Choosing Sunshine

A few nights ago, I was standing behind the bar of the restaurant where I work, polishing glasses and chatting up the bar patrons. A couple of men about my age sauntered in, pulled up at the bar, and each ordered a whiskey neat with an Old German back. I knew they were cooks, mostly from the drink order, partially from the weary looks on their faces, but also because I've seen them on the line before at their hot spot of a restaurant.

I asked them how everything is, and one of them kindly but absentmindedly responded, "Great, thank you." Reminiscing on my own day and in spirit of small talk, I asked, "Did you get to enjoy the sunshine today?" I thought about the walk I took after my morning gig and before I came into the restaurant, strolling downtown in the sunshine and basking in the warmth after months of soggy, cold, gray wetness.

One of them looked at the other and mumbled, "Well, sort of, a little bit, this morning before I had to be at work today." The other one did a side-to-side shake with his head in agreement with the "so-so-ness" of the morning sunshine, squinting as if he was having to think really hard to remember. They sighed in unison.

It's subtle, but I know this tone. I know it because I've done it, probably countless times. It's the "I'm a line cook and I work really fucking hard, so hard that you have no idea how hard it is to work this hard, you behind the bar polishing glasses... I just got off a twelve hour shift, and I can barely recall what I had to eat today, much less what the fucking weather was doing twelve fucking hours ago, plus I don't need sunshine when I just killed it on the line tonight, so you and your sunshine can go kiss my ass" tone.

I wanted so badly to tell them, "I've worked hard too, I know exactly what it's like, I swear!" I wanted to give them a run-down of all the shitty hours I've worked and all the sunny days I've missed and how I truly understand exactly what they mean, even though they don't know me from Adam. I wanted to scream that I work hard now, and I was in fact just finishing the tail end of working a double, but I know it's pointless, because I'm not a line cook. Not anymore.

And obviously it's neither the time nor place, so instead I nodded and smiled and came back with more pleasantries about how nice the weather has been for business and how happy we were to be busy that night. "Oh, yeah, we were slammed tonight too!" The return to work talk is all it takes to right the ship, and they finished their drinks, regaling me and each other with tales of getting crushed on the line.

They left happy and tipped heavy.

Portland waterfront in its sunny Saturday glory

Starting fresh

My current workplace was amazing enough to give me time off right after I started working there to sit my ass on a beach in North Carolina for a week with my lovely family. Besides doing a lot of lounging, napping and catching up, we cooked every meal and ate and drank like spoiled kings thanks in part to the fact that my aunt owns two restaurants and my cousins are the front of house managers and wine buyers for one of them. I've surpassed my filet mignon quota for the year.

Also on hand, thanks to the great fishermen of the East Coast and the most amazing shanty of a fish market on a dock in Topsail Island: blue crabs. Lots of them. Cooked in beer and Old Bay. Maryland would be proud.



The only dreaded part of the trip was the actual traveling; 8 hours on planes and in airports is totally not awesome. I touched down at PDX at 11:30PM on Tuesday and got right back to work Wednesday. In a way it's been great to jump right back into it, but I'm just now kicking the last of the jet lag. Hitting a wall at 9PM during dinner service is far from ideal.

What has been great is knowing I'm finally on a solid schedule. While I was extremely fortunate and happy to take this time off, I like having set hours and days that I can rely on. Is it part of getting older, craving some stability? While the job itself is refreshingly unpredictable in many ways, knowing where you're going to be and when you're going to be there is a small comfort.

Not to say it isn't a little rocky at first; I remember when I first started working at my previous restaurant, the most frustrating thing about the first few weeks was figuring out where everything was located, and my new restaurant is no different. The hotel pans, the China caps, the pint containers, all your various and sundry utensils and every individual ingredient you needed for your station--like an old cat lady who keeps her hair pins in tidy rows on the bathroom counter, every kitchen has its small idiosyncrasies into which you eventually step in line. Most of all, I hate pestering people to ask where things are, but as they say, it comes with the territory.

I can report that even though I'm still very fresh meat, my new job so far has been refreshing and fulfilling and slightly terrifying; in short, all the things I was hoping it would be. I miss my old coworkers a lot, but in my humble opinion, opening the doors to new opportunities and experiences is one of the best parts of cooking.

Lazy Sundays

What happens when you get a few cooks together for a gorgeous Portland Sunday grill-fest-slash-cocktail party:


Nomnomnom. Yes please.

I'm fairly convinced that on the scale of badass-result to ease-of-method ratio, grilled whole fish rates quite high.

Method: Stuff fish with good shit. Grill.

Doesn't get much easier, kids, and it makes for a nicely dramatic presentation. Not to mention it tastes awesome as hell. Luckily for me, the only choice of whole fish at New Seasons, rainbow trout, happens to be a fish that doesn't need descaling to be perfectly palatable. I seasoned the fish cavity with salt, stuffed the fish with sliced fennel, fennel fronds, parsley and thyme, and oiled and salted the skin before plopping them on the grill for a few minutes each side. In my excitement I forgot to add the slices of lemon I intended; next time. The grill needs to be really hot for the fish skin not to stick, but ain't no thang.

Note the grilled corn in the backgroud; Mike made an awesome cilantro-lime-serrano mayo dip to go with it. Mayo-slathered beards abounded, Jeff and Jaybill's in particular.



Tell me that doesn't look a little hott...

Mike adopted a pasta maker and we were eager to try it out. I've made fresh pasta this way a handful of times, but it's still surprising how lovely the pasta comes out. We used a basic pasta dough recipe from Marco Pierre White's White Heat. It took a little tweaking (the first batch was a dry flop before it even got rolled) but I think it turned out pretty sexy.



What's a backyard barbecue without proper beverages?

