Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Sifton on La Grenouille





Christopher Smith for The New York Times

I have been a tad behind in my reading, having been so inundated with holiday shennanigans. However, now that I"m caught up, I must comment about Sifton's review of La Grenouille!

My last visit was on La G's 40th birthday. I haven't been back for one reason: I can't recall the food. How is it that I have no recollection of the meal save the split pea amuse bouche (which, incidentally, is still being served 7 years on)?

Sifton aptly describes my conundrum:

"The crowd is amazing. There are city patricians, upscale travelers, romantics celebrating anniversaries, cads with escort-service friends, priests drinking Burgundy and spooning soup past their dog collars. There is jewelry everywhere, evidence of plastic surgery."

I was too busy watching everyone.

I ended up at La Grenouille as a result of meeting a uber cute Danish guy at a Meatpacking District club. He suggested dinner with him and his friend, and oh, wouldn't I bring a friend along as well? And the locale? La Grenouille.

I suppose it's time to make a second visit and this time, pay attention to the food. :)

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Art in the East Village











"It was very bohème," Pascal said, referring to the East Village 20 years ago. He stood, legs crossed one in front of the other, his salt and pepper curls tousled atop his head. Not that there was anything less bohème  than all of us gathered at The Phatory, a contemporary art gallery in the heart of the East Village. We were artists, musicians, filmmakers and stragglers alike, drinking organic wine out of Dixie cups.

Pascal Benichou, an artist in the truest sense of the word, is a choreographer, photographer, dancer and more recently, industrial furniture designer. There was something very inviting about Pascal. His easy going demeanor, soft spoken yet totally French sensibilities were a delight. As was his love of bread. On his last trip to Portland, he had amazing bread at Pearl Bakery. Pascal's installation, "Of Spirit and Matter" where he explored the human body in relationship to the earth, is hauntingly beautiful. Ethereal, almost. While it was not the current installation in the main gallery area, it was definitely my favorite one.
 









A digital photograph by Pascal Benichou

Sunday, December 27, 2009

Let Them Eat Cake!














"Let me feed you cake!" Victoria's quiet charm was not lost upon me the evening I met her at Macao Trading Company. An invitation followed in the mail, and I was granted access to her coveted Chinatown Cake Club's first salon.

True to form, it had the makings of a cake thriller. The entire event was shrouded in secrecy. The location was not divulged until the day of, and obtaining that required even more steps. Ah, but it could have been no other way! Only true cake aficionados would go the distance.









Artist Cake Series #1: Tribute to Nobuyoshi Araki

When I entered, I thought I had died and gone to cake heaven. Victoria's abode was charming and tastefully decorated. We were served on traditional Chinese tin plates and tea saucers (very shabbic chic!) There was a selection of at least 10 different cakes, each complex, each unique in taste. One that I was particularly fond of was the pandan Charlotte Russe. The pandan creme was not too overpowering and was just the right texture and not too sweet.

It was absolutely lovely. Victoria is a talented baker who succesfully merges flavors to create delectable cakes that are sophisticated and fun.



Thursday, December 24, 2009

Fashion vs. Food










Sequins dress with lace overlay by Vivienne Tam


I attended a cocktail soiree at Vivienne Tam that was co-hosted by the publication I periodically write for, Asiance Magazine. The usual suspects were there, dressed to the nines in killer cocktail dresses. We were plied with copious amounts of Vueve and gently reminded of their special event pricing. One night only! I can't believe I fell for it.

I successfully resisted the urge to browse the racks of Vivienne's Holiday Collection until I saw a flash of purple walk by. I did a double-take, flagged down the sales associate. She was a petite Asian girl wearing a purple sequins dressed with a lace overlay. I ended up buying the matching peep toe heels as well.

As a good friend of mine would say, "You just bought a dress for a party you have yet to be invited to, to mingle with people you have yet to meet." Ah yes, but that is so "glass half empty!" I'd like to think that I made a solid investment.

The buyer's remorse set in a day later. I had just squandered what I had set aside for a master class in sugar work. Time to sell another loft...

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Better Malaysian Food in New York






Duck thigh noodles (ngap tui mee) at Overseas Restaurant, Manhattan by Steven

Living in New York City, there are no shortages of Malaysian restaurants. Nyonya, Penang, Jaya, Sanur and even Singapore Cafe (yeah, even THAT is Malaysian) comes to mind. They serve the average fare: Nasi lemak, assam laksa, poh piah, roti canai and the lot. They are all standard but in search of kuih, a friend introduced me to Overseas on Canal and Ludlow. There, I was brought back to my childhood with their duck thigh noodles and kuih!

