5 Days of Flavor

A Scorched Savory


The week began with a disappointing destruction of practically perfect puff pastry. In an effort to prep, produce, and plate with newfound punctuality, I neglected to double check our oven temperature, entrusting the speed demons of our class with this most important responsibility. Result? Ablaze Allumettes.



This is proof that even 20 degrees can make a major impact on the food at bake. To make matters worse, the too high heat caused the Sauce Mornay (the white cheese roux filling the puff pastry) to boil and break the delicate layers that surrounded it giving the smoking savory a lovely lava oozing effect as I ripped it from the molten oven.

A sauce-less, scorched, smoking, and slightly undercooked pair of allumettes was all I had to show for 2 practicals worth of steam and study. But wait, the worse was far from over.

The lovely pate a choux Gougere dough that I seemed to cook to a pungent perfection and pipe in precise puddles for a stint in the oven never even saw the light of the day’s plating. The traumatizing trickiness of pate a choux: uninterrupted baking time for the first 20min. Early Birds don’t always get the worm it seems: I produced parmesan pitas instead of the desired Gruyere Gougeres.

Fresh From Scratch Fettuccini

Much to my surprise, by the next day I was back in the game. I have renamed this lesson Fun with Fettuccini because it was truly enjoyable. Channeling my imaginary Italian grandmother, I decided to choose the road less traveled and make every strand of pasta by hand. That is NO pasta rolling or cutting machine used, just a sharp knife and my two hands.



What a satisfying success: simple, subtle strands coated in a sauce of seasoned crème fraiche with fresh basil and tomatoes. The power of knowing how to make a personal pasta from scratch has sparked so much creativity that multiple flavor combinations of homemade pasta are currently hanging up to dry across my crowded kitchen. London’s very own Linguini Laundromat.

A Too-Tart-Tart

A Bramley Apple Butter Ball maybe the best way to describe this pucker inducing patisserie production. I admit that this has been the only recipe we have faced that I have taken serious issue with on the account that frankly it is just no good. A way-too-tart selection of apples breeds is broken down into unseasoned crunch-less compote, making the filling into nothing more than a Bradenburn baby puree.



Given the pre-existing wreck of a recipe, I somehow (and after going over it several times ex-post-factum still have no idea how) ended up with an exorbitant amount of butter in my pate sucree. So much so that a mid-blind-bake check up uncovered a butter-bubbling blistered mess. And from this Surface of the Sun Sucree followed a lack-luster layer of compote filling, and a rather anemic apple sliced topping. I truly pale at the thought of it.

TGIF: Thank God It’s French-Trim!

Friday was fraught with fun. Upon entering the demonstration room that morning, I saw nothing but a full frontal lamb and a cleaver besides our head chef.

This was the Lesson of the Lamb: learn it or leave.

It was absolutely amazing. To see our chef reduce an entire lamb into delectable portions with almost no waste was by all accounts brilliant. What a satisfying sight to see three hours worth of work turn a carcass into Carre d’Agneau.




Baby steps for us basic cuisine chefs though. We began with a split best end, from which we had to carve and cook a parsley-encrusted rack of lamb. The carving, or French Trimming task involves removing a particular amount of fat from the bones and eye of the meat, so that the meat retains as much flavor from searing and roasting as possible. The goal here is a palatable and practical presentation.



If you have ever had UK lamb, you will know that very little needs to be done to improve upon its taste, so this classic preparation is both respectful to and rich with natural flavor.

A Jalousie to be, well, Jealous of



More than just a midnight snack, this took the cake this week, or I should say took place of the cake.



Perfect cinnamon sugar syrup poach pears fan out atop fresh almond cream, encased in a lattice puff pastry dough glistening with the sugary shimmer of the sweet syrup nappage.



It is temptation at a taste, sin in a slice, and gluttony by the gram.

But let me tell you, it feels good to be this bad…





Darcy Jones

When Life Gives You Lemons…

make lemon curd, a lemon meringue tart, and lemon crepes of course!