I'm in love with this cooler. Along with the typical Portland mix of ever-present Pabst and local brewery choice, in this instance Bridgeport Brewing Company's Haymaker Extra Pale Ale, I picked up some Vernor's Ginger Ale, a non-alky classic, and a case of Capri Suns in reverence to my childhood. What's more badass than grill tongs and a side towel in one hand and a Capri Sun in the other?


Me giving Jeff attitude whilst double-fisting beverages

I failed to get managed to procure a photo of the melon-infused vodka and fresh watermelon concoction that got the party started (in Jeff's hand, above). I do, however, wish I had photos of all the rambunctiousness that occurred, from Pop-Its and whizzing fireworks, Jeff jumping over the fire pit, and Butters versus Butters: The battle for a Nerf football between a high energy twenty-something and a hyper Labrador Retriever. Surprisingly sustaining entertainment.

I love my coworkers, for all their insanity and silliness, but most of all for their heart and soul. This past Sunday was pretty perfect, and if summer keeps up like this Portland will have me in its grips for good.

Graduating, and the importance of family

I'm not sure what to make of the fact that I forgot about my culinary school graduation ceremony until a week before it occurred, except I think I've been so immersed in work that my time at Oregon Culinary Institute seems so far behind me. Yet it wasn't that long ago that I was going to class every day and being pushed by my dear chef instructors to work faster, work cleaner, do better.

For a nearly-forgotten incident, my graduation this past weekend turned into one of the best weekends I've had in a long, long time.

A last-minute invite to my brother and sister worked out, and by Friday night they were on their way from Seattle with their significant others and my brother's ridiculously cute dog, Ollie. I walked home from work that night, and they had made themselves at home thanks to my brother's copies of my keys. Excited as I was to see them, I was weary and beat from work, but mustered the strength to give them the full tour of the new place. I got this painted here, I changed that there, I think I'm gonna try and install this here... I walked them toward the bedrooms, and wondered why my bedroom door was closed.

I opened it... and found my mom standing there. My mom, who lives in North Carolina, who I assumed wouldn't be able to make the cross country trip, especially not so last minute.

I shrieked, stunned, then started crying.

It's been a tremendously hard past few months, between buying a new place, working six days a week, maneuvering major transitions at work, trying to get settled into my new place essentially on my own, and just not having had a real break since Christmas. It's the life we lead, I know, but knowing that doesn't really make it any easier. I've spent a lot of time recently feeling overwhelmed, yet we all just keep plugging on, knowing it's leading up to something better. Upon seeing my mom, such a sight for sore eyes, the tears of joy came immediately.

Saturday morning, I put on my OCI chef's whites for the first time in over six months, and joined about 65 of my fellow graduates in a giant ballroom at the Governor Hotel.


Graduating. Photo by Woody Bailey. See the rest of his set here.

As expected, the ceremony itself was a practice in self-deprecation and not taking oneself too seriously. Lots of jokes, lots of silly speeches, some meaningful and serious ones too, but the morning was dominated by a general light-heartedness.

That's what I've loved about OCI and its instructors and founders since I first visited--you get the feeling that events such as graduation, as meaningful as they can be, are not, ultimately, why you attend school in the first place. I'm proud that made my way through the entire program, as it's not an easy accomplishment, but I had to go to work right after the ceremony, and I honestly think that's what they're after: Students who work hard, have goals, and find themselves in positions where they barely have time to squeeze in a graduation ceremony on a Saturday morning, knowing they'll have to be deep in prep for Saturday service in a few hours.

Not to say we still can't enjoy ourselves and pat ourselves on the back for a job well-done. My classmates and I cheered happily for each other, knowing how much we'd been through to get to that point. My family cheered loudly for me when my name was called, and despite the initial unseriousness I felt about graduation, I have to admit it was pretty awesome to hear their whooping and yelling.

So here's where I'll tell you why my family is, in my opinion, the most amazing family one could ever ask for. Besides surprising me with my mom's visit, besides being a personal cheerleading section at my graduation that I nearly forgot, I came home Saturday night after 10 plus hours at work to find that they cleaned my entire apartment top to bottom. They washed the windows, unpacked all the leftover boxes, constructed a bookshelf and bed frame I hadn't yet gotten around to, and purchased new sheets, towels and a bunch of organizational gadgets for my use. They even bought me a lavender plant and a huge bouquet of lilacs and pansies that made my dining room look like a spread in Martha Stewart Living.


At the dining room table: Rob, me, Ollie, Sylvia, Ted, Christy, Mom and Josh. Taken with Sylvia's trusty camera and Josh's helpful tripod.

I mean, come on. Seriously? How much luckier does a person get?

What else could I do but make them Sunday brunch?




Taken by Sylvia, see the rest of the awesome set here

Blueberry pancakes with caramelized bananas (they worked so well the first time around!), roasted asparagus and spinach omelet with Mt. Tam triple creme, rounded out with a pork trio of country sausage, maple bacon and pepper bacon. Many happy bellies.

The Seattle crew departed soon after the crazy carbo-load, and my mom stayed in town for a few more days. I miraculously got Monday off from work and was thus able to spend some much-needed quality time with the momma.


Getting some sun at Laurelhurst Park

Any part of my personality that is even-keeled and laid-back, I give credit to my mom. She's the most understanding, compassionate and zen-like person I know. She's been through more hardship than any person should ever have to withstand, and has conquered it all with a force that none of us knew she had. And she's been nothing but humble and unassuming about it all, never demanding credit for her hard work, never complaining about putting in insanely long workdays. I know a lot of people (myself included) who could benefit from borrowing a page from her book.


Who else takes the time to listen to the trees?

This weekend was about remembering my fortune, despite all the hardships: A line cook job at a top-notch kitchen, a home I can legitimately call my own, and a family I wouldn't trade for the world. Not bad, ya'll. Not bad at all.