As the child of foodies, my parents' idea of a fun Saturday excursion was to drive 4 hours North to the town of Bidor for duck thigh noodles ("ngap tui" mee). Bidor is a former tin-mining town tucked in between Kuala Lumpur and Ipoh. There was only one establishment that you'd want to go to, and I cannot remember the name of it, though it is still there today if you were to venture to this sleepy town. It is on the corner lot of a row of colonial townhouses, with cement washed floors and plastic stools. You'd order the cold, barley lemon drink and a bowl of steaming "ngap tui" mee. While waiting for your food to be delivered, you'll peruse the "snacks" aisle, as a portion of the restaurant also doubles as a convenience store of sorts for local snacks like dried cuttlefish, "kai jai peng" (chicken biscuits) and flakey sweet pastries flavored by burnt coconut husks used to flame the fire.







Kuih by Steven

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Holiday Baking: Chocolate Bouchons











Top: Chocolate bouchons, bottom: Gingersnaps

I decided to do some holiday baking for about 20 of my real estate clients, primarily those who lived in doorman buildings where I could drop off the baked goods. I nixed cupcakes in favor of more "durable" fare: Thomas Keller's Chocolate Bouchons and gingersnaps. I packaged them in brown bakery boxes with grosgain ribbon and a gift tag.

Chocolate Bouchons

from Bouchon by Thomas Keller (Artisan Books)

Makes 12 servings

Butter and flour for the timbale molds
3 1/2 ounces (3/4 cup) all-purpose flour
1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon kosher salt
3 large eggs
3/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
24 tablespoons (12 ounces) unsalted butter, melted and just slightly warm
6 ounces semisweet chocolate, such as Valrhona Equatoriale (55%), chopped into pieces the size of chocolate chips
Confectioners' sugar

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Butter and flour twelve timbale molds. Set aside. Sift the flour, cocoa powder, and salt into a bowl; set aside.

In the bowl of a mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, or in another large bowl if using a handheld mixer, mix together the eggs and sugar on medium speed for about 3 minutes, or until very pale in color. Mix in the vanilla. On low speed, add about one-third of the dry ingredients, then one-third of the butter, and continue alternating with the remaining flour and butter. Add the chocolate and mix to combine. (The batter can be refrigerated for up to a day.)

Put the timbale molds on a baking sheet. Place the batter in a pastry bag without a tip, or with a large plain tip, and fill each mold about two-thirds full. Place in the oven and bake for 20 to 25 minutes. When the tops look shiny and set (like a brownie), test one cake with a wooden skewer or toothpick: It should come out clean but not dry (there may be some melted chocolate from the chopped chocolate). Transfer the bouchons to a cooling rack. After a couple of minutes, invert the timbale molds and let the bouchons cool upside down in the molds; then lift off the molds. (The bouchons are best eaten the day they are baked.)

To serve: Invert the bouchons and dust them with confectioners' sugar. Serve with ice cream, if desired.

Baker's Notes:
On melted butter: this made all the difference!
On piping the batter: I used a melon scoop since I didn't have a pastry bag handy, worked just as well.
On the timbale molds: I bought mine from JB Prince  on the phone and sent my Christmas elf to collect it. :) Don't remove the molds prematurely or the bouchons may collapse (I lost 2 batches to my impatience).


Saturday, December 19, 2009

Baked Day 9: Screw Up!










Pumpkin Pie vs. Cupcake via Cakespy

No points today. I perfected my baguettes and french rolls on Day 7 and  earned 2 points. Today however, I worked with a sourpuss crew. Music off, no conversation. The mood was considerably dour. Perhaps because it was Friday, one of the busier days of the week and we’re coming into the holiday season. The day shift crew shaped about 5,000 pieces of dough a day amongst the 8 of us.

“Drink water, go to bathroom. No coffee!” Carlos said.

I grinned. That meant we did not have the luxury of dalliance.

“Seeds! Garbled mumbled gresivoresfhshur ….seeds!” Carlos motioned to the plastic bin under the work table. I opened it and found two bags: one with poppy seeds and the other with sesame seeds. I knew he meant sesame but I reached for the poppy and spread a line across the twist dough.