There is nothing that lifts your spirits in the lull of winter quite like the lick of a lemon. With the lack of light these days, stepping into a kitchen loaded with beaming bright yellow citron is a welcome wake up call for us all.

And in my case, I am on lemon-overload. Full speed ahead into week 4, and already my brain feels like a recipe-rollercoaster. I think in an incoherent mix of French and English, and honestly feel like I speak in tongues half the time. The slogan ‘just do it’ seems to sound in my head on more than one occasion per day, but learning to turn to taste, rather than talk, has been a truly invaluable lesson in so many respects.

So if the proof is the pudding, or in the curd in this case, than I think I am progressing quite nicely:



The Tart au Citron, or Tart au Magnificent, was a serious undertaking. The pate-brisee (shortbread pastry shell) made a reappearance in this recipe only to be topped, quite literally, by a call for fresh lemon curd, Italian Meringue, and candied lemon zest. With a quick flick of the wrist and the Saint Honoree piping-tip we were shown how to pipe the ever-so-chic herringbone pattern with our meringue. I little brown highlighting and blond streaking to coat, and I could hardly believe my eyes: a total tart makeover!



I must say- it was quite the fashionable Friday for us chefys. And so the weekend was gone in an instant, and with a flash: Monday morning practical. It was a scrumptious start as we began the first phase of puff pastry and comfortably conquered the classic crepe.


Un...Deux et trois

Crepes with Lemon Segment Syrup…simply lip licking, light, and, to quote my performance review: ‘just lovely.’





Darcy Jones

Sojourn with the Swans of Chantilly

It was an evening of eclairs that began with a creme chantilly cocktail, and ended with a flock of swans in my foyer.

I realize that I just painted a picture for you that sounds something like the movie The Hangover so let me start again.

Three words: Pate a Choux, or Choux-Pastry. The name derives from the pastry's baked appearance: when cooked the pastry surface resembles the head of a cabbage (or at least some ancient french chef believed so). Regardless, choux-pastry is one of the cornerstones of French Patisserie, and can weigh about a stone when filled with coffee Creme Patissiere and covered with chocolate fondant.



Choux Pastry is an incredibly satisfying thing to make if you are a baker, for it doubles in volume in a warm oven in under 30 minutes. Considering the near 48hrs it takes to make brioche, this is remarkably swift and satiating. Once cooked, Choux Pastry can also be successfully frozen and defrosted to then be filled and served. Hence the array of fresh eclairs, Paris brests, religieuses, and salambos found in any pastry shop each day.

It was quite seamless in the kitchen tonight. I wouldn't quite say 'ballerina stage' (the term used to describe the beauty of an organized and skilled chef who works about the kitchen as though his every move were part of a choreographed dance), but some of us have definitely found a rhythm.

I have made some personal progress in the patisserie. Today my eclairs (pictured above) won Best In Show, or in class at least, and my family of swans received a resounding honorable mention.


Family Cygnes

So sailing home at half past 10, glowing with the success of my good grade, and delighting in the prospect of a late dinner of prize-winning dessert, I missed the door step and proceeded to set my swans free to fly all the way across the front hall floor.

"Those babies can really move across the sky..."
Image not available.

As for them? At least you knew them at their best... As for me? Seems I need to work on my footwork in and out of the kitchen.



In Memoriam

Darcy Jones

Break for Lunch

Dinner too for that matter. Like this little guy, I was too beat to beg.

And you know what they say: if you can't handle the heat, get out of the kitchen. So, today our class got a not-so-well-deserved, but certainly well needed day off.

Two days in the Patisserie begin tomorrow, and the prospect of practicing puff pastry already has me, well, pooped.

A demain.

Warming Trend

7 degrees and climbing today… and in the kitchen a cool inferno! C’est typique- the second the weather turns so do our ovens. By 9am we were cranking at 200 degrees Celcius ready for a morning of roasting whole chickens, an afternoon setting sweet and savory pastry, and an evening baking the infamous Quiche Lorraine.

