Nothing Interesting Happens In This Blog

I've been lacking inspiration lately. There are times when I sit down with my laptop and tap my thoughts right onto the keyboard and the page magically fills with a cohesive account of my experiences. And then there are times when I sit down and stare at the blank screen willing it to be filled with something readable. On those days, I am usually tempted to create a complaint filled blog that virtually whines when you read it. If I were to peck on the keys on one of those days the result would be organized something like this:

Introduction: Poor me doesn't have enough money to live in this fantastic city.

Body: I'm tired from being so busy with work and school and friends. Nothing new, exciting, or glamorous happened to me in class or on the weekend.

Closing: Waaaaaah.

So I sat down today determined to continue my weekly updates with a clever, engaging little tale of life in the Big Apple. But I got nothin'. And I realized that the reason for this is that our life here has become pretty routine. Now that our steady stream of visitors has dried up, we actually have time on our hands to do chores, do Christmas shopping, write Christmas cards, and catch up on Tivo. So the thoughts that are running through my head involve football, bills, and "The Situation" on the Jersey Shore.

(Side note: If you have not watched this trainwreck of a show on MTV (Jersey Shore), you are missing out on the opportunity to be assaulted both verbally and visually and to have your sense of decency ripped to shreds. The premise is much like the Real World, but in this case 8 Italian-American twenty-somethings move in together for the summer on the Jersey Shore. I am sure there are young adults of similar ethnic makeup that don't spend all of their time either A) in a tanning bed, B) applying hair product, C) punching someone in the face at a bar or D)calling themselves classy while wearing booty shorts and a top that can only be described as a cloth necklace, but MTV failed to find one to put on the show. Oh and "The Situation" is a nickname that a cast member gave himself because his six-pack abs are such a situation. You couldn't make this stuff up.)

So as you can see, life is pretty boring. But boring in a nice, calm way. We put up a Christmas tree last weekend while the first snow fell outside and promptly melted. (It is flat on one side which is good for two reasons: it fits snug up against the window and it was cheap because it's deformed.) We pulled off wins with our fantasy teams. We ate meat loaf last night. I mean, seriously, I got nothin'. So I won't bore you with any more details of our leftovers and chores, but just know we are happily plugging along, getting ready for the holidays and in the full throes of Charger playoff anticipation. I will now return to HBO on Demand and a meatloaf sandwich. Have a great weekend!

30 Days: The Wistful Holiday Edition

This most recent 30 days ticked away without me even realizing another month had gone by. And I may have prematurely declared the honeymoon over. With the holiday season in full swing, there aren't many places I'd rather be filled with cheer in than New York City. Well, there are a few (Mom), but if I can't be home at least I can walk on over to Rockefeller Center and see the Christmas tree I've only ever seen on television. So in honor of our most recent month in New York and in the spirit of one of my favorite times of year, here is the holiday edition of thirty things I've discovered, experienced, observed or would like to share.

1. The crisp fall air is invigorating. We've had our coldest stretch of weather this season (in the 40's) and it's just perfect for walking around this magnificent city. Cold enough to make your cheeks rosy, but not so much that it bites.
2. Walking to work is the perfect way to start my day. I put holiday tunes on my ipod and head past the arch in Washington Square that is now occupied by a giant Christmas tree. It's impossible not to be in a good mood.
3. If you are a park, plaza, department store, building with a large lobby, or a bank in Manhattan, it is illegal to not have a giant Christmas tree.
4. The Salvation Army bell ringers here are not the downtrodden bell ringers I am accustomed to outside of the grocery store or mall in the 'burbs. The quartet (yes, there were 4!) outside of Grand Central had an acoustic guitar, were fully miked, and singing (and ringing) Feliz Navidad. Brilliant.
5. There are so many things that I've seen on TV (like the Rockefeller tree lighting or the Macy's Thanksgiving parade) that I've thought "I have to do that at least once while I live here". There's a part of me that thinks it is a necessary New York experience and that I'd be a fool to pass it up. It turns out that most of these events require a serious time investment to even get in a position to have a sliver of a view and involve an epic battle with a crowd of irritable people all jockeying for position for this one moment in time that is supposed to be a fond memory for lifetime. My decision is that I will keep the 12 hours of my life I would have spent waiting and watch it on TV...again.
6. We toured the window displays at Macy's and Saks last weekend as well as the holiday train display at Grand Central. It made me realize that the thing I love most about this time of year is being able to grab onto a little piece of that sense of wonder and magic that I had as a child.
7. I play holiday music constantly from the day after Thanksgiving until Christmas Day. I don't get tired of it and it makes me realize what a freaking sap I am.
8. I took great care in decorating our apartment as I wanted it to reflect who we are and our own personal style. I don't like kitsch, country crafts or clutter, yet for some reason at this time of year, I find it perfectly acceptable to hang a Santa Claus doll on our bathroom doorknob that plays Jingle Bells when you wind him up.
9. I think I might be dangerously close to wearing a light up reindeer sweater.
10. Given that we have no chimney to hang our stockings by with care, I've hung them above our TV on a shelving unit framing a second Santa doll whose legs dangle off the ledge of the shelf rather adorably.
11. I might be wearing a headband with mistletoe attached.
12. My favorite Christmas albums are Christmas with the Rat Pack, John Legend's NBC Special, The Carpenters, and some Old Navy jazzy compilation that I picked up probably more than a decade ago since I've known it longer than I've known Mike.
13. I knew our apartment was not big enough for a Christmas tree, but it is just now sinking in how much I will miss having a tree. I love sitting with all the lights off but the ones on the tree with a favorite CD playing and a cup of hot schnocolate. This year, I'm afraid, will be my first without a Christmas tree EVER.
14. I just decided that it would be a complete travesty to not have a tree. I will be buying the 2 footer that I saw at the Union Square Greenmarket and balancing it on an ottoman if I have to, lights, ornaments, and all. Tiny apartment, I am putting my foot down!
15. Oh and if you don't know what hot schnocolate is, it's hot chocolate with a splash of peppermint schnapps. Love it.
16. I also love egg nog. I will be picking some up tomorrow.
17. As we all know, real estate in Manhattan is worth more than gold, so you don't see vast parking lots outside of a big box retail store with an area sectioned off for Christmas trees. So just where do you find a Christmas tree in Manhattan?
18. It turns out that Christmas tree lots are much like those Spirit Halloween stores that seem to pop up everywhere in unused retail space that you never actually noticed was unused until you considered buying a sexy devil costume. The Korean deli sells Christmas trees, CVS sells Christmas trees, some guy set up shop on what looks like an island in the middle of 7th Avenue...basically they get in where they fit in.
19. Having lived far from home in years past and now doing it again, I realize that so much of making Christmas feel like the Christmas you know is recreating the familiar in a new setting. How could I possibly have considered not cramming a tree in here?
20. (Visualizing getting poked in the eye by an errant branch and breaking my nose on a manger scene.)
21. (Shaking it off and recommitting.)
22. This year we are making a triumphant return to Buffalo for Christmas, where we spent three memorable holidays seasons. The first was the most difficult, but Mike's Aunt Maureen and Uncle Ron helped us establish new traditions during our time there and I am soooooo looking forward to the butter poached lobster tail and filet mignon that follow the mountain of shrimp cocktail and directly precede the parade of butter cookies, cakes, candies and Niagara Ice Wine.
23. (Realizing I must make a point to buy gifts for the cats and pretending it's normal).
24. Although we have our new traditions, I will miss the ones I have with my family back in California. The one I will miss the most? My sister and I recounting the sleepless Christmas Eves where we spent hours drawing maps that would guide us to our stockings at the allowed time of 6:00 am. We lived in a ranch house in the shape of a T, so we were either severely directionally challenged or inherited our father's compulsion for always having a gameplan.
25. I'll miss the twinkle in my mom's eye that tells me how happy she is to have the family all together, however briefly.
26. I'll miss my dad's carefully orchestrated feast from pancakes to clam dip to turkey to pie. I probably won't miss the DVD of their photos from a second Alaskan cruise set to music...
27. I'll miss examining every ornament on the tree and each accompanying memory that it invokes.
28. I'll miss watching my beautiful nieces and nephew giddily opening their presents from Santa and watching the faces of my family as we all share in their glee.
29. (Shaking off the melancholy and returning to the present).
30. Clearly, I love the holidays. They remind me of a time filled with magic, excitement, sharing, and love. I love that this time of year has the power to soften the edges of the harsh reality of life with its bills and work weeks and depressing evening news. I love that it makes you nicer to the important people in your life and to the people you don't know at all. I love twinkle lights, the smell of pine and spice, greeting cards from old friends, holiday parties, and Christmas Vacation (both the movie and the time off). I know I'm oozing Christmas sap here and I know not everyone shares my warm fuzzy feeling for this time of year, but I hope that each and everyone of you recaptures some of the magic that December has to offer. If not, I will personally burn you a copy of Christmas with the Rat Pack and send you the makings of hot schnocolate. Cheers!