Getting back to it

Portlanders love their brunch. I've never heard of another city that is as maniacally into late breakfast as Portland. While I hate the idea of spending $20 on a meal I can make at home for $3 and without the 40-minute wait, count me guilty--I love breakfast any time of the day and I'm a big fan of bacon and sausage, not to mention quality time with friends around giant plates of carbohydrates.

Today, my dear friends Bonnie and Jim were the recipients of brunch at Casa Del Ingrid:


Jim looks stoked, doesn't he?

Hello, blueberry buttermilk pancakes with caramelized bananas, cheesy black bean and cilantro scramble, and chicken breakfast sausages. Nice to meet you.



While it's nothing out of the ordinary for a person to be making a meal for her friends, my recent (and more frequent) forays into home cooking are something of a revelation for me.

Six months ago, the mere thought of putting the energy into making a meal for myself outside of work was enough to make me take a long nap. I went through a stretch of several months where I ate nothing but post-work bar food, Pita Pit and canned soup. The greatest secret shame was my freezer--stacked with frozen dinners, chicken fingers and a Hot Pocket or two.

While I have nothing against a good ham and cheese Hot Pocket every now and then, it was truly depressing to think that I was so exhausted from cooking awesome food all day that I couldn't save any of that energy to treat myself. Between school and work, I'd go whole days sustained on a granola bar eaten on the three block walk to school and a dry pastry (the results of newbie patisserie students) on the walk to work.

What's so guilt-inducing about not cooking for myself was the idea that I was lacking in not just physical energy but creative energy as well. As a rookie in a professional kitchen, I'm often so focused on the particulars of technique involved in cooking my chef's recipes that I often forsook my capacity for creativity.

In the past few months, however, something changed. Maybe it has to do with moving into a place with a proper kitchen, or maybe it's the encouragement I get from my friend and coworker Jordan who is constantly whipping up awesome baked goods and soups at home, but the excitement and appeal of coming up with something in my own kitchen has reformed itself. I started buying whole chickens again to break down into pieces for soups and stocks, and I'm finding myself excited about coming up with yummy goodness late at night with the scraps of meat or veggies I get to bring home every now and then after work.

I'd like to think it has something to do with becoming more comfortable with myself as a cook. All day long I'm surrounded by people who are more experienced and more knowledgeable than me in the culinary field, and though there's no better place in which to learn, it can be incredibly intimidating. On my worst days, I'd find myself thinking in despair, 'How the fuck will I ever be as good as these people?' Add to that the fact that I'm a perfectionist who never likes to be wrong and it's a fine recipe for quick self-destruction, or at least early-onset ulcers.

Maybe one could say I've started to find my sea legs. Regardless of what it is, there were some happy bellies in Portland today. Here's hoping I keep making cooking at home into a more frequent occurrence.

Making the best of it.

Update: Read an in-depth recounting of the below-mentioned maintenance "issues" over at Jeff McCarthy's blog.

This past week has been certified b-a-n-a-n-a-s for most everyone in the Pacific Northwest, myself definitely included.


The view from my apartment as of 5 minutes ago. Note the freeway--no pavement visible under the snow.

Portland hasn't seen this kind of snow in decades. Temperatures hit record lows this past week, and the powder kept piling. The inclement winter weather began to surface last Sunday, and by Monday evening, hot water stopped running out of any of the faucets at work. On Tuesday morning, the restaurant had some maintenance "issues" (to say the least) due to freezing temps outside, and were closed for the day. We were scheduled to be up and running again by Wednesday morning.

Unfortunately, the snowy weather got the best of us again on Wednesday, and we closed again for the night. By Wednesday afternoon I was like a junkie in withdrawal, and judging from the calls, texts and Twitter messages from my coworkers, we were all in the same boat. One can only do so much laundry, bill-paying and housekeeping to stay busy.

By the time I got the message on Thursday morning that we were closed AGAIN because of further maintenance problems, with the possibility of being closed through the weekend, I officially freaked out. I hadn't worked in three days, I didn't know what would happen over the next few days, and besides not being able to work right before Christmas, having a broken workplace is really sad and slightly demoralizing. It's like the heart that keeps our little work family together stopped pumping suddenly, and we're all at a loss for what to do.

I literally cried on the phone to my friends and coworkers, cursing and yelling a lot, which I realize is a reaction not often elicited by the announcement of a day off from work. Richie over at my recent favorite blog, Line Cook 415, wrote about cooks unexpectedly not working in a post titled "Withdrawal". He puts it really well--that sense of restlessness and feeling bothered rather than relaxed and ready for vacation. Having more than one day off in a row is unusual for most of us, much less two or three with the possibility of more hanging over our heads.

Then I remembered that I wasn't scheduled to work on Friday anyway. That was it. I said, "Fuck it," was at Union Station with packed bags in under an hour. By Thursday at 2:50PM, I was on a train to Seattle to visit my brother and sister.


Amtrak Cascade line FTW.

What unfolded over the next few days was a remarkably laid-back and lovely visit with family in Seattle, made up mostly of eating, reading, watching movies, navigating the insanely snowy, hilly streets and a bit of Christmas tree decorating and sledding. My advice: Always keep a native Alaskan on hand for all your snow driving needs. Very helpful in times like these.


My sister decorating the most adorable tree on the planet.


My Sculpey penguin masterpieces. The one on the left is a wee bit chilly.


Grilled steak a la Sculpey. The other side was "raw."


Homemade chicken n' dumplin's, ya'll. This was my second helping.


Watching peeps sledding in Capitol Hill. We eventually joined in for a ride.

On Thursday night, after a meal of chicken roasted to order at Cafe Presse, we ran into some friends sledding in Capitol Hill. While watching and giggling at the 40+ mass of sledders, I received a text message saying we were closed for the rest of the weekend, which allowed me to finally exhale a bit and let myself enjoy my little vacation.