“NO! Wrong one!”

I’d screwed up. The dough couldn’t be salvaged and was toss unceremoniously in the bin.

I got nervous after that point and nearly dropped a tray of dough I was packing. I've prided myself in not dropping the dough or being Miss Butterfingers and have for the most part, "blended" in well enough that if you were to glance into the picture window to observe us at work, you'd not even give me a second glance.

I’ve graduated from shaping to shaping and packing, where I prepped the dough after shaping to sit and proof. The dough is fitted into rectangular tins, some longer than others, covered with lids and others with plastic. The dough is also placed on wooden boards atop oiled parchment sheets, some without. They were then placed on rolling carts and wheeled either in the Walk-in (aka large freezer the size of a large room) or in the baking room to proof.

Packing was extremely challenging as it involved lifting, pulling, carrying and pushing a lot of weight. Expectations from the crew has also been raised. Learning by rote was de rigeur until now. I’ve mastered the major shaping techniques and now they have started teaching me more technical aspects. Why certain things are done, why certain things aren’t. They taught me to read the order sheets. Instinctually, I knew when to reach for more flour for the table, put wooden boards away, or scrape down the table.

But I goofed today and that's ok. Not everything has to be perfect all the time and I"m comfortable with that. I'm not super-human but I do believe in giving 110% in everything. No apologies.


Thursday, December 17, 2009

Baked Day 6: Mi Corazon













“M, you going with Diego today. Twists!”

Carlos was not the supervisor on duty today, Mr. Smiley was. The guys jostled each other and I had a nagging suspicion I was being “set up” for something.  More importantly, if I wasn’t working in front of Carlos, he can’t assess my progress which also meant I would be taking a time out from the point system.

Diego and I prepped for twists. He showed me how to distinguish between the different types of dough which required different types of pans and set ups. We worked in the mixing room amongst the giant Hobart mixers with racks and racks of chilled dough.

“So….are you single?” Diego asked.

Ah. So THAT was the million dollar question. I was actually relieved there wasn’t a weird hazing ritual at X that all interns were subjected to.  I concentrate heavily on my pan and laughed the question off. Who had time to date?

“Why do you work so much?”

Why, indeed, Diego. Million dollar question.

The conversation turned to family. He hasn’t seen his parents in 12 years. His 6 year old son has never spent time with grandma or grandpa. We talked about religion. Diego was spiritual but not religious. But tomorrow was the celebration for Our Virgin of Guadalupe, he said. He was contemplating going to church.

"Heeeeey...baby!" We were interrupted by Paco, who confirmed my “set up” theory by singing the refrain, “Mi Corazon” over and over for the next 2 hours. Paco was the kind of guy I steered clear of. He liked saying, "Heeeeey..baby!" to me. He did offer to make me a cup of coffee which I accepted in a peace gesture.

I was taught how to shape the twist dough, filling them with raisins and olives, before using a special dough cutter that resembled discs of steel mounted on a rolling pin to cut neat rolls of dough to be twisted by hand.
It was repetitious but I found it rather meditative. The twists wer arranged in 2 neat rows on sheet pans before being stored on a cart. I found lifting heavy pans above head was a little difficult. Diego did not help, neither did I expect him to. He knew I'd ask if I needed help.

The day ended uneventfully. As I entered the locker room, the man they called the Don (in a nod to his age seniority, he appeared in his late 60s), started the whole, "Heeeey,...baby!" thing. But how could you take him seriously? Or short, short Paco for that matter? They are the kind of people that you just want to hand a balloon and a candy bar to and send them on their merry way.

I zipped up my coat, gave a wave to the baguette night shift that was starting their day, and stepped out the back door, the screen door slamming behind me.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Baked: Day 4














"Cuppie Loves to Bake" via Cakespy

I earned my 3rd point early that morning.

Back on the line with Jesus. I practised on my rolling technique for baguettes. The dough always looked like a snake that had eaten a large hamster. I couldn't get the bulge in the middle to go away. I cursed the lack of Play Doh in my early developmental years.

Unofficial break time came several hours in. It would've been like any other break, where I'd gulp down a steaming hot cup of coffee, run to the bathroom and back to the shaping table. But today was different. Jesus motioned me to come with him. He grabs two rolls hot from a tray, fresh from the oven. He tossed me one and we sat down together with Carlos at the picnic table that doubled as our break room. We ate in silence.