Big Grateful Bellyache

I have spent the last 4 days in a perpetual state of gluttony. I vacillate between a kind of euphoria that comes from savoring the bounty of rich foods spread out before me and a state of discomfort and shame for not putting my fork down sooner. Mike and I set out on a walk today motivated by the prospect of getting some air in our lungs and our blood pumping, as well as taking in some of the quintessential New York holiday sights. Before I continue, let me explain how we arrived at the moment when we knew it was time to close the fridge and put on our walking shoes (or knee high suede flat boots, in my case).

I'm now in the throes of Level 4 at FCI, which means we spend two week rotations in Buffet, Family Meal, and Production. Family Meal involves preparing the nightly dinner for the entire school based on a loosely followed, oft interpreted menu, while Production, as the name implies, produces food product (stocks, carefully butchered meats, etc.) to be used in the adjacent restaurant kitchen. Buffet is the most creative, offering students a chance to plan a themed buffet menu to be served to the school's chefs and lucky students on the final night of the two week rotation. My groups theme was a fall harvest menu and the final night landed on Thanksgiving Eve. There were two camps in class in terms of this twist of calendar fate: one that bemoaned the bounty of food on the eve of one of the biggest eating days of the year and the other, glass half full types, that celebrated the opportunity to do a little training (and stomach stretching) for the main event. I fell in between the two camps due to my natural tendency to both complain and look on the bright side depending on who I am talking to.

Our buffet was a success featuring nearly 30 items that ranged from housemade sausage and pates to an array of roasted and braised meats (the favorite being the braised pork cheeks), and also included a variety of autumnal side dishes and desserts (roasted brussel sprouts with bacon and pumpkin chocolate bread pudding, anyone?). Below is a photo of my buffet group and Chef Tim, a favorite chef-instructor known for his hilarious stories about private cheffing for some of Manhattan & Hollywood's elite.



The buffet produced a lot of satisfied customers and an unexpected quantity of leftovers. Being that I cannot stand to see good food go to waste (and that FCI is forbidden by law from donating food to homeless shelters because they are a teaching institution), I singlehandedly tried to rescue much of the food that was destined for the compost bin. I packed container after container of potato and cauliflower puree, corn pudding, turkey roulade, poached pears in red wine, country pate...the list goes on and on. When I volunteered to take home the cornucopia of gourds, pinecones and leaves, my classmates took their usual teasing of my food hoarding ways to new levels.

"SERIOUSLY?! It's a leaf! You can find them on the ground!"

"Can someone get her a box? There is no way she can carry all that home."

"I hope you have a big fridge..."

The last comment actually made me take pause and realize that my fridge was currently filled with the makings of a Thanksgiving feast for 12 even though we were only having 2 others over. What can I say? I have a thing for abundant turkey leftovers. In addition to the remnants I had pilfered from the buffet, the Family Meal group had offered me a pork roast and pork loin that I could not refuse. Oh...and some squab pastrami, the novelty of which I would not pass up. I managed to cart everything home in an oversize cardboard box, armed with a plan to Tetris my fridge into a state of maximum food capacity.

I made it work with some repackaging and tossing of rarely used condiments. By 1am I was tucked in bed with visions of my holiday table dancing in my head. Most people think that given my obsession with food and my enrollment in a prestigious culinary institute that I would put out a spread ready to be photographed by Gourmet (RIP). That assumption could not be further from the truth. While I experiment with exotic flavor combinations at home and I am being trained to plate classically fussy food at school, the sanctity of Thanksgiving tradition is something I don't mess with. My parents are fantastic cooks and there is a rich history of savoring long meals with an over abundance of food in my family. I cannot turn my back on the flavors that make Thanksgiving feel like Thanksgiving to me. I may occasionally be tempted by a chestnut puree or an Indian spiced turkey, but I would so miss the sausage stuffing and simple pan gravy that transport me back to Thanksgivings past.

So while I try to spend the next week walking off the creamy mashed potatoes and kick off the season of giving, I will leave you with a post Thanksgiving list of what I am most thankful for. For Mike for being so wonderfully supportive, hilarious, loving and fun and for being the one I get to come home to every day. For my family for instilling in me the value of the shared meal. For my friends for sharing meals and laughter with me. And for TUMS for mildly masking the pain and discomfort I am currently experiencing. Happy Holidays!

The Honeymoon is Over.

I knew when we moved to New York that there would come a time when I was homesick. I figured it would happen early on when we had no friends and were in unfamiliar territory. I waited for the loneliness to set in but we were so busy exploring the city that it never came. I expected bouts of frustration at not knowing my way around and irritation with navigating foreign grocery aisles, but I was so busy marveling at the volume and variety of exotic and interesting food that it never came either. I figured our honeymoon period would come to a screeching halt when the bad weather set in and leave me longing for 75 degree November days in San Diego. That too has not happened because the fall here has been absolutely gorgeous. And yet, slowly but surely, the Big Apple is losing its shine. For the first time since we've lived here, aside from the occasional fleeting thought, I find my mind wandering back to California and wondering what our friends are doing at that exact moment. When I realized that I was having recurring thoughts of life back in the Golden State, I had to ask myself "Why?!". I am still loving school. I've met some really fabulous people and made some wonderful friends. New York is an amazing city and there are endless opportunities to sate my inner gourmand. So why are visions of palm trees and gridlocked freeways dancing in my head?

It took some self analysis and reflection, but I think I've figured it out. It's true that this city offers more food, art, culture, diversity and nightlife than any other city in the country, but when you walk into a market and begrudgingly hand over $50 to pay for the makings of one meal, you feel a little beaten down. When you spend more in quarters on laundry each month than you did on your entire gas & electric bill in San Diego (which included the washer and dryer that was conveniently located in your apartment and not down three flights of stairs and around the corner), you start to think about what you would do if that money was still in your pocket. The bottom line is well...the bottom line of my bank account. The Big Apple is the most expensive damn apple I've ever eaten.

When you eat an expensive apple, the natural progression of thought is to ask yourself how good that apple really is and if it justifies the cost. Let's say that the apple is one of the best that you've ever tasted. I'll go with Honey Crisp because they are my favorite. The rosy pink and lemon yellow skin is gleaming. When your teeth break through to the fruit, sweet and tart juiciness hits your tongue and zings the back of your cheeks. The texture and flavor is a revelation of the origin of its name. When you eat this apple, you understand what tempted Eve and you know you will come back again and again. Oh, there's one more thing, you now have to pay for your apple and it costs $100. So I could beat this analogy to death a little more, but I think you understand where I'm at. I want the apple but I have buyers remorse after eating it.

This doesn't mean I intend to pack up and head back to California as soon as I graduate. (I need to interrupt myself for a second and say that if a few years back someone had told me that I would want to move back to San Diego or the Bay Area in order to save money I would have rolled my eyes and rattled off all the reasons why California living doesn't come cheap. And it doesn't. It just happens to feel that way when you are afraid to walk into a swanky bar for fear of paying $20 for a martini.) I digress, we have no plans to leave Manhattan any time soon. We plan to squeeze as much out of this city as we can...and then we will turn tail and run back to sanctuary of the sunshine and the slightly less horrifying cost of living. So now that the novelty of New York has worn off and the cold reality of being a Manhattanite has set in, Sinatra's words mean a lot more. If I can make it here, I'll make it anywhere...I'll just have a much happier bank account. Now, excuse me while I go blow an entire paycheck on a carton of eggs and my dry cleaning.

