Category: Blog (Page 7 of 30)

“The New Knife Kits are Here!”

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!

Demi-Glace and a Damned Great Guy

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!

Shitstorms and Heirlooms

If you haven’t noticed, I’ve kind of been under the radar for awhile and have neglected my duties with into the Soup.  Rather than go into great detail, let’s just say I was bombarded by a shit storm…or 7!

Can you imagine being in a real one – figurative speech aside.  YUCK!!!  It’s not in my nature to crawl under a rock, but I did; and upon emerging, you can bet I took a long, hot shower.

Pardon the repetitive use of the word, but the “shit” that has recently landed in steaming heaps at my doorstep, has made it difficult to put on my “Happy Heidi” face and reflect on the lovely bits of life for all of you. Acting is in my blood, but my “agent” hasn’t been coming through with any good gigs lately, if you know what I’m saying. For the record, that analogy would have sounded great if read like a Mafioso.

The first storm (and the only one I’ll delve into) was when I made the painful decision to cancel the radio show and was faced with the enormous and onerous task of re-inventing myself, yet again.  My husband says I’m akin to a child’s toy ~ a top.  I start spinning at dawn and basically pass out around 9:00 p.m.  So staying at home, watching daytime TV, and baking cookies probably won’t work for me; however, coming to a screeching halt after 3 years of spinning made me kind of dizzy.  So, I’ve been taking a bit of a break to adjust, evaluate and breathe.

My plethora of job titles include paralegal, substitute teacher, bill collector, chef, fundraiser, PR consultant, traveler, product promoter, sales executive, event coordinator, radio show host, TV maven, and writer.  Yes, I’m that old…or schizophrenic – the tests haven’t come back yet.

Anyhoo, after I escaped from my self-absorbed hiatus under the rock, I found something I didn’t realize I had been missing: Time.  You know if you spin those letters around you get ‘item’, ‘emit’ and ‘mite’.   Eww, is that a psychosis coming through? 

To be candid, all this new found time on my hands was rather frightening and I foundered listening to the tick of the clock.  Then one day I took a good, long look at my forlorn back yard and saw myself in its desolation. Then and there I made a life-changing decision; I cleaned my tools, bought a new pair of gloves, brought in a load of dirt and started to dig. It had been nearly 3 years since I cultivated anything unrelated to into the Soup and I was more than giddy!  Please allow me to quote the Scarecrow from The Wizard of OZ, “Oh Joy!  Rapture!”   Gardening has again become a salve and my solace.  To watch your labor of love bear fruit is one of life’s greatest pleasures.  

You’ll be happy to know that my herb garden is scenting the air with rosemary, oregano, tarragon and thyme; my heirloom Juliets, Big Boys, Celebrities, Romas and Early Girls are coming into bloom and I visit them every day.  We have long conversations about politics, religion, the next big food trend….oops, there it is again.

As far as reinvention goes, I’m giving myself some time to just keep digging. I will continue writing, as best I can ~ it seems it’s just as cathartic.  And as for shit storms, they’re still hovering around, but instead of returning to my cave, I found a big ass umbrella, am showering daily and keeping a positive eye on the horizon.   Oh, and if you haven’t done so lately, may I suggest that you smell a rose, or something – it will do wonders.

The Soup Gods

I’m one of those people who plan my daily errand run according to right turns and trip time.  Yes, it is rather frightening.  While keeping that in mind and the fact that I basically cook for a living, one would assume that prepping and packing up the ingredients for a Minestrone soup to take and make for a friend would be a breeze.  Well, we all know what happens we assume.  This is a good one!

 

So, this friend of mine had been sick for quite some time and I got the brilliant idea of making him a little homemade soup.  Since I hadn’t seen him in quite some time I thought it would be a hoot to bring the goodies with me and make it in the comfort of his kitchen. Ah, the best laid plans.

Anyhoo, I can make a pretty mean Minestrone with my eyes closed, but I wanted to try something a bit different and found a new recipe online:

Bacon:                  Check
Ground Beef:         Check
Tomato Puree:       Check
Mire Poix:              Check
Diced Tomatoes:    Check
Garbanzo Beans:    Check
Spinach:                Check
Zucchini:                Check

Stock, Garlic, Herbs, Spices, Wine: Check, Check, Check, Check and Check

Sounds like we’re off to a great start, right?  Wrong.  OK, so I cook off the bacon and drain the fat; add the mire poix and sauté.  The 1/3 pound bag of ground beef I snagged from my freezer starts to really, really smell like lamb.  Yipes!  OK, I can deal with this, we’ll just add a few more spices and a teensy bit more wine.

