ted, and we've made some killer meals, but most of the time, i cook what we have, and that usually means whatever needs to be used up because it's going bad, whatever fish or beef scraps we have, or at worst, eggs and bacon with rice. this also has to be done in addition to the work that goes along with the station, and well, it's tough to put up something nice when your station is in the shits. of course you try to do your best, but sometimes, it's just really, really bad.

at this point in my career, i've got crew meal down, but it wasn't always so. in the beginning, i had some major disasters, like spaghetti sauce that was more like wallpaper-tomato paste and horrific beef stroganoff that NO ONE wanted to eat. believe me, cooking for cooks holds a pressure all its own, because we get hungry AND we know what good food should taste like. i had to find my niche and thought back on my life and realized, i'd been cooking good, simple food for lots of people all my life. i started cooking family meals when i was nine. back in college while living with so many different people, i'd always cook a huge pot of something, and since then i've always loved cooking for roommates, housemates, friends.

so, i started cooking comfort food: fried chicken, meatloaf, shepherds pie, chicken fried steak and eggs with grits, chicken and dumplings, hamburgers with fries, garlic herb roasted chicken with potatoes and veg, fish and chips, Portuguese sausage and fish stew with grilled bread, chili with garnish of red onion, cilantro, and cheese, goulash, beef stew, steak and eggs with grilled tomatoes and bearnaise, grilled lamb sausages with tzaziki, cous cous and greek salad, and probably my most popular (next to the fried chicken, meatloaf, and hamburgers) chinese kung pao beef or mongolian beef with plenty of rice on the side.

now, if you're a cook reading this, you know that most kitchens have a heavily latino based workforce, and most veteranos work en el dia. i've felt it an honor to work alongside these men, most of them far away from home sending money back to their families, most working two or three jobs full time, but when they get in there they get it done. sure, there's some horseplay, and i've learned all the bad spanish words i can stand, but when it's time for business, these men take it. and it's because of these men (and my sous chef Ted) that i've learned how to cook mexican food: tacos, enchiladas, cochinita pibil (i once made this using some pork that i shouldn't have, and although i was reprimanded, Chef still went back for seconds AND told me great job!), fajitas, chile quiles, cocido, chile con carne, real guacamole, real salsa, and some chicken and potato stews that i learned from my co-workers (mostly through stunted english, my broken spanish, and lots of hand gestures) who in turn had learned the recipes from their mothers or grandmothers.

i've learned from these men, that's it's important to do a good job, whether you want to or not. most of these men chose a culinary profession because its a trade in high demand that would guarantee them skilled work for a paycheck many times over in their own country. you pit that intense drive for survival and responsibility for others (wives, children) against the pollyanna-naivete of the starched-white culinary student (most of whom haven't worked a day in their lives) and the results are laughable. it's the classic Professional vs. Enthusiast, which i will get into on a future "Philosophical Musings" post.

Being a cook means that you are making something special for someone to eat, and that is given a monetary value (for the customer) but, an ethical and spiritual value by the cook; we want to do a good job, but also know when we aren't, and although it's very hard and humbling work, we THRIVE from it. we cook for hours for COMPLETE STRANGERS, and we are tired, and we get hungry. so, when i approach crew meal, i think of my co-workers, and how i know them, have befriended them, and love them. it's important to me as a cook to make something good, but even more so to make it good for my kitchen family.

crew meal is that point in the day, even if it only lasts five minutes (most of the time it only lasts two) that we can have a moment to ourselves, and ironically, eat food. it's a sacred moment, when we can stop to sit, take a breath, and enjoy something warm. it's one of the only comforts we have, because other than that, we are moving constantly, always standing, always alert, always working, always doing SOMETHING for something or someone else, except for when it's crew meal time.

since i've moved to nights, i see the lunch crew when i get in, and they are always happy to see me and i them. they always ask me,"Comida?" and i always have to tell them, "No mas." some of them even point to their stomachs and make frowny faces. yeah, i miss feeding them, and they miss eating my food. now when i make crew meal, it's mostly been fish scraps, rice and salad, with the exception of a killer shepherds pie, meatloaf, and chili i was able to make with sous chef Ted's help (ahhh, the good old days).

so, if you've ever wondered if cooks get to eat at work, or had this idea that all we did was eat all day and get fat, it's really much, much more. this is how i've run with it, and i've tried to make it the best food experience possible.

