Author: Heidi Lee (Page 22 of 96)

Week 2 began with a massive respiratory infection. Ugh!! Washing my hands became ‘Monkish’ and I was constantly spraying the elbow area of my Chef coat with disinfectant. Cold medication and I are less than copacetic. It made for some interesting conversation; I pulled back on my salt content and brought a bottle of AirBorne for my fellow students.

When one spends a considerable amount of time with a small group of individuals, you can either love it or um, not love it. I can’t speak for everyone, but I’m totally diggin’ it. A kitchen needs to be cohesive to function at its best; and although we are all on our own separate journey, we are a team and a good one.

Personalities are emerging as we get more comfortable with each other and Chef Maccherola is an absolute hoot. I’ve started keeping a log of what I call, “Maccisms”. His one liners are epic and he is a self-proclaimed blurter; an attribute we share. Example: When we queried about the use of lye, Chef blurts, “I like to bury dead people in it!” Or, out of the blue, “I used to eat 6 ding dongs a day!” I haven’t laughed so hard or had so much fun in ages. And yes, this is culinary school.

I was talking with Tucson (Chef nicknamed her that ~ it stuck) and she said, “I really love the culinary part of everything, but I can’t imagine skinning something.” I lost it. Angel started out pretty much angelic; operative word being ‘started’. She’s a very soft spoken, teeny little thing. When asked why she was attending ACI she expressed in a voice barely above a whisper, “I just like to cook.” Even though she still speaks softly, Angel has surfaced as our resident, dry humored, smart ass. Awesome!! She actually challenged Chef Macc to a piping contest.

Okay, here’s that French thing again. Much of our culinary vernacular originates from those guys across the pond and the pronunciation of such can be challenging. Many who know me well call me the ‘grammar girl’ and that extends to proper diction. I get kind of squirmy unless I correct it. Poissonier (pwah so nyay) does not have an ‘r’ sound attached at the end, it even says so in our 8 inch thick book. Neither does Garde Manger, Entremetier or Saucier. I consulted Chef Rigolet (no “T”) and he explained that it’s a matter of the masculine versus the feminine in the French language and he suggested that it’s best to keep it all in one gender. Let’s just say that whenever Chef comes across one of these terms, he rolls his eyes, looks at me and allows me to enunciate. Yes, I’m that annoying.

My cold is much better and rest assured I sanitized all my uniforms. However, on Thursday I was on so many drugs I could barely think. Case in point: Chef was demonstrating a metal ravioli template and he said, “So, what do you think the most important aspect of this tool is?” With all seriousness and a straight face I blurted, “You can put it in the dishwasher.” He rolled his eyes, threw out a one liner and we all lost it.

Does anyone know where I can get a standalone hard drive for my brain? Holy crap! Yes, they say that the gray matter contained in the cranium is a sponge; however, it does come in various shapes, sizes and capacities to absorb. If I put my hands on either side of my head and squeeze, culinary terminology starts gushing out of my mouth.

Week one of Basics was an absolute blast!! There are only 6 of us: Shi, Ty, Angel, X, Tucson and me. Our instructor, Chef Macc, imparts his vast knowledge with enthusiasm, understanding and a self-deprecating humor that puts us plebes at ease and affords us the ability to ask questions with confidence and voice our opinions. He is the pectin that binds us. There is a comfortable cohesiveness between this intelligent and extremely intuitive group of individuals. We’re even considering adopting a team name ~ Captain Crunch and the Cereal Killers.

At the end of our first day, Chef was taking us through the kitchen pointing out familiar and unfamiliar pieces of equipment: bain marie, marmite, offset spat, rondeaux, chinois, tilting skillet, French knife, mandolin, pots, pans, spoons, ladles….Aggh!! I have to stop squeezing my head. Anyhoo, with good reason and foresight, he saved the best for last, handing out our knife kits. It’s like opening your favorite birthday present, turning it over and over, pulling it apart, putting it back together and giving it a name. In short, he would have lost us completely. Can you say “food geeks”?

Random thoughts by Heidi: Who in their right mind came up with the crazy idea to square up food products that are anything but square; then precisely and painstakingly cut them into shapes and sizes with names like brunoise, julienne, and battonet? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure it was those guys from France. God love ‘em.

Speaking of the French; on day 3 I was in the HUB with our team taking a snack break and I got up from the table and said, “I’m off to ‘place’”. This is short for mise en place, which means everything in its place. Chef Rigollet, (yes, he’s French), stopped me in my tracks and politely said, “It’s mise en place. If you’re going to use the terminology, use it correctly.” The next morning, he brought me a detailed, handwritten outline. He said he gave it to me because he wants me to succeed. It resides in my knife kit and I will cherish it forever.

Culinary school is humbling. There is so much to learn. If you don’t pack a big ol’ bag of humility in said knife kit, you won’t make it. Case in point ~ the fundamentals of mise en place that should have taken up uber space in my private little spongeville went missing. On day 5, I got cocky. I completed my marinade and prepped my veg for the grill; then, I large diced my root vegetables, made the glaze and got them in the oven. I figured I could start my braised red cabbage and catch up dicing the onion and apple as my bacon rendered. NOT! I got behind and screwed it up. Reaching into my kit, I pulled out a handful of humility and admitted my error to our Captain. He listened intently, gave me some insightful advice on discipline and said, “Good learn.” “Yes, Chef!”