Diary of a Mad Fan

A Pre-Game Stroll Through Central Park

I've been intending to document our first ever attendance of a Chargers away game since it occurred the Sunday before last, but I am just now getting around to it. I cleared my schedule of laying in bed catching up on Tivo and I am ready to share this tale of triumph in enemy territory. First of all, my sister and brother-in-law came to town for a visit which was directly influenced by the prospect of a game at Giants Stadium. They are not actual Chargers fans, but they support our habit and root for them mainly out of fear for our mental health on Mondays. We actually ordered Chargers beanies for them and had them sent a few weeks in advance of their trip so they would have some gear to demonstrate their loyalties, not knowing that it would be a balmy 70 degrees at the Meadowlands that day. We took the bus from Port Authority early to meet up with the Charger tailgate that was planned by a group of New York Chargers fans that we are acquainted with through the Charger bar, MJ Armstrong's. We had been seeing Bolts fans all over the city throughout the weekend, high fiving as we passed of course, and it was no different at Port Authority. The winds changed, however, when we boarded the bus and a chorus of boos erupted in a sea of Manning jerseys.



As a football fanatic, I can handle ribbing, taunting, and heckling. I expect it going into an opponent's stadium. Part of the fun of being a fan is trash talking and bragging rights. I mean, let's be honest, if and when your team ever wins the Super Bowl, the big game, the championship, isn't the best part of it the fact that you get to gloat about your team reigning supreme for 7 months before you have to relinquish being called "The Champs"? Maybe not for all, but for me, it's what you want and what you hope for and the only way you can shut up all those Patriots fans or Steelers fans or whatever stupid franchise that has had more glory than any one team should have bestowed upon them. (Seething and grumbling).

Anyway, we arrived at Giants Stadium (poor Jets) and met up with almost 300 Charger fans in full gear causing a huge ruckus with the Giants fans tailgating nearby. It was fantastic. The group of Bolts fans were loud, rowdy, and exactly the kind I would hate if I were the home team.



A group of maybe 40 of us paraded through the parking lots blaring the San Diego Chargers fight song and chanting at the mostly dumb struck and disgusted Giants fans. At one point, I got named parade master and was shoved to the front of the pack to show off my Chargers poncho with pride. I have to admit it was both frightening and fun, with pretzels being thrown along with insults and lone pockets of Chargers fans high fiving and cheering us in our brave march through G-men territory. It was all in good fun though for the most part. There were a few drunken idiots (cough, Jersey, ahem), but it was good natured overall.

That was until we got to our seats. I won't go into gory details but there was a crowd of hecklers behind us that could not have been more of a Jersey cliche (with their ripped off sleeves and head bandanas, Springsteen much?) that made the game unpleasant. My sis and brother-in-law were not only troopers, but at times defended our honor and Mike's blue mohawk. As the story has already been written I won't tell it again, but watching Rivers march the offense down the field like nothing was standing in his way (I'm talking to you Giants D) was a thing of beauty. We could just feel that they were going to pull out the win. I don't know if it was the electricity of the team or the anger brewing in the fans around us, but when Rivers sailed that pass to the back corner of the end zone right into Vincent Jackson's hands...it was the perfect punctuation on a perfect day. (Insert sound of needle scraping across record here with visual of Mike's Charger head band being ripped off his head, thrown 20 rows down with fighting words exchanged).

We left Giants Stadium with a win minus a headband and with renewed excitement about our season. I know that my friends who could care less about football and sports are reading this (if they haven't checked out already) and rolling their eyes, but for us, it was a glorious day. So, like any tumultuous relationship, I will keep going back for more because the good times are so good and they manage to wipe away any memory of the bad. And that is why I am a football fan and will remain one until something terrible happens...like Eric Mangini. I promise to be back soon with something more universally appealing, but until then play this a few times for me.



Happy Bus Ride Home

Halfway to My Tall Paper Hat

Today I'm standing at the halfway mark of my culinary education and by standing I mean propped up in bed watching Glee, drinking diet Sunkist and eating chocolate chips out of the bag because I'm classy like that. Last night was our much anticipated, somewhat feared midterm which accounts for 50% of our Level 3 grade. The curriculum for this level focuses on discipline, timing, and refining your skills. We rotated our way through 16 recipes organized like the stations of a restaurant kitchen: Garde Manger (Apps, Salads, Soups), Poissonier (Seafood, its sauces and garnishes), Saucier (Meat, Poultry, its sauces and garnishes), and Patissiere (Pastry). There were 4 recipes for each station and we had an opportunity to cook each of them at least once and some of them over and over and over again. There was the much maligned Oeufs Poche dish, which is a poached egg with hollandaise sauce served over a bed of perfectly petite cubes of vegetables with so much potential for disaster: broken sauce, overcooked or broken yolks, undercooked whites, ugly knife skills...the list go on. There was the familiar old friend: Poulet Roti Grandmere, literally translated to roast chicken with grandmother garnish, which consists of potatoes turned into cocottes and cooked 3 different ways until they are a crispy, golden brown, meaty chunks of browned bacon, mushrooms sauteed in bacon fat, and pearl onions glazed and caramelized to perfection. We made this dish every class for weeks and every class we would all say "I don't know if I can eat anymore Grandmere!" while gnawing on a drumstick. There were the dishes that had so many components that getting your four required plates to the chefs hot and on time seemed like a cruel joke. I'm talking to you Barramundi with Lobster Sauce, Steamed Mussels, Poached Shrimp, Fennel Compote, Potato Cocottes, and finely chopped Parsley, Chervil and Tarragon. COME ON!

For the midterm we would be drawing a station number which corresponded to the two dishes we would be required to execute for a panel of judges. We're evaluated in the kitchen by a chef-proctor on cleanliness, technique and timing and then we are to walk our plates down an endless hallway to a room housing the judges where we present our food to be evaluated on presentation, flavor, seasoning, etc. We've been told repeatedly by our chefs and Level 4, 5, & 6 students that the midterm is more difficult than the final, that we will screw up, that we should be scared but we shouldn't freak out, that our dishes won't be perfect so we must not make stupid mistakes, that our stations better be clean, and on and on and on. So there were definitely nerves at work as we sat around waiting for the clock to display the time when we could enter our classroom and try to piece together what we might be cooking.

"Surely he wouldn't give us the egg, right? They say the chefs only pick the egg if they want their students to fail!"

"If I get beef bourgignon I am just going to turn around and walk out and plan to do Level 3 over again."

"If I get skate and lemon tart, I am golden!"

Well, I got skate and lemon tart and I was golden. I also lucked out and drew one of the later presentation times which gave me a full extra hour to prep before my skate was due. There were a few minor hiccups with my dishes: my skate needed a little more color and seasoning, my stupid potato vapeur (a larger version of a cocotte) didn't have clean enough edges, and my tart dough was a little uneven on the bottom due to a mishap during blind baking. I had no major missteps and turned out some food I am proud of.

The evening didn't end at the judges table though. It ended at some pizza joint in the East Village around 3:30 after a few solid hours of karaoke with my school pals. Who knew a classically trained musician's go to song would be Bust a Move? As I climbed the stairs to my apartment, I had that glowy feeling of contentment that comes from having good people in your life and from doing things that you are happy to put your name on. I'm not talking to you bacon pizza at 3am, but I'm pretty sure we will meet again.