I broke a piece off the roll with my fingers, the flakey crust crumbled onto my lap. I washed it down with a cup of coffee. And we sat, comtemplative, focusing on every bite, every minute we had that we didn't have to work.

I had a momentary flashback to the basement of a church in Vladivostok, where we'd sat on long, hard benches, slurping down bowls of hot borscht. A lifetime ago. Our hunks of bread rested directly on the table top.

I broke the silence to ask Carlos if he was celebrating Christmas. He wasn't. Apparently, his mother was a Buddhist.

Back to the line.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Baked: Day 3














French Toast plush via Etsy

“This is very good. But you are still 2 out of 10. When you are 10 out of 10, you are ready,” Carlos had spoken.

I prodded my squishy boule. Then I prodded his firm boule and nodded humbly.

While Carlos kept a watchful eye from across the work station, I set to work with a new partner. Mr. Furbie was a veteran of the joint and had little patience for a new intern. He comfortably allowed my limpy dough to slide and floured only his own work surface.

There was no music blaring today. We worked in silence. The mood was sombre as Mr. Furbie smirked at Sharon, whom, he decided was worthy of his attention.

I was put to work hauling heavy racks filled with dough back and forth. I provided back-up: I oiled, dunked, dipped, covered and seasoned. When there was a slight lag, Star Child (the male favorite of the women working there and the envy of the men) would throw me a piece of dough to work on.

Work fast, work hard, support your team, slow down. Oil splattered from the pastry brush across my face. Get out of the way or get anointed in flour, “Cake Boss” style. Laugh when you do.

And so we worked. Like a well oiled machine we worked in a Zen-like silence.

My pants were covered in flour, which was typical but for the fact that I had forgotten my work pants. I was wearing my “real job” pants, which was a nice pair of Theory slacks. I silently thanked God for not forgetting my work shoes or else my Burberry boots would’ve been wrecked!

The minutes ticked on to the passing hours and then I saw it, a crack in the shiny veneer of Mr. Furbie’s “I don’t careness.”

“Watch. Like this.” He showed me his tucking technique: quick and firm, no fancy turns with a smooth finish, before walking away.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Baked: Day 2












"Esta muerto," Carlos shook his head and prodded my limp dough. Everyone laughed. I had succeeded in murdering my French roll. Again. And thus, ended Day 2 of my internship at X.

I spent my day with my stomach in knots. I am the only intern who wasn't a culinary school grad and without professional kitchen experience. Everything I did wrong, from improperly flouring a banneton, those woooden baskets that help sourdough proof, to my inability to shape dough, meant that everyone else on my team had to pick up the slack.

The day consisted of an 8 hour shift with a 45 minute break. After the bannetons are floured, we go straight into shaping dough for the remainder of the day.

"Bolas!" Carlos barked. "Watch!" He deftly maneuvred the dough into a large ball and rolled it a few times to give it shape and tossed it onto the wooden board. Bola, known by its proper French term, boule, was for me, the bane of my short kitchen existence.

80's rock blared through the kitchen. I struggled with the dough as it stuck to my fingers at every opportunity. Carlos and Jesus slung dough from both hands, like they were slinging guns in a spaghetti Western.

Carlos is a diminutive man in his 40s with dark hair and olive eyes. I report directly to him. While he does not yell at me, he is firm and expects me to react quickly. Merely a raise of his eyebrow or a "Hmmph!" would send me scurrying off with telepathic orders to scrape down the work table or grab more pans.

The conversation started with Shakira's latest concert in NY. Carlos and Jesus were obvious fans from the way they eagerly discussed her repertoire and lamented the lack of Spanish songs in it.

The hours passed quickly and was matched by the frenetic pace of the kitchen. We worked with different doughs with different shapes to tackle and no shortage of herbs, olives, raisins and chocolate. Carlos and Jesus would patiently reshape my doughs and each taught me their techniques.

"Tranquila..." Jesus said, grinning from ear to ear. "It's your first time. Keep practising!"

And there it was, the holy grail. Practise. Get in there. Don't be afraid to dive right in and get your hands dirty, work with confidence and where you have to, be firm.

It must have been well into Hour 6, and averaging 1 boule per 1.5 minutes, Carlos finally muttered, "Coffee break!"

He turned to me and with a quick nod said, "You made 2 good bolas."