My Favorite Cookbooks, Part 9, The Complete Book of Butchering, Smoking, Curing, and Sausage Making

The Complete Book of Butchering, Smoking, Curing, and Sausage Making, How to Harvest Your Livestock & Wild Game, by Philip Hasheider, might have a title as long as some Panic! At The Disco song names, but damn, does it deliver.  It shows you in full color glory the butchering process from the killing of the animal, dressing the beast, and then preserving or cooking it safely.  This is bonafide post apocalyptic survival guide reading and also a must read for any chef worth their salt. 

I once worked with a guy that questioned my interest knowing how to pluck a chicken.  I was reading the La Varenne Practique, by Anne Willan, which was the first cookbook I'd read that began to delve into this type of process.  I looked at the offending cook and let off a rant that must've been quite embarassing for him at the time.  It's important to know how your food has been handled prior to your cooking it.  Safety being a chief concern, but it also allows you to see details into how your product was processed.  Was it with care or haste?  Was it a humane or inhumane kill? 

This text not only discusses domestic animals, but shows wild game as well... including raccoons & squirrel.  Heck yeah.  Let's get some burgoo on, eh? 

I especially liked the detail on the necessary equipment needed for each task, such as the number of buckets needed to defeather poultry.  The author also makes a point to include more than one option for certain tasks, and highlights the pros & cons of each procedure.  This was definitely written by someone who is truly passionate about the subject matter.  Read this book. 

May nose-to-tail eating never die.

Arizona Stories, Kitchen Idiocy

You ever see a guy walk through a kitchen with an 8" chef knife wrapped around his apron strings jogging through a hotel kitchen?  Mind you, the blade wasn't covered.  I have.



Have you ever seen two line cooks kiddingly box on the hot line until one of them accidentally stabs the other with a plugged in mini stick blender?  I have and yes, it did turn on.  I couldn't stop laughing either, even though a slight bit of blood was spilled.



Ever see a prep cook decide that sanitation buckets were the best thing to store raw chicken bones in for stock?



How about watched a cook get pissed off at another cook so much that they sabotaged the other guy's chicken stock with a pineapple & a handful of tumeric so they'd get yelled at by the Executive Chef?

Seen someone add sugar to another cook's salt?

Watched a saucier throw all of another cook's prep onto the ground because they decided to work on their prep table? 

Accidently emptied a faulty fryer full of oil onto the floor?  That was me by the way.

Also erroneously posted that Paul Bocuse had passed a way yesterday?   Me as well.  This link should clear that up.  http://ph.omg.yahoo.com/news/dont-believe-twitter-rumors-french-chef -paul-bocuse-110602928.html  The rumors aren't true.  I did try to confirm yesterday evening and found that Wikipedia even showed him as deceased.  My apologies to any who believed this because I reposted this.

Never a dull moment, eh?

Highwood Story, Kitchen Fight!!!

I used to work for a notorious restaurant in the North 'burbs, where the Chef/Owner's temper was nigh near legendary.  He worked for 4 Michelin 3 star kitchens back when it meant something. His kitchen was the most militaristic, intense place I've ever had the um... pleasure(?) of working.  Cameras were everywhere, 16 in the kitchen areas, plus one webcam that the public could watch.  Which was nice for my wife, as she could tell when I was done working by seeing us clean at the end of shift.  Bad for the cooks though, as Chef had a habit of watching (even on vacation) and would call back to chew out the staff if he caught something out of place. 

I have a feeling there will be more than one blog about this place, but I'll start with this story.  Kind of ease back into it, see if there's any response.

So one day right before service kicked in, one of my cooks has an issue with a busser.  The cook was Fernando, who I believe was lying about his age to work.  I think he was honestly turning 16 years old halfway though his employment.  Acne riddled his face; he was prone to hormone addled rage at anything and everything.  He was a quick learner though, and was one of two main cooks on the pasta station.  Angry at the world, chip one his shoulder, and hadn't had his ass kicked hard enough yet.

The busser was Ishmael.  Twenty one years old, Ish was a full 4 inches taller than Fernando and ripped.  Ish was training to be an amateur lightweight boxer.  He could also clear more plates than most men could carry, with one hand.  Sweet guy though.  Softspoken and very polite.  I wouldn't want to start anything with him though, I doubt I'd win a fair fight (emphasis on the word fair). 

So the two get into it verbally, I pretty sure Fern told Ish to go have sex with his mother in an uncomfortable place, and it wasn't the back of a Volkswagon.  More words were exchanged and a small shove or two commenced.  They agreed to take it outside and I started to follow.  Except they never made it outside.