Grabbing Life by the Throat and Other Warped Analogies

I've often found myself thinking, wishing, and saying "I can't wait for the weekend" or "I wish it was Friday" or "If our vacation would just get here already" meanwhile completely ignoring the moment that I am standing in. I've had to train myself to stop and enjoy life instead of planning and scheduling the hell out of it and always looking forward to something better than whatever it is I am currently doing. It's been 6 months since we moved to New York and it's like I now want to make time stand still. If I could dig my heels into the earth and keep the seconds from ticking away so quickly I would. It's not because I am so present and conscious and joyful in each and every moment that I have transcended my former self and now live solely for today. I am nearly halfway done with school and I don't want it to be over. And even that statement is more complicated than it at first seems. I am really enjoying school. I am learning so much from my chefs and I'm getting everything I had hoped to out of this experience. But there are two reasons I want to put the brakes on the clock, the first being warm and fuzzy and the second born out of sheer terror. I'll start with the happy stuff. I am acutely aware of the fact that I am in the midst of an experience that will never again be duplicated in my life. I spend an inordinate amount of time with 22 other people, all at different stages of life, all with different personal histories that brought them to this point where our paths intersect and merge for this handful of months. Some of us have so little in common but school has bonded us in a way I didn't expect and am constantly grateful for. So, for that reason, I am not ready for school to end and for us all to go our separate ways and have different schedules that won't allow us to see each other all that often. I know we still have months to go and that when it's over, we will stay in touch, but right now, I am enjoying this moment and I don't want it to pass. The other, not so pretty reason, that I want to stop time is because I don't know what I am going to do after school. I know I am on the right path, I just have no clue where it is leading. I am interning at a restaurant, shadowing the sommelier/beverage director in addition to another unpaid position with a wine importer. None of these places are giving me that feeling of "YES! This is where I want to be and what I want to be doing every day!. I think both are good networking opportunities, but it feels like I still have a lot of doors to beat on before I open the right one. I sometimes have to remind myself that this is why I am here doing what I am doing, especially after working for free all day and going home tired and empty handed. Well, tonight I left with a beautiful bottle of Brunello, so not empty handed so much as empty pocketed. I am going to cook up something lovely for Mike to go with it to remind us of the anniversary we spent in Tuscany a few years back. (Secretly wishing for a time machine right now).

The source of all this yearning to bend the space-time continuum is that we have reached the six month mark as New Yorkers and it seems unreal. Time is zooming along and yet I feel like surely I have lived here longer than half of a year, right? So normally it would be time for another 30 things I've learned in 30 days, but since I am so mired in self reflection, I am just going to go with the 6 things I've learned in my 6 months here.

1. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I know that I will recognize it when I see it and I feel it lurking somewhere close by but it is still eluding me. Believe this: when I catch a glimpse of it, I am going to grab it by the throat and choke the hell out of it.

2. Uncertainty makes me aggressive. See above.

3. I have the best husband in the world. See any past blog referencing Mike and you will understand why I make this statement. It's not that I didn't know this before, it's just that he continues to demonstrate it at a whole new level here in New York as we work toward my personal career goals. He gives me the worlds longest leash to pursue what I want and do what I want and often times I get myself tangled up around a tree and my own leg and then look at him expectantly for help. And that will be the last time I ever create an analogy that likens me to a dog.

4. I walk nearly every where and at least every 3 blocks I get smacked in the face with one of the following three smells: dog doo, bum pee, or rotting garbage. Despite being suckerpunched by stench, I love walking for so many reasons. 1. My jeans fit better. 2. Walking forces you to pay attention to what is around you and you are usually rewarded with either a thing of beauty or a little bit of crazy. 3. The breaks in between the bad smells are usually crisp fall air that just feels good to take in to your lungs until an MTA bus rolls by coughing out exhaust. Whatever the reason, I like using my own two legs to get somewhere.

5. I will never ever root for the Yankees. Even living here surrounded by Yankee caps, I take joy in seeing fans just after a brutal loss. There is no part of my cold heart that feels anything but glee. I hope that they collapse in the Bronx over the next couple of nights in monumental fashion so every paper in the city demonizes the Yankees big budget, Girardi's micro-managing and the organization as a whole. I would rather have the Yankees lose than this city smell like an English garden after a fresh rain. Just sayin'.

6. New York really is the greatest city in the world. This doesn't mean I will live here forever or that I don't appreciate the other places I've lived and visited. It just means that there are so few places on earth that you can find the kind of energy, beauty, vibrancy and flavor that abound here. And for the time being I am going to cling to it and squeeze (or choke) the best out of it.

The Ageless Husband and the Joy of Freezing Your Ass Off

Today is Mike's birthday...his 36th to be exact, although everyone thinks he is still in his 20's. As I continue to age, he somehow manages to look younger and younger. I am convinced that 10 years from now people will be whispering "Check out the cougar!" when we walk down the street together. For the record, I am 4 years younger than him, which I remind him every chance I get, pointing out the little strands of silver that are coming in. You're welcome, hon.

Since his birthday falls on a Monday, when I have class, we decided to celebrate the weekend before and I knew that I would have to go big after the homerun he hit this year for mine. We have had so many guests since we've been here that I wanted to do something just the two of us and I knew it would have to involve craft beer, since it is Mike's primary passion in life, after me, of course. So I planned a surprise overnight getaway to Philly to hit some breweries, see the sights and eat the local food. I didn't tell him where we were going until we got to the Amtrak station and I had to print our tickets, which is a huge feat for me. I am terrible with surprises and asked him about 40 times if I he wanted it to be a surprise or not.

I still can't get over how quickly we got there. It's only an hour and 25 minutes from Penn Station, which is only slightly longer than Mike's commute to Queens. Being from California, if you want to be in another major metropolitan area, let alone another state, you are investing a minimum of 3 hours in traffic, but usually more like 4 - 5. And forget about the train, the schedules suck, it's inconvenient and overpriced. Anyway, we love the proximity and access we have to new places here. We were in Philly by 10:30am and spent the day hitting some local beer spots: Monk's Cafe for mussels and rare Belgian and American beers, Yards Brewery for a tour and a weird interaction with a crew from MTV filming some reality dating crapfest and a stop at a home brewing store where Mike picked up supplies to brew up a batch of an Oatmeal Coffee Stout. We ended up tucking into our B&B pretty early, mainly because it was FREEZING cold and one can only stay awake so long after a beer filled day.




We spent Sunday touring Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell:



We compared the cheesesteaks at Pat's & Geno's (they tasted nearly identical to me, but Geno's had a few too many onions for my taste and one of their Hummer's was parked out front with anti-immigrant stickers all over it, including a huge decal on the back window that said "SPEAK ENGLISH OR GO HOME!", so I choose Pat's for not mixing politics with Cheez Whiz soaked meat)





And we spent a bit of time watching football before we caught a train back to the city around 5. It was a lovely weekend, despite the freezing rain and wind, and even better to spend some QT with Mike. I mean, he is getting up there, we don't know how many years the old guy has left.



This man ages like a fine wine.

Given that it's only mid-October and it's already this cold, it got me thinking about the many months that lay ahead and how I am going to deal with it. I've lived in very cold weather before and if I've learned one thing, I cannot dread the cold, so I am going to embrace it. I am making a mental list, well I guess it's about to become an actual list, of the good things that happen when it's cold out. So here is my attempt at positivity in the face of bone chilling winds.
1. Without cold weather, there are so many foods that wouldn't be as enjoyable. Soups, stews, anything from the crockpot, roasts, butternut squash, etc. Just thinking about warming up my kitchen and filling our little apartment with all these delicious smells makes me happy.
2. Hot chocolate. Or hot schnocolate (with peppermint schnaaps).
3. Hats, scarves and gloves. Winter accessories are fun and who doesn't look adorable in a hat?
4. Winter coats. I am all stocked up on winter coats now and I love them. It's a big step from my San Diego winter coats which were either a jean jacket or a hoodie.
5. Rain boots...for splashing in puddles.
6. Being snuggled inside with the rain pattering on the windows.
7. The leaves changing color.
8. Wrapping myself in the quilt my mom made for us to use in this apartment.

That's all I have for now, but I am determined to add to this list regularly in an effort to force myself to like the changing of the seasons and not think about what my pasty skin would look like if I were in San Diego.