-I

p.s. props to Steven for pancakes, candied walnut french toast, and maple syrup butter...OH YEAH!

p.p.s. i miss you all: samantha (aka mariposa), felix (aka chupas), sal, javier (aka pitallas), chago, ray, abel (aka blueberry, chiquita), eutemio (aka tortuga), humberto (aka chapin), pancho, christopher, and all the cochos from front of the house!

Mood Food #1 - Girls Night Out Mac 'N' Cheese

back in the day, my best girlfriend Jenn and i would meet up for drinks, dancing, and late-night food. we were each other's wingmen, not so much to pick up on guys, but more to look out for each other. if she wore a dress or skirt, then i would wear pants and vice versa, and we would always wear black, our makeup was always smoky eyes and red lipstick, and we would never smile; we were tough cookies, and we meant business when it was dance night. we would take turns buying drinks, talk about guys or our boyfriends, and just have fun.

when it was time to leave, it was most likely because we were hungry. eating before drinking and dancing was never a good idea, so we starved ourselves like good society girls until we needed to eat something to "soak up all that damned alcohol". we'd end up at the 24 hour diner, jewish deli, taco truck, or late-night brazilian restaurant. thinking back to all those nights, we always ordered something cheesy, greasy and meaty. we rationalized that we needed to eat something heavy to combat the alcohol and to ward off hangovers. i'm not sure if it worked, because i always slept through the hangover the next day, but i suppose it was just one of those perfectly convenient justifications for eating like pigs. some of the things we always ate were:

macaroni and cheese

chili cheese fries

NY steak mid-rare and over medium eggs with hash browns and plenty of tabasco

seafood pizza with clams, shrimp, lobster and pink sauce

matzo ball soup with lemon wedges on the side

chopped liver, onion, bacon and cheese sandwich, grilled with pickles on the side

danger dogs with everything

pink's spicy polish dog with chili, cheese, onions, mustard, bacon and tomatoes

toxic hell soft taco supremes with hot sauce

tommy's chili burgers

in-n-out double double meal #1 with raw onions, animal style burger AND fries

open faced hot turkey sandwich with extra gravy and mashed potatoes

mid-rare 1 lb burger with bacon, blue cheese, avocado, red onions and A-1 sauce

poutain

double-thick chocolate or espresso malts

anything breakfast, especially waffles with condensed milk and ice cream on top

yeah, we ate like pigs, and probably looked like pigs, all sweaty, bloated and gross from drinking and dancing, our once smoky eyes and red lips now reminiscent of Fellini-esque whores; classy, REAL classy.

that was many years ago, and we've grown up since. we recently had a girl's night out, and had dinner at my restaurant. I wore black slacks, black silk blouse, black crocodile d'orsay pumps, and Jenn wore a black pencil skirt, tight black sweater, and black pointy toe heels; smoky eyes and red lips in tow. we talked about work, our men, our frustrations, and how we should see each other more as we dined on some of the best fine dining seafood in the city. it was no where near the kind of girl's night out we'd had in the past; no weirdo european dudes trying to grind with us, no one asking if we wanted to be whipped, and no college guys trying to buy us drinks or even worse, talk to us. this was girl's night out, but all grown up.

so, in honor of girl's night out, i give my recipe for mac 'n' cheese. the beauty of this dish is that it can be made ahead of time, that way when you and your girlfriends get home you can just heat it up (or not) and eat.

GIRLS NIGHT OUT MAC 'N' CHEESE

1 16 oz package dry pasta (macaroni, penne, elbows, whatever)

4 - 6 oz each of grated sharp cheddar, pepper jack, gruyere, parmesan and blue cheese

1 tsp cayenne pepper

1 tsp paprika

salt and pepper to taste

1.5 cups creme fraiche or sour cream

butter (to oil the pan)

1 qt of bechamel sauce

bread crumbs

chopped parsley

preheat oven to 350 F.

take the pasta and boil in salted water until half cooked. drain, drizzle with olive oil and set aside on a cookie sheet to ensure even cooling.

to make bechamel, take 1/2 cup each of butter and flour in a large sauce pan and cook together to make a roux (light golden paste). in another pot, simmer half a gallon of milk with onion and cloves to scalding. using a wisk, slowly pour the milk mixture into the large saucepan with the roux to incorporate everything. add half a raw onion with some cloves stuck into it, half a teaspoon of fresh grated nutmeg and let simmer on low heat to a nappe consistency (it should coat the back of a spoon and you should be able to draw a line through it). remember to wisk to get rid of lumps and prevent scorching on the bottom of pan. once finished, take off heat, but keep warm. if you have a chinois, pass it through to remove any smaller lumps.