The lesson here? In times like these, when there's not much to do but stew or worry, I think we need to remember to make the best of it. Attitude is everything, and that's not just a cliche. Currently I'm back in Portland, having hitched a ride down I-5 in a sturdy truck with some friendly folks via Craigslist rideshare. I feel fully relaxed in my apartment for the first time in ages, watching the snow continue to pile up and loving every minute of it.

(Don't worry kids, the work itch will come back in no time. I'm sure of it.)

On online restaurant reviews

So I've spent the last hour or so looking for restaurant options to take my friends out to dinner tonight. Oftentimes these searches lead to common review sites like Citysearch, Yelp and Trip Advisor. I usually devour the reader reviews, but I've been running into some reviews that I have to admit irritate the crap out of me.

Don't get me wrong; I'm a huge proponent of open-to-the-public online reviews, and have been known to author a few myself. I love the immediacy of the Internet, and in Portland especially there is an active and encouraging dialogue between chefs/owners and diners on sites like PortlandFood.org and Food Dude's Portland Food and Drink.

In my humble opinion, however, unless you are Ruth Reichl, Jeffrey Steingarten, Frank Bruni or a food writer of that caliber with comparable knowledge, experience and finesse with words, the following phrases immediately disqualify your opinion:

- "I would first off like to say that I am a total foodie and have visited some of the finest restaurants in America. I used to live in San Francisco, where I found the greatest food on earth to be located."

- "I'm an experienced foodie. I've lived in Seattle and New York and currently reside in San Francisco so I know good restaurants."

- "...What my server didn't know is that I'm a server and probably tip a whole lot better, not to mention know a lot more about food than most people in the room."

- "So I'll start by saying that I have been to many (and I mean many) restaurants around town..."

- "We are regulars at [insert list of expensive restaurants here], and for special occasions we dine at [most expensive restaurant in town]."

The above quotes were pulled from actual reviews. Okay people, if you feel the need to define yourself as an expert diner in order to garner some sort of respect, you automatically lose. Some of what you're saying may be true, but let your food knowledge come across in the retelling of your dining experience without prefacing your opinion with a qualifier.

Other irritating phrases:

- "I would have given five stars if there had been more vegetarian options."

It would be one thing if this particular reviewer was writing about a vegetarian-friendly restaurant, but this was a review of a restaurant well-known for it's meaty deliciousness and common use of animal offal.

- "People in Portland may like this restaurant or revere it as top notch, because there is not much else available."

I don't even know where to begin with this. Wait, yes I do... read this and see what the New York Times has to say about "not much else available" in Portland.

Not all the bad is entirely bad, however. These comments gave me a chuckle:

"As I waited for my computer date..."

I appreciate the honesty here.

"The ambulance was good."

Hmm. I don't know about you, but I don't really like the ambulance during my dining experiences.

Anyway, enough with irritants. I think the sudden onslaught of cold, wet weather after a seemingly endless string of perfectly blue skies has turned my mood slightly. Summer is officially over, kids.

Ups and downs

I guess every day can't be as spectacular and mellow as cooking under blue skies in vineyards.

I'll just get to it: I kind of sucked at work today.

We had a party with 20 guests, which I can usually handle alright on a typical Monday. Today, however, was not a typical Monday. The number of covers we did tonight was more typical of a Thursday or Friday, so on top of having my station and the pastry station to myself, we were slammed in the dining room. I was totally underprepped, and even though we were busier than usual, I simply wasn't on top of my game.

I have to admit that I'm totally disappointed in myself, especially because my personal standards are so high. But what's worse is I feel like I've let down my chef, with whom I just had a great conversation last weekend about how well I've been doing and my future at the restaurant.

I guess we all get knocked off our high horses every now and then. I just have to get back to kick-ass mode, starting tomorrow.

Speaking of tomorrow, Term 3 for me at OCI officially starts tomorrow morning, bright and early at 7:30AM. We're moving into the phase where we'll be working in the OCI restaurant, as well as doing courses on restaurant management. I'm looking forward to this term, and I'm not scared to get into the restaurant since I'm already in a real working environment. But I have a feeling that it'll be strenuous, not to mention the early mornings... Power naps and I are going to be good friends for the next two months.

I'll feel better once I get some sleep, I know it... but I'm turning that kick ass dial back up to 11.

Plates and pitchforks

One of the things I'm realizing about Portland as a food town is that the world of chefs here is quite intermingled; some would say it can be slightly incestuous, as you run into a lot of people who know people you know, because they've worked with them elsewhere. Just last night I was at a bar where two people who worked there knew two of my current coworkers from previous restaurants at which they worked. It makes for an interesting, kind of familial feeling.

As a positive result of the weird intermingling, I've been lucky enough to run into some great opportunities, one of them being the Plate and Pitchfork dinner I just returned from tonight.



The view from the "kitchen"

Plate and Pitchfork, for those not in the know, is a series of dinners catered by local chefs in partnership with local farms, and which usually take place at local wineries. Tonight's event was at the Jacob-Hart Vineyard in Newberg, about 45 minutes outside of Portland. I love that you can drive a mere 45 minutes out of town and be deep in Oregon wine country.

The chefs for tonight's event were Gabe Rucker of Le Pigeon, one of my favorite places in town, and Eric Moore from Victory Bar, an awesome spot in SE Portland. One of my coworkers knows Gabe quite well, and asked me to volunteer my time for this event. Help cater a dinner out in a sunny, gorgeous vineyard and playing with some incredible food? No arm-twisting necessary.

We literally drove through the grapevines to get to the spot where tables for 120 guests were set amongst the vines. I saw dogs running about, horses in a nearby barn, two grills set for roasting prime rib... I felt the sun on my back and the breeze blowing through my hair and I knew it would be a good day.