From Duck Farm To Table

Food. It's such a simple word but it can evoke such a variety of emotions, thoughts and even physical reactions, depending on your mood. By definition food is nourishment consumed to sustain life, provide energy and promote growth, but we all know that it's much bigger than that. Everyone has food memories from childhood. Everyone has favorite foods and foods that comfort them. Everyone has foods they don't like, won't eat or will never ever try. And everyone has issues with food. I literally cannot think of a single person I know who hasn't at some point thought critically about their diet, changed their eating habits to lose weight, or castigated themselves for overeating. Food is a complicated aspect of being human. It can bring so much pleasure and so much pain. My struggles with food have evolved over the years from subsisting on junk food to yo-yo dieting to where I'm at now, which is more of a moral quandary. I've read too many books like Fast Food Nation and The Omnivore's Dilemma to be blissfully ignorant about what I am putting in my body and the repercussions of my choices. And I am not just talking about my health, but about what kind of practices in the food industry I am supporting. I WANT to eat all organic, grass fed, cage free, free range, cruelty-free, hormone-free animals that lived happy lives with farmers that loved them before slitting their throats and draining their bodies of blood. In an ideal world, this is what I would do. Do I always do this? No. Do I sometimes eat at McDonald's because I have an unnatural craving for whatever kind of crack they put in their Chicken McNuggets? Yes. Do I do this even knowing the conditions that the chickens were subjected to are practically torturous and that McDonald's has singlehandedly altered farming in our country while simultaneously making us one of the fattest, diabetic, heart disease riddled nations in the world? Yes, I do. (hanging head in shame). Why do I do it? Because I can tuck it away in the back of my head and pretend that what's going on behind the scenes isn't really going on since I don't have to see it on a daily basis.

Now that I am in culinary school, there are so many opportunities to go behind the scenes and see how things are done and where my food came from. An opportunity presented itself earlier this week in the form of a field trip to a farm in the Hudson Valley. My classmate, Jersey was on the hunt for foie gras and ended up organizing a tour for a few of us of one of the best foie gras purveyors in the country: Hudson Valley Foie Gras. If you've never had foie gras, but maybe have heard of it, you already know it's controversial. The ducks (or geese) are force fed to enlarge their livers and make them extra fatty and delicious. And it is truly delicious. It's rich, buttery, flavorful, melt in your mouth fatty goodness. But as you can imagine as the term force feeding implies, not everyone thinks it's humane.

We (me, Jersey, A La Greque, and hmm...nickname...it could be "I never leave the East Village", but I think I will just go with Cheese-ophile for managing to surpass my own obsession with the good stuff, actually let's just contract the two and call him Evil Cheese. It works beautifully on so many levels). Anyway, the four of us set off last Tuesday morning for the duck farm, which was about 2 hours north of the city. It was a picture perfect autumn day. The air was crisp and as we wound away from the city through tree lined highways, the leaves changed from green to golden to fiery orange. When we finally arrived at the duck farm and stepped out into the country air, we realized two things: 1. it had turned from crisp to bone chilling and 2. a duck farm smells like bad breath and duck poop. We located the office and met up with our tour guide, Marcus, who is the Operations Manager of the farm. He was soft spoken, lanky, and bearded, basically exactly how I picture a farmer.



He spent some time explaining to us what we would be seeing over the next few hours and then laid out the defense of their farming practices, which he has clearly spent a significant portion of his job doing. He led us through different parts of the farm where we met ducks grouped and housed by their ages. As we toured, he regularly thanked us for giving him the opportunity to show us firsthand their standard of farming, which he was personally very proud of. He also remarked several times that he knew that not everyone would make the decision to consume foie gras (or serve it in their restaurants) after seeing the farm, but he was happy that we had chosen to educate ourselves before making a decision.



We were able to watch the force feeding which occurs three times each day and lasts about 5 seconds per duck. It involved inserting a rod into the ducks mouth and pouring food through a funnel. The ducks don't like being handled, but it didn't seem to hurt them either. Marcus explained the ducks anatomy in great detail and how the force feeding would feel to the duck (which is to say, not painful, just momentarily uncomfortable), but since I am not a duck and have no clue if that is true, I made my judgments based on the ducks behavior.



The process did not horrify me at all, as I thought it might. I actually came away from the visit thinking that the farming of ducks for foie gras is probably 100 times more humane than the farming of commercial chickens. These ducks roamed around uncaged (except during the feeding stage) in a safe habitat that was kept far cleaner than a factory farm. Most chickens are kept in cages where they can't stand up or ever support their own body weight and are covered in their own filth. So until I decide to give up eating animals altogether (which is not likely to ever happen), I have no reason to give up eating duck or foie gras from a producer that treats their animals more humanely than the billions of chickens produced by companies like Tyson and Foster Farms every year. If anything, it compels me to learn more about the sources of all my food and choose producers that spend a lot of time and money ensuring that they are applying the highest standards to their farming and production practices.

After we left the farm, we went straight to Wendy's, because there wasn't much but fast food around and chowed down on burgers and chicken sandwiches from animals who living conditions probably made the duck farm look like the Four Seasons. This moment of hypocrisy made me realize that I have to vote with my dollars in hopes that someday high quality, humanely treated food will be as widely available as McDonald's. We spent the remainder of the afternoon picking apples at a farm in New Paltz and planning menus based on the bounty of duck and apples we were carting home.



A La Greque Garden of Eden Style

I ended up searing the foie gras and serving it with sauteed apples and apple juice reduction. The duck breast I picked up was spiced with cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, clove and star anise and seared, sliced and accompanied by a spinach salad dressed with an apple vinaigrette. (It seriously tasted like filet mignon with crispy skin - the best duck I've ever had). And for dessert, baked apples with fresh cheese. It was lovely to enjoy a meal of which I knew the source of its components and it's something I hope to do more and more of going forward. Jersey's next idea? A visit to a slaughterhouse. Stay tuned.



Jersey, Evil Cheese & Me at the Apple Farm

My Own Personal Papparazi

As far as friendships go, I am incredibly lucky. I have several amazing girlfriends each of whom brings something different to my life and teaches me something valuable. They are women who have unique and varied opinions, lifestyles and personalities, but the thing I share with each of them is a mutual respect and a willingness to understand and accept differences. Now before you think that this is going to turn into a blog version of a cheesy Lifetime movie about girlfriends, stop right there. I just put my BFF into a cab to JFK and it got me thinking about quality friendships and how much they enrich your life. There is something beautiful about being around a person who knows you and loves you completely, not only understands and relates to your craziness, but truly believes it is what makes you so awesome, and allows you to just be you. I could make this same statement about Mike, although I would have to change "understands your craziness" to "accepts your craziness". And that, my friends, is the root of all problems between men and women.

Moving on, I had a fabulous weekend with Jill and I am grateful that I have a Jill in my life. I am looking through the 6,000 pictures we took this weekend and am loving that I can count on her to provide me with enough facebook profile photos for the next 5 years. She has a ridiculous camera and is constantly taking pictures of us, of strangers, of food, of doors, of garbage and basically anything that she thinks looks cool. And she's good at it. The girl will not pass up a good photo op. Example: Walking back to the subway from the Brooklyn Brewery on Saturday evening, she spotted two very old office chairs in front of a chainlink fence and insisted that we sit in them and have someone take our picture. It did not matter to her that they were covered in dried bird doody. You will notice me looking stiff and posed, trying to keep just one butt cheek on the chair, while she looks gorgeous (and eerily at home) sitting in bird crap.



A short while later, she convinced me to get on a bike chained to a tree and pretend like I was riding it. This shoot yielded some great shots and led to the following exchange:

Jill: "I love taking pictures of you..."
Me: (thinking it's because I am so lovely on film that I must be her muse)"Thanks! Why?"
Jill: "Because you are such a ham and attention hog that you will do anything I ask."

And this is why we are friends. She knows me and that I will do anything for a laugh, but she doesn't think it's annoying. We have cut away all those outer layers that you show to other people and have peeled back to the ones that you hide or try to disguise as something else. Meanwhile, Mike, being the patient man that he is tried not to show his irritation when she and I reviewed, deleted and retook several photos. Again, accepting the craziness does not necessarily mean you understand it.



