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