take the pasta, cheeses (reserves some for sprinkling on top. depending if you like a thick gratin, this means to reserve more), creme fraiche/sour cream, cayenne, paprika, salt and pepper and mix together in large bowl. taste it and see if you need more salt or pepper. i like mine a little spicy, so you could even add some chili flakes.

take a casserole or baking dish (large enough to hold the pasta with room for bechamel and cheese on top) and butter the sides and bottom. take some of the breadcrumbs and sprinkle on the bottom. next, pour the pasta cheese mixture into the dish, then take the bechamel and pour over to cover the pasta. you'll want to give the dish a good smack on the countertop to make sure the bechamel has filled in any air pockets. take the remaining cheese and bread crumbs and sprinkle over the top.

you'll want to cook this for about 30 mins. afterwards, turn the oven to broil and keep an eye on it from this point out, as the cheese can burn quickly. you'll want a nice golden color from the cheese and breadcrumbs. it's okay if it gets a little burned in spots, just as long as the whole thing isn't burned.

take out of the oven and let it stand for at least ten minutes (this is so it stays together, otherwise, you should have just made fettucine alfredo). if you're stubborn, you'll end up burning your fingers and tongue tasting it right out of the oven. when ready to serve, sprinkle with parsley and scoop out portions with a large serving spoon. it's also good cold, broken off in chunks with your bare hands for breakfast.

enjoy,

-I

p.s. I MISS YOU, JENN!!!

Food Consciousness #1 - Umami Mama's Story

while working in the kitchen, the inevitable question comes up between cooks. "Why did you want to be a cook?" you get answers like, "I love food," or "I needed a job and I liked the commercial for the culinary school," or "I WANT TO BE THE NEXT FOOD NETWORK STAR." sometimes its more cohesive, such as, "I was a cook in the army, and I really enjoyed it and wanted to learn more," or, "I come from a family as a third generation chef, and I can't imagine doing anything else." obviously these answers show the extremes, from the absolute naive and insipid, to the mature and conscientious. my answer falls somewhere in-between, with a good mixture of child-like inspiration and monk-like discipline.

my path to becoming a cook started in the summer of 2005. nine months prior i had been struck with bi-lateral pneumonia and endocarditis and it had taken all of those nine months to recover. i did manage to get a job doing office work for a law firm, but once you've stared Death in the face, many things become clear, like what you really want to do with your life. i know it sounds cliche, but honestly, Death gave me a rare and precious gift. the gift was a question: "What would you be happiest doing all day long." my answer was simple: " i'd be happy peeling and cutting carrots all day long." strange that Death would be concerned for my well being, but there's the cosmic joke. i had experienced unlimited pain, complete weakness, and bad hospital food for MONTHS, and i wasn't in the mood to tolerate anything. so, the idea of peeling and cutting carrots all day long was, in fact, HEAVEN.

when you are hooked up to machines and can't do anything for yourself, you have a lot of time to think and plan. i remembered in high school taking one of those tests to see what would be the best career path. my top three careers were: 1. Doctor, 2. Chef, 3. Writer. now, i was more clever than i should have been, and pretty much knew how to answer the questions to get the results i wanted. having insurmountable "proof" on my side, i was all set to be a Doctor. huh? well, you know the old story of parents wanting what's best for their kids since the kids don't know what's good for themselves. i forgot the whole notion of "Chef" and "Writer," simply because they weren't real goals. as my parents told me, i was meant for something more.

so, after nearly ten years of working in the entertainment industry (yeah, i ended up going to film school on a lark!), almost dying, and finding myself completely, existentially "Adrift" (yeah, i ended up getting a philosophy degree also), i realized that i no longer wanted to be a paper-pushing, smooth-talking, high heel and pencil skirt wearing, office managing bitch. i wanted to do something real. something that had true worth and skill and meaning. i wanted MORE.

they always say, "Do what you love." i had overcome so much, that i realized i did have the strength and courage to finally do what was so clear to me years before. i loved cooking. i loved food. i loved the history and traditions, cultural meanings, taboos, religious practices, centuries old techniques that are still used today, and i loved reading cookbooks and food writing. and truth be told, it all started with PBS and watching The Frugal Gourmet.