Me waving to my peeps as I cruise down the street on my bike...that is chained to a tree...next to a minivan.



Insert your own caption.

The photo madness reached new heights when she started taking action shots, which she is fond of. Every time I would look at them, which were usually of me walking, I would think of US Weekly's ridiculous spread called "Stars - They're Just Like Us!", which shows celebrities drinking coffee, feeding a parking meter or shopping. Like this one below:



If I were famous and in US Weekly, it would be captioned something like "Emily Davis on her way to the post office - she's just like us!", which is probably a sign of the apocalypse that our culture has elevated people, most of which don't seem to have any discernible talent, to this status where we need to be reminded that they eat, sleep and poop just like the rest of us. I would love to see a section where they had pictures of misunderstood and discriminated against populations titled "Muslims - They're Just Like Us!" or "Gays - They're Just Like Us!" that showed the same thing. But that's just me. I will now excuse myself for 20 minutes to find out through Perez Hilton if anyone is in rehab and if Jon & Kate are still a trainwreck.

A few other tidbits about this weekend before I head off to class. First, Jill developed a new superpower this weekend which allows her to buy a new sweater, a pair of jeans, some sunglasses...or whatever, then lose it within 2 hours. No joke, she lost a bag of clothes who knows where that she purchased just hours earlier. The following day, she bought a pair of sunglasses from a street vendor, put them in the bag her breakfast pastry was in and then threw it in the trash. She also paid her subway fare 3 times for the same ride. So basically her superpower is incinerating money.

Second, we tend to spend a significant portion of our time together analyzing every aspect of our lives, our friends lives, our behavior and the human condition. I am sure any men reading just noticed blood coming out of their ears just imagining this scenario which I believe is their personal hell, but it's what we do. In our thorough analysis we realized that we are very aware of our mistakes but often make them repeatedly before learning from them, if ever. We decided that we should pen a book called "Learning Nothing From Your Past: A User's Guide". It will be due out in stores as soon as we stop staying out too late and spending too much money and get our acts together.

Finally, I want to leave you with the other running joke of the weekend (besides Mike saying "Don't give that to Jill! We don't want it to disappear mysteriously."), which involved Mike running up walls and jumping off fire hydrants shouting "HARDCORE!" and "EXTREME" a la the Office episode a few weeks back. Here's an action shot by Jill:

30 Days: Observations, Complaints, and Hope

Wow. Has it already been another month? We have 5 months under our belt (and a couple pounds of butter) and I can't decide if it feels like I just got to New York or if I've lived here forever. I am still amazed by it but totally accustomed to it, if that makes any sense. So in honor of our most recent 30 days, here are the 30 things that I've discovered.

1. No matter the temperature I will be sweaty. I thought it was the humidity in the summer, but it turns out when you walk 12 blocks in chilly weather and then up a few flights of stairs, by the time you get to the school locker room, you will be drenched in sweat.
2. Depending on my destination and required degree of looking good, I will take a cab to avoid being a sweaty mess with hair pasted across my forehead.
3. I just realized that this must be how the girls who wear stilettos all the time get around.
4. In an unrelated realization, when I wash dishes, it's usually cups and utensils, which made me realize I don't cook nearly enough at home anymore.
5. We've been eating too much takeout. It's way too convenient. And I am vowing to change that.
6. There are two things that happen ALL THE TIME here that I just don't get. The first is the failure to understand the basic concept of boarding a subway. Listen guy, we all know you want to get on the train and you want to be first, but when you block the entire car from getting off while you try to push your way in...do I need to finish this thought? What the hell? One of my pet peeves used to be people that got on an elevator before letting others exit. Now I have to watch this on a much larger scale at a much greater degree of inconvenience to everyone involved on a daily basis.
7. The second is the use of car horns. Again, WHAT THE HELL? I understand the warning toot when taxis roll through an intersection given the absolute refusal by pedestrians to acknowledge the DON'T WALK hand (myself included), but what is with the laying on the horn for a solid 30 seconds because the driver is mad that the other 20 cars in front of him aren't moving. Dude. Just stop. Please. It makes me feel like everyone driving is angry. And they probably are, but GEEZ.
8. My allergies are brutal here. Sniff.
9. I may have said this already, but I thought culinary school would make me a more confident cook, but with every class I realize how little I actually know.
10. I don't think I will be truly comfortable cooking French food until I've done it over and over and over.
11. Level 3 is all about repetition and perfecting dishes, so that's a start.
12. I keep taking my visitors to Jean Georges for lunch, because as I mentioned previously, it's an amazing deal and one of the best dining experiences you will ever have and I don't know that I could get tired of it.
13. Hollandaise sauce can be a bitch. It can't be too hot or too cold and you have to add the clarified butter very slowly or it will just turn into a gloppy broken mess. But I think I've got it down. Next up, eggs benedict for dinner this week so I can practice my hollandaise and perfectly poached eggs.
14. Not all chefs follow the kitchen dictatorship/hierarchy model. My new Level 3 instructors, Chefs Phil & Janet are more of the "We are all adults, let's act like it" school. It's refreshing to be treated like a grown up and just as effective. No disrespect to Chef Nic, it's just different. We can laugh openly while cooking without fear of being chastised for discussing anything other than the mise en place.
15. I love Fall. I have never welcomed cooler temperatures ever in my life, but after the general stankiness that was summer, it's nice to have some mildly crisp days.
16. Fall food is some of my favorite food. Without having a grill this summer, it wasn't half as much fun cooking up summer dishes. Now I can get excited about cooking at home, making stews, roasts, and apple cobblers. And the heavier recipes we prepare at school are a lot more palatable when it's 60 degrees as opposed to 95.
17. For the first time in several seasons of football, I had a moment where I questioned if it was really worth it. The Chargers looked like garbage for most of the game Sunday night and I just kept thinking "Are we really going to go through this again? Are they really going to dig a huge hole and make us bite our nails until they limp their way into the playoffs?" It's almost easier having a team that just plain sucks. Your expectations are low so it's tough to be truly disappointed. With the Bolts, you get a brilliant game (or at least a couple of wins), then they take a huge dump during a big game and you wonder if they will be able to make anything happen when it really counts. The ups and downs are brutal. I do wonder if I would be better off without this 5 months of highs and lows. Thank god for the bye week coming up, I need a break before I decide if I can continue with this dysfunctional relationship.
18. It's hard to get a cab in the rain.
19. No empty cabs in the rain means you can wait it out indoors somewhere indefinitely, wait on the street and get soaked trying to hail a cab as they all sail past you full of warm dry people, or walk in the direction of home, hoping you see one lit up and empty, which will unfailingly happen once you are three blocks from your apartment and totally drenched.
20. If I wear my rain boots on the days it's supposed to rain, it won't. If I wear my suede boots on the days it's not, it will downpour.
21. My favorite place to shop here is called the Market NYC on Mulberry & Prince in SoHo. It's basically a young designers market held in a church gym on the weekends, with table after table of unique accessories and clothing. I take everyone who visits me there because you can find great original stuff for reasonable prices. We took Mike's aunt and uncle from Buffalo there this weekend and as we walked through, Mike started mentally calculating the prices of all of the things he recognized that I owned from the market. It didn't help when a few of the vendors greeted me by name or with a hug. Whoops.
22. My best friend Jill, who happens to have fantastic taste and a style I often steal from, will be here on Friday, so you know I will be back there yet again. Sorry babe!
23. Speaking of style, New York is an inspiring place for anyone with even a tiny interest in fashion. I am constantly gawking at women passing me on the street to see how they are wearing something. It's an endless supply of ideas and really, anything goes here.
24. On one final fashion note, leggings are not pants. Cover your butt. And put on a bra. You know who you are.
25. I love watching the very talented a cappella group perform under the arch in Washington Square.
26. It's even better when you notice the passed out drunk laying just in front of them.
27. And still better when you realize that the people gathered to listen to the performers just step over said drunk, to get a better position.
28. I enjoy dog watching at the Washington Square dog park just as much as people watching. Try to do it without making up stories about what the dogs are saying to each other. Impossible.
29. On a serious note, it's really tough to be so far away from friends when you feel like they need you. In an update, to my previous post, Kali's treatment seems to be going well. But in an unimaginable twist of fate, Maya was also diagnosed with neuroblastoma. Both babies have a positive prognosis, but will be undergoing chemo over the next few months. Please keep them in your thoughts and if you know Melanie & Kris and would like to find out how you can help, please message me privately. You can also follow their treatment at this website.
30. While it's impossible to make sense of something so senseless, it has made me realize that I know just a few things for sure. Life can be wonderful and it can be terrible. When it's wonderful you have to enjoy it while it is and when it's not, you have to survive it. The easiest way to enjoy it and to survive it is with people that you love and that love you. I am so grateful to have so many of those people in my life. You know who you are and I love you.