Follow this up with a blind grab from my pantry of tomato paste instead of tomato puree.  Um, more wine…more stock.  Shit!  It’s getting a little too red and a little too thick for my taste, but I forge ahead.  I begin to think  aloud, “Oh, God, this is going to suck!  All I wanted to do was make some really good soup for my friend.”

My friend is all like, “Relax, it’s going to be fine.  Here, let me pour you a glass of wine.”  So, I add a little more wine (to the pot), turn up the heat, and we retire to the patio…..Chat! Chat!  Glug! Glug!

Upon return, this mean ass Minestrone of mine is still quite red AND very bland.  Think, think, think.  I know, just a touch of red chili flakes.  Crossing my fingers I add that, and the final ingredients; garbanzo beans, chopped zucchini and 3 Cups of fresh spinach.  A dash of salt and pepper, do a little Tebow, grab a tasting spoon and my friend says, “Mmmm, can I have a bowl right now?”  “Sure,” says I, as the corners of my lips slowly curve into a smile.  He brings his heaping, steaming bowl of soup onto the patio and I watch in wonder and joy as he devours every last drop and then starts to sweat.  When he gets up and heads to the kitchen for a second helping, I hear that his cough is sounding better.

While he digs in we dig back into each other’s lives.  We laugh, and talk and then we talk and laugh some more.  On my way out the door, he tells me that was the best soup he’s had yet!  He’s kidding, right?  That was either some serious luck, or the soup Gods were looking over my shoulder.  Let’s go with Gods, shall we?  While that Minestrone certainly wasn’t a classic, he is most definitely one classy guy.  Thanks, Matthew ~ I hope you’re feeling better…I am!!!

Geographer’s Café: Kiev ~ Entertainment for Men

Our World Traveling journalist, Mr. R.F. Burton got pretty real about Kiev in this little missive.  Open your mind and eyes and read on…..Kiev – Entertainment for Men!

If the publishers of Maxim magazine designed a city, it would be Kiev. Kiev is a place almost exclusively for men. Now you might think I am simply talking about the over the top abundance of beautiful, Slavic women, I am, but that is not where it stops.

The architecture is solid and powerful, including one university painted entirely blood red; hotel parking lots are stuffed with Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and Hummers; large, stalwart men with ear plugs and sunglasses stand in doorways for no apparent reason; and the food is hardy with thick soups, stews and carbohydrate stuffed portions. Even going to church is an indurance test as the orthodox congregations are required to endure three hour services… standing.

Kiev was a destination of choice as I had to make sure that I had covered my bases with my company. This meant including an Eastern European country in my initial tour.  

I arrived clueless. I had never to been to this part of the world and, to tell the truth, had never really thought much about going. Harsh winters, harsh terrain, and harsh people with deep warbling accents were the pictures in my mind. Not exactly vacation destination one would typically choose. The fact that I grew up as a military brat during the Cold War meant that my view of the former USSR was tainted by James Bond villains and steroid popping female shot putters. What I experienced did change my view, but perhaps not for the better.

This place is one of many where the greatest challenges of capitalism are visible in every shape and form. Kiev is a playground built for a few rich, rich, people. In this city, the few rule makers who have ultimate control over many poor people. It is a place where political connections determine success or failure, where money is worshipped, and where many have lost the will to work. Instead, they spend their time finding ways to infiltrate that aforementioned world of the very wealthy through whatever means.

This discription is not mine but that of my local guide. She is serious business woman who I am pretty sure can take me in a fight, and she presented her views unapologetically.  As she showed me around the city and pointed out its monuments with great pride, she colored her commentary with tragic accounts of historical brutality while cursing the government corruption and the deteriorating economic situation of today. She derided the gold digging working girls sitting at cafes waiting impatiently for their next text message, and she expressed a intense desire to get the hell out of Kiev. Suffice it to say, she left an impression.