I must admit that Henry IV understood the human condition more than most. By all accounts a medieval man of instinct, King Henry was clearly leading with his gut when he declared A Chicken in Every Pot the standard for all his subjects’ Sunday evening suppers.



As you can see, I too believe that there is no greater comfort than coming home to roost.

And believe it or not, I have discovered that there is something inherently feminine, something rather domestic, about trussing a chicken. The prepping, the primping, the presenting: the entire procedure is akin to a Victorian-esc corseting custom. Seriously! If you had the opportunity to hear the way our chefs speak about the value in “propping up the breast” you too would understand what I’m getting at. Trussing is all about preparing a bird to look and perform at it’s best, hence it was the women who came out on top in today’s practical. And the hen party only continued as we breached baking…

Hour 6, Sweet and Savory Pastry: somewhere, somehow, and by some miracle I seemed to hit my stride. Pate Sucree and Pate Brisee provide the foundation for any sweet and savory shells. You find the sweet shortbread pastry filled with Crème Patissiere and topped with apricot jam glazed fresh fruits in a typical tarte aux fruits. Where as the savory shortbread crust supports the widely known and loved Quiche Lorraine. Difference between the two? Merely a bent towards either sugar or salt, respectively.

And is the midst of this blistering blind bake-off 'The Golden Quiche' was born.



Honestly, it may be my greatest achievement to date. Here the browned buttery crust hugs what’s known as the Royal Mix (made essentially of double cream, egg yolk, and nutmeg) throughout which rest crisp pancetta lardons and pockets of melted Gruyere cheese. The top’s texture accentuates this savory sun-like appearance and the taste lives up to every bit of its name:


Liquid Gold.

I’m basking in it’s glow.



Darcy Jones

The Making of a Mushroom (Part I+II)

PART I

DAMN ESCOFFIER…AND HIS LITTLE DUXELLE TOO!

Failure in the kitchen. Utter, complete, and total failure. Today was (queue the ominous chords) tUrNIng vEgetAblEs day in the cuisine kitchen. Turning vegetables is a traditional (and rather antiquated if you asked me) French practice of preparing vegetables for yes, even cooking, but mostly for presentation.

When it came to my performance, producing the dish that is comprised of artichoke heart, diced cooked mushrooms, tomato concasse, and glazed carrots proved more than I could handle. To be fair, my turning was passable. To be kind, my cooking was spot on: a glossy glaze, a desirable consistency of concasse, and an a la point artichoke. But to be honest, I WAS SLOWER THAN MOLASSES!

I was so slow and worked with such utter lack of time management that I ended up living my reoccurring nightmare: I did not finish.

“Come on ladies, this is not your grandmother’s kitchen!” In all Chef’s witty wisdom these words rang true- where did I think I was?

I wish that right now I could wax poetic on the pros and cons of the cartouche, provide some beginner’s wisdom on preserving the integrity of the pure white Paris mushroom, but sadly I cannot because you know what? I just do not know. I did not learn it. And in cooking you cannot learn from something you have not done.

I am disappointed and demoralized. In fact, I was so down about my performance that I couldn’t even bring myself to take a photo of my camouflage uncompleted plate.

So I leave you with an empty space and an empty stomach and an all together enervating Saturday.

PART II

A BLANKET OF SNOW, A BLANQUETTE DE VEAU, A BLANKET OF VEAU…

And on the 7th day…it snowed…again.


Hazy Shade of Winter : Out the window at 8am.

I think Simon and Garfunkel have captured my entire life: "Time, Time, Time..."

Well, I have discovered that there is no amount of success in starving. If that is the only thing I learn from the Duxelle Disaster, then I consider it worth the humiliation and hunger pains because today *drumroll please* I finished early!

This ain’t your grandmother’s kitchen anymore that’s for sure.

It’s a new week and time to turn over a new leek, leaf rather: I am Sous Chef. No, that is not like ‘I am Spartacus,’ I am truly on Sous Chef rotation.