i remember as a kid, aside from watching the twilight zone, kung fu theater, benny hill, star trek and foreign films (yes, strange kids grow up to be even stranger adults) that i loved watching cooking shows. now of course there was julia child, new york master chefs, yan can cook, but it was "The Frug" and his blend of wit, history and storytelling that taught me food is more than just sustenance for the body, but also for the soul. it's because of him that i eat hummus, that i begged my mom to buy me a chinese cleaver and wok when i was nine (still have the cleaver and use it at work everyday), that i first learned how to roast garlic, the intricacies of a jewish passover meal, how to cook with wine, the joy of sharing this with friends and family, and the importance of making food something special.

we sometimes forget how hard we work at things like putting the right outfit together, decorating our homes, naming our pets, choosing a hairstyle, what car to buy, and other personal aesthetic choices that portray ourselves in a better light. but truthfully, Brillat-Savarin said it best; "Tell me what you eat and I'll tell you what you are." what better an indication of who we are than by what we choose to consume, satiate our base desires, and express our frivolous self-indulgence. even more so as a cook, whose art is in creating and upholding standards of true taste and culture, that the quote can be easily changed to, "Tell me HOW you cook and I'll tell you WHO you are."

and so, it seems the path was clear from the very beginning, but i had to go the long way around and figure things out, not the hard way, but my own way. now, all the loose ends are coming together. cooking and writing, my crazy notions and perspectives, and a true sense of self-worth. working as a cook has given me the opportunity to do something and make it the very best it can be, no matter how simple or daunting the task; whether it be chopping herbs or making a complicated jus, and it is because of this that i truly value my time, efforts, actions, everything i do in and out of the kitchen.

in the future, i hope to eventually teach, and of course keep writing. dare i say it, but i think i love writing more than cooking these days. evolution? perhaps, but food and cooking is still my inspiration for it all.

-I

Philosophical Musings #1 - Small Plates

this was my first attempt at food writing from a few years ago. please note that the title "Philosophical Musings - #1", follows the same guidelines set in "Guilty Pleasures - #1" as a means to classify the continuous thoughts on various gastronomic themes i plan to write about. hope you enjoy....

-I

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

TAPAS and the SMALL PLATE EVOLUTION

The idea of food in its simple elegance; what an individual eats, and in turn how a society eats has always fascinated me. I believe food to be a pure expression of desires and aesthetics. One knows immediately by the senses if they are going to enjoy a meal. It first begins with scent, then sight, taste, touch and sound, each sense building one on top of another until your first bite has been swallowed. Since food is based on these primal instincts, our inhibitions are either masked or stripped away by the decadence or modesty of a meal. It was in Spain that I first learned of this precise ritual through the tradition of tapas, which I will explain in more detail.

In college, I was fortunate enough to travel abroad. I had been taking Spanish, and had become confident and proficient in everyday communication. I simply wanted to get out of Pax Americana and become immersed in another culture - I believed I could understand more about the language through food. Luckily, a friend was studying in Madrid, so I took that opportunity to tag along. The summer program lasted for 1.5 months, and I planned to stay in her dorm, or one of the nearby hostels. I was determined to have my way, and with a streak of rebellion, didn't tell my parents. As far as they knew, I was working at school and taking a few classes. One never forgets their first acts of freedom, and this had the makings of a grand adventure; it was the start of my culinary experience.

From Madrid I took the train south and made my way to Andalucia, and the city of Malaga; birthplace of Picasso, occupied by the Moors until the 15th century, winter resort for the wealthy, and major coastal merchant center to the Iberian Peninsula. It is also the birthplace of tapas. Tapas literally means "to cover" and the tradition began in the 10th century when bars offered small plates of food to cover the bar patron's drink. One reason suggests it prevented flies from falling into the wine, another suggests that the small plates of food whetted the appetite and increased the need for drink. Yet another was to prevent drunkeness. Whatever the reason, tapas has come to define the essence of Spanish cuisine.

I arrived at 13:00 and walked amongst the Malaguenos. I made my way to the plaza and La Manquita, the renaissance cathedral built on the site of a former mosque in the 16th century; its name loosely translated means "one-armed woman". I took in the architecture and history, noting the baroque facades, and made my way to the center of town; the Alameda Gardens lush with centuries old palm and bottle trees.