Ish had gone first, and as he reached the stairwell before exiting the back door, he swang the service door into Fernando's face.  Hard.  His hand then shot out and pulled the cook by the neck into the small area at the top of the stairs.  By this time I'd ran past the dish station to follow while calling out for the General Manager at the top of my lungs.  I cleared the door and confronted the two workers, who were now fully punching each other in their respective faces.  With 13 stairs leading into the basement right at their feet.  Idiots.  Someone could've died there.  Not thinking any further, I grabbed both of them and pulled them apart, all while calling for the GM, who came in time to see me holding the two apart by their shirts.

The best part of the whole thing was that it had been entirely caught on camera.  I was able to watch and replay the part where I broke up the two a good half dozen times later that evening.  I also had no issues with the kitchen staff for a few weeks after the incident.  I guess they thought I was a little crazy or something.  I think they were right.  

I ran into Fernando earlier this last year.  He works at a Garden Fresh market, his acne cleared up, and his English is better than mine now.  I'm glad to see this was just a phase or something and that he turned out okay in the end. 

A pic from said restaurant. 

Of Chefs & Doctors...

I've been really sick lately.  I caught a bout of gastroenteritis (viral stomach bug) and in combination with the normal stomach problems I generally ignore day-to-day has led me to seeing 3 doctors in 4 days.  Ugh.  But it's reminded me of a story, and since I'm bored as heck right now, here we go.

I once ran into a veteran line cook on a flight out west with my lovely wife Anne (probably over seven years ago now, wow).  We were sitting next to this blond gal a few years older than us that was looking at my scars.  It took her a few minutes to ask if I cooked for a living and after that the rest of the flight flew by.  She'd worked through some of Chicago's older school restaurants... almost all now closed, but definitely knew her stuff when it came to professional kitchens.  She was getting out of the business for the most part, mainly because her ego had gotten her into issues with her family, in particular her mother.

This veteran had been bragging about this, that, or the other thing concerning work and her mom snapped at her.

"All you do is cook.  You're more likely to have poisoned someone by accident, than to have saved someone's life.  You don't deserve to have an ego.  Doctor's deserve to have an ego, but you?  No."

That has never left my memory.  I can't remember the cook's name (Kelly? Kathy? Komodo Dragon?  K something?), but when I see young cooks strutting their stuff, I like to bring this story up.  We can't lose sight of the customer with what we do for a living, be it with food temperature, controversal/risky cooking techniques, accidentally exposing someone to an allergen, etc...  That's all I got today folks, more next time...  

Arizona Stories, The day I lost all my facial hair...

I ended up taking a lot of 3rd shift work at the resort during the end of my externship.  Part of my contract specified that if a manager got a hold of me personally or via phone and asked me to work a shift, that I couldn't decline... even if I'd already worked a 16 hour day.  I'm not saying that I hated this, but since the night shift had the most no-call-no-shows or other bullshit excuses, I often found myself working with little sleep and having to strain stocks at 4 in the morning.

The best part about night shift was the lack of supervision and the freedom to do things in any order I thought would be the most efficient.  I was always looking for ways to get done faster, especially if room service was picking up due to high occupancy.  The night shift person was responsible for staff meal for about 35 people, mainly security, night cleaners, and over night bakers/pastry cooks.  You had to strain and cool all stocks, prep anything the executive sous dropped onto your plate, handle room service, grind meat for the butcher, and set up breakfast for the 175 seat dining room. 

Breakfast prep for the dining room entailed breaking down a few cases of eggs for omelets, dicing and par-steaming potatoes, setting up bacon, sausage links, and patties, cooking steelcut Irish oatmeal, clarifying butter, and getting all of the ovens, flattops, etc. hot for morning service.

One morning I had gotten towards the end of my shift at 7 am, when I went to light the old school flattop on the line.  It was an old model, and the pilot was about eight inches to a foot under the griddle.  You'd light a wooden skewer to light the pilot, and turn the gas to light the damned thing.  This morning was different.  As I got on my knees and lit the skewer, I reached under the griddle and triggered and enormous blast of flame that engulfed my head briefly.  I immediately shut my eyes and hit the ground.

Apparently, one of the nightcleaners had used the stove as a ladder to reach the hoods earlier that morning and had turned the gas on slightly with their boot, much to my dismay.  I lost a few eyelashes, curled my eyebrows, and burnt off part of my sideburns.  To this day I have difficulty growing hair where my ears meet my beard.  I also looked sunburnt for about a week. 

So the first cook comes in, an old asian dude that rocked the omelet station as if he was twenty years younger.  With one look at me, all he says is,

"That's why I don't light the pilot anymore."

Go figure.  Now I always let someone else deal with pilots and gas first until I'm comfortable with the machine or conduit in question.  I saw a chef friend of mine once light an easy release hose on his fryer on an open burner by accident on his line.  He set his sleeve on fire and it looked like a flame thrower until the grill cook closed the release valve.  Scary, scary stuff to see.