On the menu were beautiful Viridian Farms greens and veggies, in the form of some simple but beautiful salads, sides and desserts concocted by the chefs. Gabe makeshift-smoked and grilled six huge slabs of fat, juicy prime rib for the main course, and meanwhile I cut up a giant bunch of gorgeous heirloom tomatoes for a marinated tomato-cuke salad, fried up some lamb tongue "nuggets" for appetizers, plated many family-style bowls of beautiful greens and veg, fried buttermilk-soaked onions to top off a for classic green bean casserole with a horseradish aioli, and just did whatever work needed to be done.

I was surprised at how mellow the atmosphere was, maybe because I'm so used to having the tickets pour in and busting my ass to get things out on time. It also helped that the chefs were ultra-prepared, and as a lovely result, we were able to partake in some of the food and wine as well, albeit standing up. Now that I think about it, I haven't eaten sitting down in days. Last time I ate sitting down... take out from Kenny and Zuke's, sitting on my couch, four days ago? This is why I need dinner dates, people.

I had a lot of fun being out there in a field under the sun, especially because I feel like I haven't been outside enough this summer. It's August already, and the days are just flying by. It's nice to just take your time, do a fun event for the hell of it, and be surrounded by lush farmland while you're at it.

Highly recommended, folks.

Gotta change the resume again...

I got the job.

It's nearly midnight, and sleep is calling, but as of tonight, I am officially a pantry/prep cook at a restaurant that many would put in Portland's top 10. I managed to impress the executive chef who is tough but fair, and trained under (and eventually became Chef de Cuisine for) Wolfgang Puck. He even said to me that he's not easily impressed, and he admitted he wasn't expecting the performance I gave tonight. I just busted my ass and kept my nose (and station) clean, and repeated "fast is slow, slow is fast" over and over again, especially when things got hectic. I took initiative when the time called for it, and just dove in head first.

Right after the dinner rush, the exec chef asked me, "Is this your first time on a restaurant line?". I told him "Yes," and he raised his eyebrows and said, "Wow. Well, you're doing awesome." That lit me up so much, I swear I glowed for a few seconds there.

There's so much more I want to tell, but I really have to get in bed. Gonna try and get a round 6 hours of sleep before I have to get up and do my recipe cards for school.

Thanks for all the pep talks and support, everyone. It really made a difference.

Holy crap!

It's always when you're not looking...

... that the right one finds you.

I went to happy hour tonight with the intention of catching up with a friend and eating some delicious goodies at one of Portland's best restaurants, and I walked out of that restaurant with a stage (tryout period)! I had no intention of asking, but a series of fortuitous circumstances landed me in the kitchen talking with the executive chef about my past restaurant experience, my present culinary school, and staging in their restaurant. Hardly five minutes later, I walked back to the table, totally in shock, half-laughing and half-mumbling, "Ohmygod, what the hell, I start staging here tomorrow, what the f*** just happened??" I'm still numb, but I'm completely ecstatic.

What is staging, you ask? Firstly, it's Frenchified, pronounced "stahhhj-ing" with a soft "j". It's basically an unpaid tryout period where you get a chance to see how their kitchen works, and they get to see how you work, your knife skills, your cleanliness, your prep speed, your general sense of urgency. If you seem worth your salt, they may hire you. Alternately, if it doesn't work out, no harm, no foul. The hope here is that it works out, obviously.

I'm convinced the universe is paying attention to my thoughts; I've been thinking for several weeks now that I should really start working in a kitchen, just to get a feel for it. You know, see how I do and if it's where I want to be, as we're starting to pin down our externships for Term 4. More importantly, I've been noticing more and more that my fellow classmates who work in kitchens outside of school are faster, cleaner, more efficient, and have more tricks up their sleeves than myself and my fellow students who have never worked in a real kitchen. They know how it really works, and that sense of urgency that is so important in a kitchen just comes naturally to them.

I want that, and this stage is the perfect opportunity. And I start tomorrow after school! Seriously, WTF?!? I'm still in shock.

I think there was a little bit of hesitation from the sous chef because of my gender; the sous asked me if I had a thick skin, and my reply: "I know I look sweet, but..." Heh. I figure if I've been able to handle the guys at school, many of whom work in restaurants, and none of whom make any effort to clean up their language or spare me from teasing because I'm a girl, I can handle these guys fine. Now it's a matter of seeing if I can cut it in the kitchen.

And a big, big thank you, you know who you are ;).

I must admit that I'm nervous as all hell, but this is truly an amazing opportunity, and my intention is just to learn as much as possible and drink it all in. Universe, you really know how to take a girl by surprise.

Taste of the Nation 2008

Doing the lazy blogger thing and reposting a message I wrote on a Portland Food thread regarding my experience at Taste of the Nation. I hope I don't come off as too gripe-y, as I did manage to have a good time, but it wasn't exactly what I was expecting, that's for sure. It's also informing and shaping my ideas about catering in Portland (TBD in the future). Let's just say I'm starting to dream about other areas of the industry, mainly food writing, a lot more.

Also, I got my grade back today for Culinary 110, and I'm very, very happy. That and dinner with a good friend made today a good one.

So here's the repost:

Just thought I'd throw in my 2 cents as a volunteer and OCI student. There were about 20 of us students there. We spent the first 2-3 hours helping load in restaurants and wineries, and then during the event we shared duties bussing tables, dumping trash, sorting trash, refilling waters, getting extra plates/forks/etc., and doing whatever else needed to be done. A couple of lucky students got to do some actual plating with a few restaurants, though I was not one of those lucky ones this time.