It was prime time for tapas as I reached No. 16 on the north side of the Alameda. Antigua Casa de la Guardia, the oldest tapas bar in all of Malaga. The old brick building was full, but I managed to find a corner amidst the businessmen, students and workers. From behind the bar hung whole ham legs, sausages and stacked barrels of wine. I started off with a glass of wine made from muscatel grapes; my thirst quenched, and yet not. I was hungry and my throat was left dry from the wine. I first order the iberico - mountain cured ham from Andalucian pigs that grow sweet from a diet of acorns. It came to me, about four paper thin slices, drizzled with a thickly golden-coloured olive oil; I can smell the salt. I can see the marbling of fat and cured pink flesh. Then I taste the delicate melting on my tongue and myself sigh in delight. I repeat the ritual again. Sip the wine. I am ready for the next. I order a mixture of manzanillas and gordales from Seville; the olives are sweet and meaty, and the larger gordales (the size of small plums) are stuffed with white anchovies. There's also a nice crunch from the whole garlic cloves that have been cured along with the olives. The ritual is again finished off with a sip of wine and I look ahead to my third choice. Everyone is eating seafood. I see hot and cold dishes, salpicon with chopped tomatoes, onions and peppers with prawns and octopus. There are boquerones en vinagre - marinated raw anchovies that are deep fried, along with calmares - tender squid rings. There are also numerous variations of shellfish al ajillo, ranging from razor clams to mussels to lobster and crab. Being a coastal town, Malaga is known for its seafood.

It was at this point of the meal that I started to make friends. Some students offered to buy me another glass of wine and to share their tapas. I gladly accepted and the next two hours sampled everything from meatballs in almond sauce, to chunks of garlicky grilled pork loin, broad beans and ham, braised pigs ears, piquant tripe, spicy snails, fritters and croquettes. We finish with remjon - salad of oranges, codfish, onions and olives dressed with more olive oil and lemon. I didn't want to leave. I would have happily stayed for the rest of the night, but I had a train to catch. I would return to Malaga over the coming weeks, and even made a trip to El Palo for pescaito frito - an assortment of fried fish that is served at all the bodegas .

Call me a romantic, but I vowed to never eat tapas again. I would never be able to top that gastronomic experience here in the States. As years went by, I noted the trend of tapas bars emerging in Los Angeles. I read the reviews, and although tempted to recapture the past, i declined; Los Angeles was not Malaga. Not long after, I noted the new trend of what was coined small plates. Small plates is not a new idea. Aside from my trip to Spain, I've had dim sum in Hong Kong, meze in Morocco, and izakaya in Tokyo. The idea of small bites of food to eat and share crosses many cultures. This new American trend seeks to combine this way of eating with the decorum of American society. After all, Americans tend to be rushed, insulated and detached from their eating. As inhospitable as fast food is with its boxed containers and drive-thru table manners, the small plate phenomenon seeks to slowly bridge that gap and bring a sense of camaraderie and pleasure already known by the rest of the world. Perhaps we would not see ourselves as strangers, and would instead offer to share a glass of wine and a plate of food. In the meantime, the small plate offers this sharing in the safety of a table amongst friends, or at the very least, good acquaintances and best enemies.

My first small plate experience was at AOC in Los Angeles. My friend and I chose four courses, including dessert. We started with some le bergere de rouscatin - sheep milk cheese from the Loire Valley. From there we had a salad of speck, apples and arugula, quail stuffed with foie gras and truffle, and finished off with cheesecake and fresh figs. Everything was shared, small and so delicious, that we didn't need to order more BUT we wanted to. Sneaky and brilliant.

While most protein portions in an entree are about six to eight ounces, a small plate will offer three to four, a more realistic and healthier serving. This also helps with the food costing, bringing a small plate item down in price to its entree equivalent. Going back to the ritual I described of scent, sight, taste, touch and sound, I believe that if one is to truly enjoy a meal, they only need a few bites to understand the message of what each plate is trying to convey. Our senses are fickle and our minds easily distracted. Something as uninspired as prime rib becomes painfully Sisyphean after the tenth bite, and upon finishing the hunk of meat, one must eat another slice to reclaim the glory of the first bite - a sad misconception, indeed. With the small plate, the flavors are every-changing, new, bright and straightforward. There was no confusion from the creaminess of the bergere, to the salty, tartness of the speck, to the warmth and crisp succulence of the quail; each had a perfect beginning and end.

I did try tapas recently, and although I enjoyed my evening, it was more the company than the food. It was inauthentic tapas made with inferior ingredients, and instead played out like "tapas inspired small plates".

I hope small plates continue to find a place beyond the status of a restaurant trend. We need the comfort and excitement it brings, and the subtle message that less IS more.