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...

In Defense of Football

Today feels a lot like Christmas morning except I am watching everyone open their presents and I have to wait until tomorrow night to open mine. Okay, that may be a little dramatic, but when you have been waiting since February for this day to come and your team plays the late Monday night game, it's a mild form of torture. Football Sunday is finally here and so begins the first of many Sundays spent parked on the sofa, a bar stool and in one stroke of luck, a stadium seat since the Chargers play the Giants this year. This football season will be a huge adjustment for Mike and I for many reasons, most obviously, we no longer live in San Diego. No more games at the Q. No tailgating (well technically it was condo-gating). No rolling out of bed just before the 10am game. No more of Emmy's Football Sunday snacks (mmm...fried tofu in peanut sauce). No more touchdown shots...well maybe. What remains the same is our Sunday routine of making last minute adjustments to our fantasy teams, Mike making a quick run to the store to pick up supplies for our favorite red curry-lime chicken wings, and the irritation of our non-football friends that our lives revolve around it for the next 5 months.

You see, there are two extremes when it comes to football, or sports in general. There are the fans, and by that I mean the real fanatics that live and breath for their teams, never miss a game, own a wardrobe of team gear and have anxiety about how they are going to watch games when inconveniences like weddings, funerals and untimely visits from non-football friends pop up. Then the other extreme are the people who think we are crazy. The ones who just don't understand what the fuss is about and why anyone would care about a team as if they were a family member. Of course, there is a huge group of people in the middle: the casual fan. The casual fan varies in degrees from the girlfriend who roots for a team because her boyfriend is a fanatic and if she wants to see him on Sunday, she better play along, but she really is only rooting for them to win so he isn't a complete grouch for the rest of the day if they lose. Then there is the guy who claims to be a fan but couldn't tell you the names of any of the starters on his team beyond the QB and star running back. And there are the casual fans that go to games, don't really know what's going on, don't pretend to, they're just here for the beer and atmosphere. There is nothing wrong with any of these people, well maybe the pretend fan guy, but really, I get it if you don't care for sports or if you think it's a waste of time or if it's just not something you can get into. But this time of year, I often find myself having to defend the way we choose to spend our Sundays. So I am going to preemptively issue a statement to all of my friends, family, visitors, classmates, associates and people sitting next to me at a bar where I am watching the game. I love football. I love it the way you might love to play golf, go shopping, eat cupcakes or watch Lost (if you do any of these things obsessively and you know who you are). I look forward to it like you would a vacation, a holiday with presents or Thanksgiving dinner. The anticipation of watching my team gives me a buzz a day in advance. The joy of watching them play, play well and win is a high like no other. Alternatively, the gut punch and ensuing depression that settles in when they lose can be torturous. If you've ever woken up the day after a brutal playoff elimination and the first thing that dawns on your awakening brain is the heartbreaking loss you suffered the night before and you just want it to be a bad dream, then you and I have something in common. So please, let's put football in a category with religion and politics. I won't tell you who you should vote for, what you should believe in and how you should spend your Sundays and all I ask is that you do the same. Now please excuse me for the next 5 months while I board the roller coaster of being a Bolts fan.