I have to say that though there weren't any major incidents, for an event that's been going for as long as TOTN has been (21 years!), it seems kind of disorganized. The people we worked under were really great and super nice, but I felt off-kilter all night. It felt way understaffed for one, and they said they've done with as few as 10 volunteers in the past, which just seems nightmarish. All the 1000+ attendee events I've ever worked in the past had at least one server per 10 people. They definitely could have used more hands with the addition of the champagne reception tables in the middle of the room. And like Pyrofemme said, the "sustainability stations", though a great idea in theory, got to be a total mess at some points. They need way more than 2 or 3 people working each station with the amount of trash to go through.

Meanwhile, though I enjoyed myself for the most part and got to chat with some Portland Food folks, as well as meet a few prospective externship opportunity chefs, I was so busy busting my ass with bussing tables that I feel it was almost not worth it. I've got some blisters on my unhappy toes! Granted I could have been a little lazier about bussing and done more with the networking, and other students who took that path were more successful in their networking, but I felt awkward bothering some of the chefs whose tables were totally slammed about externing at their places. There seemed to be a lot of confusion about what exactly everyone was doing, and it would have been helpful to post up a schedule for set up and breakdown points and the specific tasks to be done. Also, I agree about the lighting being too dim, and that back pathway where Pho Van, Russell's, etc were was a cluster****.

By the time I got my break, Toro Bravo was totally cleaned out, so I missed out on their pig. But I did have Simpatica's sliders, so I got my pork for the night. My favorite has to go to Meriwether's - not for the shrimp and grits, which were good, but for their focaccia with foie gras butter crostinis. I'm surprised no one else has mentioned it. Absolutely delectable--I went back for thirds. Also loved the St. Cupcake toasted coconut cupcake. Mmmm.

All in all, unless they have more volunteers to share the workload, I might consider paying for the ticket rather than volunteering in the future. Or maybe I need better shoes!

Schnitzel, school and BiWa

The craziness continues. This past weekend was spent in Seattle, playing yet another show with The Lisps and spending some more quality time with my siblings. My brother had some terrible wiener schnitzel in Ballard on Friday and was beyond determined to make up for the awful experience by making his own on Saturday. This resulted in a truly delicious pork which he brined, flattened and breaded with his own special mix. With it we had potato galettes (from one of my textbooks) served with creme fraiche, sliced beets, beet greens with almonds, perfectly vinegary cabbage and a glass or two of Sun Garden Riesling. Our dinnertime on Saturday perfectly coincided with Earth Hour, so we ate our fabulous schnitzel in candlelight in the living room. Add to that Jose Gonzalez at The Triple Door, and it was overall a great weekend.

I have to admit that my body has had a little difficulty adjusting to these early bird school hours, but I shan't complain too much as a) I best get used to it now, and b) I think most of the normal working world wakes up around the same time I do. Suffice it to say that even though I've only had three days of school, I'm learning tons, taking copious notes, and the lessons are getting more practical and intense every day. At the same time, we're going into greater depths about philosophies, and one of my favorite things my instructor has said thus far is "People can taste your intentions." Which, if I learned anything from working for several years with a variety of bitchy servers and grumpy chefs, is all too true.

Something of note: By far the strangest thing about school is the fact that my homework is basically all reading and research that I did in my off time for fun. I had this conversation with a friend of mine who attended art school, and he said that art school students go through essentially the same process of slight confusion, which eventually leads to acceptance. For the past few years, I spent time I was supposed to be working reading cookbooks, food magazines and food blogs, and now I'm expected to know the information I looked up for my own pleasure... for class. It may not gel as a strange idea to you, but after my tumultuous undergraduate experience... well, let's just say I didn't read a book for several years after I got my bachelor's degree. Cookbooks were my way back in to the world of the literary. And now it's my assigned reading! (What?!?) I'll adjust eventually.

It hasn't all be smooth sailing... In all this drastic change, I had a brief breakdown last night around 11:30PM; buried in a mountain of reading and book work, feeling completely exhausted from my great but fast trip to Seattle, I did what anyone might do in that situation and called my mom, who presently happens to be traveling in Taiwan. Always count on Mom for the best advice, ya'll. Just hearing her voice calmed me down. She set me straight with some words of wisdom and I managed to make some mighty handsome recipe cards for the soups we're working on this week. Tomorrow is the first real, non-demo day where we're responsible for everything. Wish me luck!

******

I did manage to treat myself to happy hour/dinner with a new friend from the PortlandFood.org event at Vindalho. Tonya, one of the sweetest and most fascinating people I've met in a while (see what I mean by fascinating here (slightly NSFW)), and I met up at Biwa, an izakaya-style restaurant in an industrial section of close-in East Burnside area (SE 9th and Ash, to be exact). The place is really adorable and comfortable, and we sat at the bar surrounding the open kitchen where we were able to chat up the owner/proprietor, Gabe Rosen. Besides being super-friendly and good conversation, it turns out that Gabe attended Western Culinary Institute 10 years ago, and his favorite instructor, Brian Wilke, is the co-founder of my school now. Gabe's co-chef also attended Western, and praised my kitchen instructor, whom he had while he was in school. Seems like OCI managed to lure away a lot of great instructors from Western, and in all honesty it makes me all the more happy to have chosen OCI.

While we talked, Gabe grilled up some ridiculously delicious skewers of chicken thigh and breast meat as well as beef skewers and pork belly (droooool...). The onigiri was the perfect little sandwichy bite after all that meat: filled with pickled plum and really one of the cutest things I've eaten in months.


Onigiri: So cute I had to take a photo while everyone chuckled

The only thing that didn't strike me as outstanding was the ramen. BiWa gets major points for handmaking the noodles, and while it was good, something seemed a little off about the consistency of the noodles. I also found the broth to be overly salty. But to be fair, by the time the ramen with egg and chashu came, I was already full from the endless skewers and had at that point devoured my entire onigiri. The ramen in the end seemed more like an afterthought. Maybe next time I'll just get a bowl of ramen for myself and see if it hits the spot better.