Best. Weekend. Ever.

I had the type of weekend that caused me to spend the last 45 minutes trying to think of when I've had a better one, which had me silently smiling at the wall as I recalled vacations, our wedding, and good times spent with friends. But putting aside the big life events and trips when you really plan to live it up, I can't remember the last time I had a weekend where I unexpectedly had the best time ever. Unlike my dear husband who told me on a trip to Toronto several years ago that taking a picture with the Stanley Cup at the Hockey Hall of Fame was "the best day of my life", I put those special days in a separate and more cherished category. Apparently, our wedding was a close second to putting his arm around Lord Stanley's Mug like it was his junior prom date. Whatever.

The point is that I had a fantastic weekend and it started with my Level 2 final and the end of the Chef Nic era. We took our exam, watched a ridiculously old video that was entirely in French and consisted of several frenchmen yelling in a kitchen during lunch service (shrugging), and then completed our practical final, which involved making creme anglaise (a stirred custard) and demonstrating knife skills on unsuspecting potatoes and oranges. It went very well and I almost teared up when we said our goodbyes to Chef Nic. It's time to move on and graduate to Level 3, where time management, organization and cleanliness are key. Or so Chef Phil, our new chef-instructor for Levels 3 & 4 has told us. I don't know much about him other than that he looks like a really friendly bear and by his own admission, doesn't hand out many A's. We'll see about that.

After class, several of us went out for beers to celebrate and after a few hours, the group had whittled down to four of us, who I managed to convince to come with me to a karaoke bar so I could meet up with my good friend, Chris and his lovely girlfriend Sam, who were in town from San Diego (although they are originally from Boston and are about as obnoxious as you would expect people from Boston to be). Now, I love karaoke. I can barely carry a tune, but it doesn't stop me. There is something about belting out songs with a bunch of friends that makes me want to keep going all night...which is pretty much what we did. The best part was that my classmate, who I call a la Grecque (because she is Greek and in French cuisine there is a method of preparing vegetables in the Greek style or a la Grecque), claimed that she did not do karaoke, but interestingly enough once we got our own private karaoke suite, we couldn't keep her off the mike. And she was good. Back to the karaoke suite. Whoever came up with this concept should get one of those Real Men of Genius Budweiser commercials. A dedicated room where you can go with your friends (and a strange group of Europeans that nobody was sure who invited but turned out to be harmless and kind of fun) and sing your heart out and hog the mike. I am turning my living room into a karaoke suite. And I think I just heard Mike groan. It was a fantastic night.

Saturday was no less perfect. I spent the morning with Mike before jumping on the D train to Yankee Stadium to meet up with my Boston friends for a Red Sox - Yankees matchup. My ticket was an extra courtesy of the Silver Fox, which is what a la Grecque and I nicknamed Sam's dad who is silver haired and well, a fox, much to Sam's dismay. So it was the four of us, 3 raging Red Sox lunatics and me, a hater of both the Sox and the Yanks, sitting 10 rows back from the Red Sox dugout, in seats that were more comfortable than my own sofa. I didn't know how much I would enjoy the game given my contempt of both teams, but I certainly wasn't going to pass up a luxury seat at new Yankee Stadium watching the greatest rivalry in baseball. It turned out to be one of my personal favorite sports moments. Even though the game didn't mean much and nothing was on the line for me personally, I loved every minute of it. I felt for a minute what it must be like to be a fan of these two storied teams. I am an Oakland A's fan and while we have had our shining moments, we've never had the legions of fans or the money that these two teams do. And let's be honest, Boston and New York sports coverage is overinflated and often obnoxiously so, much like the ego's of the teams respective fans. So as an A's fan, whose team gets little coverage and respect, it's a thorn in my side. But I tried to put that aside for the night and just root for good baseball. And there was some good baseball. I found myself shouting "YOOOOOOOOUUUUUK! YOOOOOOOUUUUK!" when Youklis was up in the 9th in a do or die situation. I found myself cheering when Johnny Damon singled and gave the Yanks a 3 run lead. I loved the playful smack talking between my Beantown friends and the New Yorkers in front of us. I loved the stadium, I loved that Supreme Court Justice Sotomayor threw out the first pitch, I loved the chanting, booing and cheering and I got it. I get that it's such a fun thing to be a part of: the marquis players, the history, the rivalry, the swagger of a winning team. And it was fun to be a part of it for a day. But now I will go back to last place in the AL West and wonder if next year is the year we regain our late 80's glory. Sigh. At least I have FOOTBALL!



See how close we were?!

Which brings me to Sunday. We were so happy that the Chargers game was being aired in New York, which meant we got to watch from the comfort of our living room (soon to be karaoke suite). We made french toast for breakfast (using the creme anglaise I made for my final), we snacked on football food, and most importantly, the Bolts won! I love Sundays with Mike and this one was extra good because we haven't had a lot of time together lately between visitors and school. It was so nice to just hang out at home in our full Charger gear, yelling at the TV and constantly checking fantasy scores. I haven't asked him, but it may have even topped the 2 minutes he spent with the Stanley Cup.

On a final note, I will leave you with this. When I arrived at Yankee Stadium on Saturday, I texted my sister in Washington state to tell her where I was sitting because I figured she would be watching the game, which she was. Given the location of our seats, there was a chance she might catch me on TV. When she told my 5 year old niece that Aunt Emily was at the game they were watching on TV, Brynn's response was "WHAT?! Aunt Emily is THERE?! Is this a movie of our world?".



Mike, Me, Chris, the Silver Fox, & Chris's Mom

What I've Been Up To...And Then Things That Actually Matter

Oh where to start? We've had three really great classes in the past week, plus I spent the weekend living it up with an old friend from Buffalo, and then there was the disappointing conclusion to much anticipated Football Sunday...sigh. But I am not going to dwell on the Chargers loss because in the grand scheme of things, what does it really matter? Besides, Mike and I had a GREAT time at our new Charger game watching spot, MJ Armstrong's. Bolts banners everywhere, the San Diego Super Chargers song playing with every score, and literally hundreds of fans chanting, clapping, stomping and shouting, making the bar feel like it might explode. AWESOME.

I left off last week with a mention of our having free reign over a whole flounder, our first opportunity to be creative. It definitely rattled my nerves and I know I was not alone in feeling a tad anxious and unsure of the dish I was trying to turn out. Luckily, I was assigned an old familiar face as my current partner (Korean Spiccoli) and that helped me relax a little bit. The night ended up being a ton of fun once we got into the groove of cooking. My class produced the most beautiful plates that were equally delicious, it was both impressive and a source of pride that we all kicked ass. For my dish, I poached the flounder fillets in fish fumet (fish stock), white wine and some fennel and orange zest. I served it on a bed of sauteed spinach, surrounded it with an orange beurre blanc sauce and orange supremes (sections in which the peel and pith have been removed), topped it with some thinly sliced fennel sauteed in butter, blanched orange zest (to remove the bitterness)and garnished it with some chopped fennel fronds. It turned out quite well and gave me a little confidence boost that the dish I envisioned actually worked out. It was also very cool to see what everyone else had come up with and draw inspiration from their plates, garnishes and techniques. I know we made Chef Nic proud.