The new knife kits are here! The new knife kits are here! And not only that, I found my special purpose. I’m going back to school, Arizona Culinary Institute, to be exact – Boo Yea!! Classes start May 18th and I’ll be the one up front terrorizing my instructors.

Now, I know some of you may be shaking your heads and saying, “Aren’t you already a Chef?” Yes, I’ve exploited that moniker; but the fact of the matter is I’m just a REALLY good cook with big boobs and a nice smile. It’s opened doors…what can I say?

You know that lightning bolt simile? Well, about 2 months ago I was going through some old journals and found a magazine ad for Vanity Fair Lingerie with a message conveying love and appreciation of self as we grow older. The year was 1998 and I had just given birth to my daughter. I pondered what the hell I must have been thinking back then to have ripped this communique from its’ binding and tucked it away in my diary. After about 10 minutes of so called pondering, I still had no fricking clue. Then, I turned the page over and there was an advertisement for Culinary School. Que lightning strike!

Right then and there I applied to ACI. My best friend said, “Did you feel it through your whole body?” ABSOLUTELY! I’m still a bit charred and smoking, but anticipating every minute of my new adventure.

Attending ACI is not about becoming a certified (or certifiable) Chef; it’s about doing something just for me and for the pure and simple joy of it! I made the decision rather impetuously, yet was comfortable enough to know that it was the best one I could make for myself both personally and professionally. To be fully absorbed in a kitchen every day, learning from the exceptional team at ACI and doing what I love most makes me giddy.

I’m sure there will be challenges; in fact, I’m hoping to be challenged on a daily basis, because that’s what learning is all about. I’ve got quite a few of the basics down, but my knife skills suck and baking and pastry scares the crap out of me ~ too many rules!

I have absolutely no idea where this will take me and that, in and of itself, is the wonder! I do know that it can only elevate my comprehension in my favorite sandbox, fulfill a dream and enrich my life in so many ways. I’m pretty sure Chef Humphrey is up there shaking his head, chuckling a little and saying something like, “Are you kidding me? I’m not teaching Heidi Basics?” I’m sure you’ll be on my shoulder, Glenn!

The first time I met Glenn was at the Scottsdale Culinary Festival where I was ‘getting my feet wet’ with the ACF. He drifted into my peripheral, white-coated and commanding. I turned to face this figure and looked up…and then up some more…and I thought, “This guys a Chef?  No way!  Are you sure he’s not a captain of a fishing boat, or maybe a herder of bovines on the craggy bluffs of Norway?  Wait, wait–I know! He’s the leader of a Harley Gang!”

Well, come to find out, he did sail the seven seas and twice around the world.  Glenn grew up on a farm in Connecticut, raised cattle and outlined cuts of meat on their bodies with indelible ink. Maybe he didn’t turn out to be the leader of a Harley Gang, but he was definitely a leader who adored his bike and those who shared the joy of the open road.  But I digress…

Upon our first meeting, I hoisted a 20-pound bag of ice over my shoulder–you know, like a lady–and he walked up to me, shook his head in that way that he did, chuckled a bit and said, “What are you doing?”  I replied, “I’m helping!” Obviously, I should have said, “Trying to impress you!” But he knew that, and as our friendship grew, I came to understand that Glenn didn’t want to be impressed. He was a man who sought authenticity.

We became compatriots in the ACF and I, in turn, sought his advice constantly. He represented his beloved ACI on radio and film with into the Soup and then he did it just for fun! He was a walking, talking, culinary encyclopedia that I called upon for answers to on-air questions like, “Why does fennel taste like licorice?”  “Is there really such a thing as lemur shit coffee beans?” “Is Veloute a Crayola color?”  He’d lean into his mic with that smile on his face and translate the complex language of the kitchen in a way that even the most novice cook could understand. It’s just one of the reasons why his students loved and respected him: He was an accessible genius.

I’d call him on a Friday night when I’d screwed up a sauce and he’d tell me how to fix it, or in dire circumstances, where to get the best pizza. Glenn always had my back and I hope somewhere along the way, I had his.

My final frolic in foodie land with Chef Glenn Humphrey was over Super Bowl weekend. I got a last minute call to employ Grey Tie Events for a VIP. They wanted two breakfasts, dinner for 8 and me to Chef it.  Um, I don’t think so.  “Hey Glenn, can you help me?”

He told me that he had been in the hospital the week before, so I convinced myself that I could pull it off on my own; but as I began to prepare for the occasion, images of a straightjacket and padded room filled my head and I couldn’t find my flask. I panicked and called my ol’ compatriot again.  He said, “Give me the menu and I’ll cook it!”  Despite being sicker than any of us knew, he got my back; and together, we knocked it out of the park!

You’re probably wondering where that Demi in the title fits into this little missive.  VIP dinner menu included some Prime Rib-Eyes and Glenn, being the classy and uber prepared act that he is, brought along a quart of heaven, just in case.  Lucky for me, our clients’ tastes leaned toward the more simple side of steak sauce. So, Glenn asked if I’d like to take it home. Hell, yes!!

When I went to visit him in the hospital just hours before he passed, I said, “Hey Glenn!  Guess what I had for breakfast?  Scrambled eggs and Demi-Glace! I put that shit on everything!”  I saw a twinkle in his eye, heard a faint chuckle, and he shook his head and smiled.

Damn, he was a great guy!