Behold the life of a Sous Chef: prepping the kitchen, portioning everyone’s ingredients, and providing your fellow chefs with whatever they may need. This is my week to hold this dreaded and truly humbling position. It is a job that requires a thick skin and a whole lot of stamina. You might say success as a Sous can be explained in one word: survival!

The test of survival at this moment is facing the Fond de Base- the basic background and the backbone (quite literally in fact) of French cuisine: Le Stock.

I began the day carting 9 veal shoulders single handedly from the prep kitchen to the practical kitchen, and let’s just say that by the time I reached the classroom I had incurred a new nickname: the butcher. One uniform down. So the flavor of our veal stock will rest upon these shoulder bones, which are roasted and lie simmering in the stock for approximately 8hrs, and in some cases up to 48hrs.

Leaving no stone (or bone) unturned, the meat of the shoulder will go towards our Blanquette de Veau: the classic French rich and warming dish of white veal stew served with it’s traditional accompaniments mushrooms, pearl onions, and braised rice pilaf- a l’ancienne for sur.

The wonderful depth of the chicken stock paired with the richness of the white roux gives this dish an indescribable lusciousness when cooked to perfection. It can be found in country kitchens across France in the winter, and, tonight in one very cosmopolitan kitchen in Mayfair:



Lesson here? No, not perfect, but present and accounted for. For if you don’t show up, you can’t play in the game.
And maybe, just maybe, there is a reason why the curriculum has us make the Duxelle in both days of practical.

Guess there are always two parts to every story.


Darcy Jones

Prevailing in the Patisserie!

It is often said that the essence of cuisine is all about care: as a chef you must always tend to your food ‘as if it was the love of your life,’ or so my mentor tells me. If this is true than Patisserie is all about passion. A passion for perfection and precision is the mark of any superior pastry chef. I know this to be true because today I had the privilege of performing our practical for such a chef.

Under the expert tutelage of the school’s head pastry chef, who is rumored to have been single handedly responsible for the Queen Mum’s 100th Birthday celebration cake, us basic patisserie students tackled what I call the 5 C’s: Crème Anglaise, Crème Caramel, Crème Brulee, Coulis, and cookies (I could actually be caned for calling them ‘cookies’ but Tuile Biscuit frankly just doesn’t work).

Conquering the 5 C's is no small feat. After a grueling two part practical (6hrs) that allowed for our stirred and baked custards to set, our coulis to sweeten, and our caramel to harden, we poured our hearts out with the hopes of presenting something worthy of our illustrious teacher's time.

And so I give you the stuff that “intermediates our made of”- that's a direct quote from my practical review that I am more than pleased with. Hell, I’ll take any victory, however small, I can get at this point.



I call this ‘Robinson Caru-mel’:



A Crème Caramel encased in a caramel sugar raft afloat on a wave of Crème Anglaise with a tuile biscuit breaker. Let’s just say this was not in the castaway pile, nor was there anything left to save by lesson's end. But should you doubt my glowing review, and I don’t blame you given my performance up to this point, look closely where Chef went ahead and took a taste before I could even snap my shots…



The true mark of a very sweet success.


Darcy Jones

APPLE OF MY EYEsore

Today marked our first foray in the pastry kitchen. During our inaugural lesson, I bore witness to the single most impressive fruit salad ever made. This delicious delicate dessert sings with the flavors of fresh vanilla and citrus and sounds of warm anise, cinnamon, and clove. It’s simply seductive syrup is used to infuse and preserve the fruits maximizing freshness and flavor, and let’s just say ‘fogettaboutit’- this is a natural sugar high.

Sadly, all highs must be followed by lows: after a 3 hour-long demonstration on the art of decorative fruit cuts (colloquially entitled ‘Fruits on Crack’) I was inspired to create a citrus sanctuary in my own kitchen. And from a substantial covey of Granny Smith apples here what I bagged:



I would say my V-cut creature looks more like Bird of FrIgHt than Bird in Flight.