While her account of Kiev may sound brash; don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed it immensely. My hotel, the Premier Palace, was gorgeous and central to everything.  With its classic 19th century design, a roof top beer garden and a (way expensive) strip club built in on the eight floor; well, let’s just say it didn’t’ suck.

I was taken aback by the beautiful, un-restored orthodox Churches and a unique Cold War outdoor museum where Soviet tanks had been turned into a child’s playground. I enjoyed the many street musicians and the beautiful part where “Big Mamma,” a Soviet era anti-Statue of Liberty, stood warning off potential invaders rather than beckoning the tired and huddled masses.

I must admit, even as tourist, I did get the cynicism of the place. Take the hotel. If one sits in the lobby for any period of time, you are likely to see numerous red faced, middle aged millionaires waiting with arms full of flowers for their twenty-something, supermodel girlfriends.  All around is a clear sense that you are being watched because you are.  Staff man every doorway, several at a time. When you steps out of the elevator they all turn to see who you are and where you are going. I am sure this to make sure you receive proper, 5-star service, but it’s still a bit creepy.

During my trip, I had a meeting with a woman who was a major executive at a local company and a clearly very tough business woman. However, when she greeted me in the hotel bar, she was wearing what amounted to a short, sexy ballerina like costume and high, above the knee, black boots that cut away as sandals at the foot. It is difficult to imagine the accumulation of influences that brought this person to dress in this adolescent dominatrix style for a business meeting, but, in a way she was emblematic of the city of Kiev.

Is Kiev a place on the rise or on the way down? It is hard to say. Kiev has become a destination for European men on holiday similar to Bangkok in Asia yet with a surreptitious, darker edge. It is safe to move about and even elegant in some areas, but an strange underbelly lingers –  a cold practicality coupled with a sense of entitlement.

Truth be told, I enjoyed my time in Kiev and achieved a greater understanding of this part of the world, eyes wide open.  As for the entertainment value…I’ll let you be the judge.

Thank You Santa!!!

Dear Santa Claus:

I’ve been thinking about you lately ~ I’m sure you hear that a lot these days.  I sent my Christmas Wish List to you back in January, but this is a different kind of letter, entirely.

I watched all of my favorite shows of the season last week: “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”, “Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer”, and one of the best “Frosty the Snowman”.   That’s the one where you truly shine by helping Karen to believe in the magic of Christmas and to have faith!

With that being said, I just wanted to say: “Thanks.”  Thank you for all those killer gifts when I was a kid: that Easy Bake Oven was awesome, and I’m real sorry I blew it up when I tried to make a tuna casserole; guess I should have stuck with the ready mix cakes.  The rainbow suspenders and my first bottle of perfume were so stellar and my Raggedy Ann Doll is still in fine form.

Can’t believe I made the ‘nice’ list this year considering my stocking was stuffed with a battery operated cork screw, a battery operated cocktail mixer and a bottle of 2002 Dom Perignon!  Are you trying to tell me something or just making my vices a bit sweeter and easier to open?   Oh, the new PJ’s and slippers were the perfect touch and in quite good taste.

Hope you enjoyed the shot of Jim Beam and the Cuban cigar we laid out for you.  Figured you might need a wee nip to help you through the night; you know, just to take the edge off…and perhaps aid with the digestion of about 8 million cookies and those endless glasses of eggnog.  Ugh…don’t know how you do it and still drive that sleigh ~ YOU ROCK!

My Christmas List for 2011 didn’t include material things so you must have spent some time reading it.  Throughout this year you’ve given me one of the greatest gifts of all, friendship and love.  Not only for my family, but for the new friends in my life who have inspired me, made me laugh and filled my heart ~ you all know who you are.  I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the most precious gift of all, my darling Emily.  She’s a light that shines for me in so many ways and I’m more than thankful for her and all she has given to me.

It seems quite apparent that aside from all the glorious gifts and goodies, you bring us so much more: the desire to give and to receive with grace and gratitude; the inspiration to understand the deep and abiding spirit of love and hope that comes with the season and, of course, you, Dear Santa Claus.

Just so you know, I’ve never stopped believing and will always do my best to spread the spirit of Christmas all through the year.  But, um, since I’ve got your ear…next Christmas, may I please have another bottle of that Dom and an 8 pack of AA batteries.  THANKS!

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