Overall, I had a fantastic meal and am definitely headed back there again soon. Gabe, his co-chef and the servers were all genuinely friendly and helpful, and it was nice to be seated and eating in normal clothes for once, instead of standing up hunched over paper plates in chef's whites and our aprons scarfing down lunch as fast as we can. Speaking of school, homework's a-callin'...

Back in Seattle/ Day two of school

Somehow I've found myself back in Seattle, but now that I'm in school proper, it's just for the weekend this time. It's been a super long and crazy week, which included, aside from starting school: happily hosting my friends from Brooklyn while they played a show in Portland; playing a song in their show on my violin which I literally haven't touched in ages; having a blast and deciding to play with them again for their show in Seattle tonight (which went great!); going to dinner at Vindalho with the lovely folks from PortlandFood.org and meeting a bunch of fellow Portland foodies; getting dental work; seeing Bonnie at a show at North Bar while she was in town from Tokyo; and various and sundry things I'm forgetting at this late hour.

With all this nuttiness, I'm happy to report that school today was a blast by all standards and measures. We worked on knife skills with the chef's knives from our fancy new Mercer kits, and I discovered that I'm much more comfortable with a 10-inch blade than I thought I would be. I've always employed 8-inch chef's knives (or my mom's 7-inch Global Santoku, droooool...), starting from my very first Sabatier starter set to the Wustof Classic chef's knife that I have now. The Mercer 10-inch, however, is very well balanced and feels swift in my hand. It also helps that I'm surrounded by professionals who care as well as state of the art equipment; lends to a sense of confidence about professionalism that is hard to muster in one's home kitchen by yourself.

We had lecture in the morning, and then finally got to "play" with our knives after an incredible chickpea curry lunch. We practiced slicing potatoes Batonnet-style (a wider Julienne, basically) and got some schooling on proper honing and knife care, as well as general knife etiquette in the kitchen. On the surface it sounds like minutiae, but these details are so important when it comes to safety and speed. Even remarking on details like keeping our work stations clean help tremendously with efficiency, and only after watching our awesome instructor give a knife demo did I truly begin to gain respect for all those tiny details.

Afterwards we practiced turning panko breading in standard sauté pans, which was a fun mess--panko all over the floor. As a result of this practice, I'm now certain I need to get back to the gym. My hands were literally shaking after 15 minutes of gentle tossing. Getting back into shape is essential; even being on my feet in those clogs is kicking my ass.

Gotta say though, it's been a fantastic week and I haven't felt this focused in a long, long time. Bed for now, more tomorrow...

Will suffer for food

Last night I decided to treat myself to a solo dinner. I grabbed the book I'm currently reading (Ruth Reichl's Comfort Me With Apples), stuffed it into my bag and walked the 20 minutes it takes to get to the Ace Hotel. My plans to sit at the bar at Clyde Common were sidetracked, however, when I got to Kenny and Zuke's. Located at SW 11th and Stark, on the opposite side of the Ace from Clyde Common, I've walked by Kenny and Zuke's many a time with the intention of visiting for lunch, and truth be told I read a recent review of the place in last week's Willamette Week. WWeek had mentioned K&Z's dinner as "Portland's best-kept secret," and being Sunday night at 8:30pm, the traffic was light. The sight of matzo ball soup on the menu pasted on the window was all it took for me to step in the front door from the chill outside.

The waiter walked me to a two-top, and I took the seat with my back to the door. I ordered a glass of tempranillo (I'm kicking myself for not writing down what it was because it was excellent), and after careful deliberation I picked the pot roast sandwich, subbed mashed potatoes for fries and added a bowl of chicken soup with matzo balls to start. While waiting for my soup, I pulled out my book and continued reading Ruth Reichl's account of her affair with... wait for it... Colman Andrews. As in Saveur Magazine's editor-in-chief Colman Andrews. It's a foodie's version of US Weekly, I'm telling ya.

The soup was homey and hearty, with savory bits of onion and veg swimming in the mostly-clear broth. The sandwich was served open-faced and slathered in a tomato-based gravy, with full cloves of garlic and chunks of stewed tomato swimming over a ridiculous stack of thick-sliced, perfectly fatty pot roast. All on house-baked rye bread, might I mention. Ugh. Is there such a thing as too much deliciousness?

I devoured what I could and asked for a to-go box for what remained of my massive plate of pot roast. I was in the mood for something sweet, so I got up to look at the baked goods in the display case. I chatted with the guy behind the counter, who told me "Everything is terrible" with a laugh. He casually pointed out the cheesecake in the fridge behind him, which immediately caught my attention. Cheesecake it was.

Now, I am and have always been somewhat lactose intolerant. By "somewhat" I mean I can usually have a cup of yogurt with no problem, and ice cream is hit-or-miss: sometimes my body rebels, sometimes it doesn't. If I were smart, I'd avoid all dairy, but what fun would that be? My plans last night were to eat half of the huge slice of cheesecake and save the rest for later.

Unfortunately no one warned me exactly how retardedly delicious Kenny and Zuke's cheesecake is, and I gobbled down the entire thing before I realized what I had done. The guy from behind the counter came over to check on me, and while I raved about the cheesecake, further chatting revealed that he was Michael Zusman, a food writer for the Oregonian and that many of the bread recipes at Kenny and Zuke's belong to him. I envy anyone whose paid job it is to write about food, and he kindly offered to take a look at ye humble blog (Hi Michael!).

A little tipsy from the wine, I gathered my things and left, but not before my super-friendly waiter had invited me out with him and the rest of the K&Z's staff to go to Touche for a service industry party. I told him I'd think about it and headed back to my apartment...