In case you are wondering, it is supposed to be a swan...an apple a day, this way, won’t keep the doctor away.

Feeling rather demoralized at my lagging knife skills, I decided to flee the world of fruit and food for a breath of fresh air.
Although I met with no swans on my jog, I managed to enter Hyde Park just as a fresh snow coated the city commons. The flakes were so big and breathtaking that I had to stop and admire: I couldn’t help from imagining a celestial chef with his chinoise, smiling as he sieved the clouds to dust the square bellow in sugar.



This was truly a foodie’s fairytale.


Darcy Jones

New Kids on the cHoPpiNg Block

Exhibit A:



And by 9:30 this morning, I held the distinction of first knife cut of our class.

What a way to begin raw vegetables cuts-christ, a finger doesn't look that much like a carrot! But apparently it does, as mine was just the first in a series of other dings to follow amongst my Basic Cuisine classmates. The injury was in fact sustained while finely chopping the onion-an essential basic to all classic French cuisine. No tears, just a fair amount of blood, and now I'm left toting around this grunge-fashion item (that looks like more like a finger condom if you asked me). Guess there goes my career as a hand model.

So I decided the best course of action was to drown my sorrows while studying, ahem, the art of prep work. Course of action = collapsing at the bar at Scott's. At this art deco W1 watering-hole, the raw starter station is situated in the center of the dinning room. It is one of the best seats in London for people and (more importantly) prep watching.



Watching winter delights like oysters, beetroot, and endive prepped and plated with such perfection was just what the doctor ordered. Isn't it remarkable how much perspective one gains after a couple of pinots...

But if there is anything to take away from today, it's the importance of building a solid foundation. Without learning the correct skills and techniques there is only so far you can go as a chef, and in any profession for that matter. It is exactly what Heston Blumenthal (executive chef of the 3 star Michelin rated Fat Duck) talks about in his rather thesis driven cookbook: a chef cannot deconstruct what he has not constructed. Blumenthal is to modern cuisine as Picasso is to modern art: an innovator whose success derives from explosive creativity applied to fundamental expertise.

So it seems that draftsmanship is the lesson of the day, and the goal of tomorrow. Here's to becoming the best the chopper on the block.

Here was my first attempt:




Darcy Jones

My Fair Mayfair

I am most certain that a Nightingale did not sing in Berkeley Square this morning. At 3 bellow Celsius, London seemed reluctant to awake: even at half past 8, the evening street lamps still shone, as I took my first of many brisk walks down Marylebone Lane.



Morning in Mayfair is surprisingly similar to the early hours on Manhattan’s Upper East Side: a fleet of dark overcoats sail down busy narrow streets, all luffing in the face of a whipping winter wind. Navigating these waters first thing can be both cruel and comforting for a transplant like myself. For at least this morning, I felt a bit closer to home. And so it is fitting that my home-away-from-home for the next 9 months can be reached in an utter New York minute.

Tucked away in a quiet corner in Maryleborne lies a rather unassuming stone façade. As humble as the British and as traditional as the French, it is quite fitting that the culinary school of the ages calls this it’s London home. But by 9am this seemingly sleepy mews is rudely awakened. Screaming ovens and hissing pans sound through the bright blue shutters, as the alleyway bellow fills with echoes of whisked stainless steel. It is vinaigrette, it is mayonnaise, it is crème Chantilly… it is just another morning at Le Cordon Bleu.

Day one in the kitchen began with a bang (or siren that is): fire alarm in the boulangerie. A surge of steam, smoke, and students followed, all billowing onto the sidewalk. All of us in our iron pressed uniforms formed a rather remarkable sea of crisp white naiveté. I do not think I have ever felt so small, so inexperienced, and so out of my element. But as I stood shivering in this sea of frightened and frozen faces, the first snowflakes of the new year began to fall, and I realized that my story is just one of many on this day of new beginnings.


Darcy Jones