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54
MY
ROUSES
EVERYDAY
MAY | JUNE 2017
T
here’s not much more fun in my
house than getting together in the
kitchen and cooking with people
you love, then serving the results to other
people you love. And then there’s the
creative satisfaction of making something
with a new twist that surprises everyone.
We’re looking for the ahhh.
My nephew was recruited to our kitchen
as a youngster, learning how to use a knife,
chop, fetch and load the dishwasher as
we cooked. It didn’t scare him away. He
kept coming back for more. He learned,
he complained and then he learned some
more. We nurtured his interest through
culinary arts school, then watched (and
suffered) as he went down the hard
road of apprenticeship to become a full-
fledged executive chef. I adored his fellow
apprentices. They were hungry and broke.
Food and money were motivators. We’d
have them over when we were entertaining;
one or two would be guests at the table
as the others cooked. The next time, the
cooks would take a turn as guests. It was
important for them to experience the joy of
being on the receiving end of our culinary
shenanigans. Contrary to the reality of their
cooking school drudgery, they were in total
command of their kitchen and meal service
at my dinner parties.
There’s respect (and awe) due to the men
and women who work long hours in wicked
conditions of heat and pressure. At home,
the cook can laugh off a failure and pick up
a pizza. In a restaurant, when the guest is
not happy, the cook is shamed. Add cuts
and burns, sore feet, hip problems and
bad knees. Don’t forget that most kitchen
crews work in an alternate universe, on duty
when we’re not, from early mornings to
late, late nights. That’s punishment enough
for anyone. A 12- to 16-hour day is not
unusual. Restaurant apprentices and cooks
busy climbing the ladder show up for work
early, beg to learn and leave late.
So even knowing the rigors of that career,
we staked him to culinary school. It was
only right after his years of peeling potatoes
and other indignities. Our only payment
for subsidizing his tuition was that he was
required to come home (and cook) for
major holidays. We worked in the kitchen
together, except
now
I was the helper and
he was the chef. There was plenty I could
learn from him. So we’d toss ideas around
and ask each other, “What if we tried this
instead of that?”
We played “What if?” with a good sense
of humor, stacks of cookbooks to explore,
and lots of coffee or adult beverages. To
collaborate successfully, one must park
preconceived notions at the door and be
prepared to be a target of laughter.
So our mission that day was pudding cake.
That’s when dry ingredients dominate the
wet ones, and a strange but magnificent
separation occurs during baking. The
pudding (or custard) combination sinks to
the bottom since it is heavier, and the cake
fills with air during baking, rising to the top.
We explored recipes and discussed
ingredients, and how we could create
something a little bit familiar that would
still be a surprise.
We knew the process; it was all about the
flavors. A riff on café brûlot was finally our
answer.
the
Coffee
issue
Café
Brûlot
by
Kit Wohl