We also had a class dedicated solely to cheese on Friday. Do I need to say more? We watched a video on cheese (way better than the culinary math video that may have made me dumber for watching it), we tasted a variety of cow, sheep and goat's milk cheeses (plus their respective milks and yogurts to get an idea of the underlying flavors and progression with aging), and then we made our own ricotta and mozzarella. I could not have been happier until a classmate who works nearby kept passing me her aged goat cheese samples because she didn't like the flavor. Then I was even happier! Tonight, we had a lesson on pasta, risotto and gnocchi. Yes, this is my life.

I will spare you the details of my weekend eating, drinking and shopping with Trisha. We managed to cover a lot of ground, leaving a path of destruction in our wake, mostly to our bank accounts. It was a great weekend and one that should only be repeated sparingly, but I am far better outfitted for winter than I was a week ago. Not that I want to entice bad weather just so I can wear my new rain boots, belted trench and what Trisha and I call the sexy sweater. But when it does come, I will look good.

Putting all the fluff and day to day stuff aside, I do have something heavier weighing on my mind, something that puts things like football games in perspective. One of my dearest friends, my college roommate, the woman who introduced me to Mike, was Maid of Honor in my wedding and I in hers, and whom I consider to be a sister, is hurting and that means I am hurting. Although I can't begin to imagine how she feels and how she is coping, I know that she is drawing on the huge well of strength that she has within. She and her wonderful husband, Kris are recent parents to beautiful twin daughters, Kali & Maya. As if life with twins weren't eventful enough, Kali Jade was just diagnosed with neuroblastoma and began chemo this weekend. It's totally unimaginable that a tiny perfect little baby who hasn't even been on this earth for 6 months would have to battle something as daunting as the word that I just don't want to say. The prognosis is good and her mom and dad are thinking positively, but how can this not take it's toll? So, if you can do me a huge favor and send some loving, healing thoughts to sweet little Kali and her family, I would be grateful. Below is a picture of Kali (left) & Maya (right).

"Culinary Math Teachers" or Made Up Stuff That Makes Me Rant

Last night's class was brutal. Not because the kitchen was a furnace (which it sometimes is) or because we had to prepare 10 different recipes (which we sometimes do), but because it was the Chargers season opener and I just wanted to get the hell out of there. Class begins at 5:45pm (although Chef increasingly calls us up to the front around 5:40) and if you want to have any chance of being on schedule, you really need to arrive in the classroom around 5:15...unless you have a partner that commutes from Jersey and has no choice but to arrive on a train that gets him to class well before anyone, lest he take the later train which will make him late...which I do.

I figured out quickly that getting to class early is the single biggest favor you can do yourself. When you get there early, you get your station set up, you get your pick of bowls of all sizes, square boys (metal containers that are, no surprise, square), measuring cups, and the, for some reason, ever elusive, spoons. Just a regular spoon, but we never have enough, probably because we all store them in our sleeve pockets, so half of the school's supply ends up in apartments around the Tri-State area. Anyway, if you get to class early, you can get to work on your mise en place, which is basically the prep of all the components of your recipes. Although it has more than one meaning, the best of which translates essentially to your state of preparedness. So, like I said, if you want to have any chance of staying on schedule in class, you better be there early and you better have all of your ingredients portioned, your veggies washed, peeled and cut and whatever else you can get your hands on cooked in advance. It's a huge advantage. And I don't mean that in the competitive sense, but in the you vs. the clock way and the stress that comes with being in the weeds. Basically, from 5:45 until 10:45, but more often 11 and almost never early, we alternate between watching Chef demo our recipes, cooking frantically, and trying to smuggle in side conversations and jokes outside of Chef's watchful eye.

Monday's class was particularly brutal because we broke from the usual format, the one that keeps you too preoccupied to care what time it is until suddenly class is almost over. We were to prepare a roast chicken dish and an apple tart all before we had our stations cleaned by 9:00 and then lugged in stools for a lecture on food costs. The first 3 hours were terrific in that we were cooking, busy cooking and enjoying what we were making, although I do have to say Chef was sort of on a tear and raised his voice on several occasions. This is not something we are accustomed to and this is not to say that he is a softie by any stretch of the imagination. He runs a tight ship, gives praise with an undercut of criticism, but clearly wants us to do well and feels our success is a measure of his teachings. Each time he shouted at us for either poor time management, cooking during demos, or making too much mirepoix, it was always accompanied by some variation of the phrase "When you are in Level 3, you have to know these things! Chef won't be doing demo every time guys. It's okay to make mistakes, but guys, you have to be aware of the time!"

It was actually very sweet, because in just a week and a half, we complete Level 2 and will be parting ways with Chef Nic for the duration of our academic tenure. It's one of those situations some would call bittersweet, but I would just say is bitter. I am going to miss Chef Nic, his accent, his ability to crack himself up, and his flat out excellent skills in the kitchen. I am scared shitless to move on and be a big girl in the kitchen. I want Chef Nic to hold my hand a little longer, even if he does it by wrenching my boning knife away from me and showing me how to quarter a chicken the right way, one more time.

I digress, however. After we completed our two recipes, we were scheduled to listen to Chef lecture on food costing and watch a video on the same topic. Not so bad, right? Well, here's the way it went down. Mike is regularly texting me updates of the Bills-Pats game, which turned out to be an unexpected barn burner. My anticipation/excitement/anxiety was building as I hid my phone in my hat, checking Mike's texts as the final 2 minutes of that game ticked off and Chef has my classmates taking turns reading from our text. (What is this - 3rd grade? Reading aloud, are you kidding me? Can't we do this on our own time?)

As the Pats sealed the Buffalo choke, my irritation with being in class built as I knew the Chargers - Raiders game was kicking off. Luckily, Mike is a saint and was DVRing the game so we could watch it together when I got out of class. Of course this required me texting anyone I could think of that might possibly send me updates or taunts as the game progressed. To give you a timeline, the Chargers game started at 10 and I just had to get through 45 minutes, do a Superman change in the locker room and then throw myself into a cab for the 5 minute ride home. Around 10:20, Chef finally wrapped up the reading circle and started the video, which whoever produced should be ashamed of. It was a half hour of chefs and other professionals such as "Culinary Math Teachers" (oh yes, I will get to that later, but I will refer to her as "CMT", not to be confused with that hick music channel) explaining complex topics like multiplication, division and you guys probably won't even know this term because I think they only cover it once you are in MENSA, but percentages. (Yeah, never heard of it either). I kept looking around the room for someone in my class that might have special needs and be the reason for being subjected to the video, but everyone looked like they could tie their own shoes, so I dunno.

Here's where the "CMT" comes in. There's a sound bite of her talking about how so many chefs are intimidated by numbers because they are big and scary (accompanied by graphic of numbers with fangs swimming around on the screen) and how once she drops her "Culinary Math Teacher" skills, it's not so tough after all. I knew my missing-out-on-watching-football aggression was reaching its peak, because all I could think was if I ever, ever, ever see that Culinary Math Teacher (finger quotes and eye rolling), I will sit her down and explain to her that what she is teaching is just actual MATH and that it is not okay to make up job titles. Even regular math teachers use word problems that involve food...if johnny has 5 apples and he gives 1 to Susie...ring a bell "CMT"?

Anyway, when the video finally ended and Chef gave us our homework assignment (which involves a food costing sheet that according to "CMT" is going to cause an anxiety attack), I bolted out of there so fast and was home in no time to watch my beloved Chargers eek out a win against the loathed Raiders. I am sparing you the details of that part of my evening because it essentially involved Mike and I alternating between furious, elated, and sullen, all the while waving our Charger rally towels and playing the San Diego Super Chargers fight song which definitely woke up some of our neighbors.

Our next challenge in class is that we have free reign on a fish dish to show off the skills we have acquired. Basically, we have to fillet a whole flounder and then prepare and plate a composed dish using the techniques we have learned. This process in some ways terrifies me because there are so many things I can do, which causes me to change my mind on the techniques I will use, which causes anxiety and it's almost like the recipe is swimming in front of my eyes, with fangs no less. But then I replay that dumb video in my head and remember that I am not a moron and it will all be fine, with or without Chef Nic. It just won't ever be the same...