Debbie Downer Does Double Cheeseburger

In my post Labor Day glow, I was totally moved to blog about the joys and antics of family gatherings that I imagined everyone would be able to relate to and laugh about. But then the phone rang and then I had to attend a hot dog eating contest at school (I know, priorities). And then day turned to night turned to day and I spent the morning paying bills and growing more and more surly and mopey. Which is how I ended up at McDonald's ordering a 10 piece Mcnuggets and a McDouble. I marched straight past the crepe stand, the pizza joint, the peanut butter sandwich place, and countless other better options. It's like I felt bad and wanted to ultimately feel worse. I think there is a chemical in their food that sedates me. It's like for a few minutes after the pig out I feel a little numb and blissed out and then I crash back to reality. I also think it is a measuring stick for how I feel about life at the moment. Before we moved to New York and were living with friends, I had no job and basically felt like I was waiting for the next stage of life to happen, all the while sponging off friends. I ate at McDonald's at least 3 times a week. I am still not sure how I didn't suffer cardiac arrest or develop diabetes. Since we moved here, I've eaten at McDonald's exactly twice. Once I needed a McMuffin to soak up the previous evenings festivities and then there was today's post bill paying episode. As I sent more and more of our money off into cyber bill space, I realized that our plans for Thanksgiving at a Dominican resort were looking more like we would be eating at a Dominican restaurant in Washington Heights. (Taking a huge bite of double cheeseburger). This city is like a money pit. A glorious, exciting, wonderful money pit. Then add friends visiting to the mix and you can double your usual expenses because you want to put your best foot forward and show them what Manhattan is all about. And it is all about lighting your cash on fire any time of day or night. I think now is a good time to wrap up this entry before I bring you down anymore. I will leave you with the one thing that I know will cheer me up. A photo taken this weekend of two of my favorite people in the world, my nephew, Dylan and my niece, Gianna. I really need to remember to use this as an upper instead of 7,000 calories from McDonald's. UGH. I'll be back shortly with a better attitude and quite possibly a little fatter.

Sugar Related Mischief & Other Musings on Life

Our pastry section is coming to a close and quite frankly I am ready to go back to cooking. Baking is too precise, too much measuring and too much sugar. Not that I haven't enjoyed learning the techniques and adding some great desserts to my repertoire, but I think the whole class is tired of the sugar highs and subsequent crashes. Last nights class was a little wacky and I blame sugar. It was the first lesson we've had in a week or so where we actually had time to stop and eat dinner as opposed to shoveling it in our faces while watching Chef Nic demo pastry cream for the 10th time. We also had extra time after the break where Chef was nowhere to be found and it totally reminded me of elementary school when the teacher has to step out of the classroom for a second and all hell breaks loose. The volume increased by 300 and I thought a food fight might break out. The rum used to flavor one of our souffles may have made it into some coffee cups and this group of adults, some of whom are lawyers and bankers were acting like spastic little kids who have been pent up inside on a rainy day. Maybe there was a full moon, but I'm pretty sure it was the sugar and the strict rules of working with it. Whatever it was, it was a fun class and I'm happy to be stuck with this group.

Last night's instruction was on souffles and mousses and it was probably one of my favorites of the pastry section. We made a heavenly and intense chocolate mousse, a chocolate souffle, a souffle flavored with Grand Marnier, a cheese souffle and then I think the last one was a fruit souffle, but my poor partner did most of that one because I was too busy bopping around the room on a sugar pogo stick. The souffle lesson ended uncharacteristically early, which led to drinks after class (AGAIN) and I am realizing that I really have to learn to say no once in a while. I have appointed myself Activities Director of our class, so I do feel a certain responsibility in fulfilling the role, but this is ridiculous. Someone told me it would be exhausting living here and they were right, whoever that was.

We have a test Friday on our last 6 lessons and then we move on to a section on nutrition. In flipping through the text, it looks like we are going to be covering the composition of food, nutrients, vitamins and label reading. There are a few interesting things about these 3 lessons. The first being that there are only a handful of recipes and we are accustomed to preparing and plating anywhere from 4 - 10 dishes in each class, so I have no clue how we are going to spend 5 hours talking about macronutrients and making one dish of striped bass over lentils. There has to be a catch. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for a stool to appear at my station. The second is that I find it ironic that in these 3 lessons we are only able to produce 6 recipes that are healthy. It's like you take away the butter, egg yolks and duck fat and the French are rendered useless. I think Friday will also bring the end of my partnership with the quarterback, who has been awesome by the way. Easy to work with, absorbs everything from the demo and is patient when I pepper him with questions. We'll see who my next kitchen companion will be, regardless, I'm sure it will be memorable.

Speaking of memories, we are headed to Buffalo for Labor Day, 8 years to the day we rolled into town with almost no cash and no clue what we were getting in to. It should be a fantastic weekend catching up with old friends and family, returning to our favorite spots, and of course, chowing on as many chicken wings as we can handle. It's hard not to relive my emotions of that first week in Buffalo, when reality set in and then I broke out in hives. It's also tough not to be satisfied with the path our life has taken since and to wonder what the next 8 years will bring. Whatever it is, I am enjoying this part right now. Happy Labor Day!