Which, upon entering, my lactose-intolerant intestinal tract threw a fit and I spent the next 45 minutes between the bathroom and huddled under the covers in my bed suffering cold sweats. Blasted cheesecake! No Touche for me. Sorry waiter!

The saddest part of this all is I'll never learn: I'm definitely making my way back to Kenny and Zuke's for the cheesecake (and the rest of the menu). Yessir, I am definitely willing to suffer for cheesecake that good.

(Sorry no photos--left the camera at home. Next time!)

Waiting and moving forward

I've just spent way too many hours reading the archives of my new favorite blog, Waiter Rant. The author is a perfectly snarky veteran New York City waiter, in the process of finishing his first book based entirely on his waiting experiences. I have to say his writing hits really close to home for me, and for the past few hours I've been swimming in uncomfortable memories from my table-waiting and hostessing days. It's been quite some time since I though about my very first day waiting tables for the all-you-can-eat Sunday brunch fatties at my aunt's old restaurant in Gastonia, NC, right after which I called my mom and cried for half an hour.

Yet I just can't stop reading. It's masochism, really. I've always maintained that every single person should try their hand at a customer service job, only if for just a day. It'll change your whole view on consumerism, manners and the public in general.

Speaking of which, I've been thinking about getting a part-time job hostessing or waiting tables again, as (big news!) I've secured my place in the spring entry date for the Culinary Arts Diploma at Oregon Culinary Institute. I'm really, ridiculously excited about it because I've been toying with the idea for much too long and I figure that three years from now, I'd be thinking 'Why didn't I go three years ago when it was perfect timing and I had the chance?' There are benefits to having no mortgage, pets, significant other or car payment after all. And besides, despite the drippy weather and overcast skies I'm kind of in love with Portland at the moment. It's nice.


A glass of Oregon's own Adelsheim Rose at the delicious Clyde Common

Portland relocation nation

Last week I hauled three large bags and shipped eight boxes via UPS to my new pad in Portland, Oregon. Here I am, in a lovely apartment downtown, feeling "metropolitan" for the first time in what feels like years. It's briskly cold and gray outside, but I'm kind of in love with the city again.

This is my third (!!) beginning in Portland, the last two being in early 2002 and summer 2003 respectively. Saying that still sounds shocking. What will I do differently this time around?

Well, for starters, I've already made it a point to try to get out as much as possible. I'm determined that the winter isn't going to slow me down, and even though I'm having difficulty convincing some of my friends to come out of hibernation, I'm making an effort to be comfortable with going to movies, shows and meals on my own, not to mention living by myself. There's something to said for being able to enjoy something solo.

I live in an area of Portland that is easily accessible to most anything in Portland proper. My building is straddled by the eastbound and westbound MAX trains, and I can't say enough about the bus system. Many Portland residents would agree that not having to rely on a car is one of the best things about this city, and I must say it does feel truly freeing.

With this freedom to roam comes what feels like an obligation to explore. I'm well overdue for a new Hungry Cupboard-related discussion, and the harriedness of moving and unpacking and shopping for the household basics is leaving me a little drained these days. But I've already ventured to some of the nearby eateries, and I'm just going to call it now: My neighborhood is pretty much awesome.

Right before I got to Portland, I spend a week and a half in sunny Los Angeles. Part of any trip to LA for me involves partaking in many a libation and eating like a monster, and this one was no different. My easy access to excellent pho, banh mi, ramen and tacos in LA has left me simply craving these foods in Portland. It's going to take a few more bus trips to find the goods to satisfy these cravings, but a little hunting around Citysearch, Yelp and Portland food blogs has resulted in a handy (and growing) list of places to try out. Pho Hung, Binh Minh, Pho Oregon and a slew of food carts downtown top the list right now.

My only honest worry and serious doubt is finding a Portland ramen shop worthy of remembrance. I'll venture to Beaverton or Gresham if I have to, but the ramen pickings seem slim... any suggestions appreciated.

The hunt begins!

The Northwest calling

With a little encouragement from loved ones, I feel I'm due for something new on the Ingrid food front. I've spent the last week and a half in the sunny Pacific Northwest: Portland for an amazing wedding and a migration to Seattle last night to spend QT with the siblings. In the year and a half since I was last in Portland and the two years since my last Seattle jaunt, the Northwest seems to have exploded with some incredible joints that are both deliberate and simple, creative and adorable and a spankin' good time. The "fashion-forward" versions of cuisine, if I may.

One of the several notable visits in Portland was Pok Pok on SE Division, a version of authentic Northern Thai street food served both sit-down style and a to-go shack. The dining room is situated in creator/owner Andy Ricker's actual residence, and the to-go shack in his driveway. Whatever the situation, the food is got-damned good. The choices are many and quality, and the menu is spattered with bits and pieces of info about Thai cuisine history, Pok Pok's origins, and helpful how-tos for Thai dining habits.

The dishes vary in size from tapas-serving to big plates of succulent meat. Our server was quite insistent, almost too much so, on making our party of eight ladies eat family-style, which ended up being more like sharing in groups of four or so, as some were vegetarians, some had food allergies, and some just preferred otherwise.

Regardless, I didn't try one dish that I wasn't impressed by. More than anything, every bite pretty much erupted (kindly) in my mouth. My favorite was the Yam Plaa Deuk Fuu, a green papaya salad with catfish gaufrette, which was like fresh, citrusy this-and-that topped with a perfectly-fried catfish cake, with the flaky integrity of the fish still intact. The Cha Ca La Vong (marinated catfish on vermicelli) wasn't far behind. The meal bore for me a new appreciation for Thai cuisine, covering all the bases of one of my favorite kinds of meals: undone, non-fussy yet explosive street food.

More than anything, this trip has reminded me that eatin' good remains a high priority. And I could eat coconut rice all day long.