Aim High, Trojans.

{Photo of dad}

I don't have many photos of my dad, so the ones I do have are really quite special, like this one of him during his army days, stationed in Alaska, showing off the catch of the day. This is the part of the man I didn't get to know. I often wondered what it would be like to see him as a young man.

My thoughts of dad on Father's Day went back to my first realization of getting news that he died, that he would never get to see my restaurant, and I would never get to push a pint of ale across the bar in his direction and hear him say what he said so many times, "I'm so proud of you, son."

A dad has that kind of power in his words, and I think about who is looking to me for similar validation? I think I am up for the task.

How about you?

What, did you steal that pan from a hotel?

One of my kitchen staff came outside on the patio where I was hanging a sign.

“The fire alarm just went off”

“Fine, I’ll be there in a minute.” I responded.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed this look of consternation on the faces of two women who were having coffee and were within earshot of the exchange. The expression of worry didn’t make sense until I realize what they heard. They took it literally.

Kitchens are notorious for having a language of their own. We refer to some of the tools of the trade as a sham, lowboy or china cap with commonly held understanding. You may scratch your head wondering what in the world we are talking about, but rub shoulders with us at work behind the counter and eventually you will realize what the slow cooking cabinet, a short refrigerator with a flat work top and a fine mesh strainer is.

Some terms are common from kitchen to kitchen, but everyplace has its own terms of endearment. At a closeout sale, I bought a kitchen timer with three separate clocks, thinking it would be helpful with all the timed baking we do, but to my chagrin, when time’s up, it sounds like a smoke detector or fire alarm with a piercing, nagging beep that makes an unknowing customer nervous. It is effective, however, and we seldom let anything burn as we race to shut that thing off before we clear the house.

The ladies outside had thought a real fire alarm went off, and once I caught up with their racing minds, was able to explain the story and share a good laugh.

The item in the oven was Pavlova, one of my most favorite spring/summer desserts. I’ll share the recipe below and see if you can recreate it at home. The key is low heat that allows the meringue to dry out slowly.



Pavlova

6 large egg whites
1.5 cup granulated sugar
2 teaspoon cornstarch
2 teaspoon vinegar
2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Beat eggs whites till frothy and peaks begin to form
Slowly add sugar, allowing it to dissolve
When stiff peaks form, fold in last three ingredients

Transfer to a piping bag
Pipe onto lined baking sheet. We pipe small 2 inch discs, but traditionally it is spread out into 12” rounds, 1/2 inch thick.

Two baking methods:

• Bake in oven at 375 for 10min.
• Turn off oven.
• DO NOT OPEN DOORS FOR 1 HOUR.
• Pavlova should be firm and brittle.

Or

• Bake in oven at 250 for 40 min
• Check for doneness, should be firm, shell-like brittle surface
• If not done, continue baking, checking at 10 min intervals
• Remove from oven and let cool

Once cooled, place one meringue disc on a plate on a dot of whipped cream. This prevents the dessert from sliding around on the plate. Put a spoon of fresh fruit, (we use macerated strawberries) on the disc, followed by a dollop of whipped cream. Add another meringue disc, with more fresh fruit and top with more whipped cream and a leaf of mint. The picture shows a sugar halo, but we’ll wait for another post to share that technique.

More than just tying on the feedbag...

I spend a lot of time thinking through why I cook. It’s a common question thoughtful chefs ask. It’s important for us to understand the motive for why we spend such long hours in a profession that has an inordinate demand for inequitable compensation.

But there is also, I believe, reason for why people come to eat the food we enjoy preparing. And I would pose the question here; do you know why you eat?

Once you get past the “duh…because I’m hungry?!?” response, I invite you to go a little further. Sure we eat because our stomachs tell us to, but have you considered what the deeper parts of you are saying? Listen closer and you might be intrigued by what you hear.

Many Americans eat for value, wanting big food for little prices, and never quite get beyond the buffet line, which is fine if you are feeding a small army of kids after soccer season. But is there a place for the food you eat to take you places you may not be able to go on your own?

I am all for teaching people to cook and often tell my recipes or techniques freely to inquiring guests, but I also know that even my skill level is limited and as often as possible like to trust my plate into the hands of professionals who have as their goal to make me say “Wow!” You may cook extremely well, and it’s precisely that fact that allows you to appreciate your meal when it is carefully crafted by another.

Eating encompasses both extremes. On the one hand it is basic survival and yet on the other it is sheer pleasure. Thankfully we live in a time where our continued existence doesn’t depend on whether or not we shot a wild animal to eat that day. We can enjoy with gratitude a meal as entertainment, with good friends alongside.

I have printed on my business card as my title, “Entertainer.” I’m in the business of food to entertain. I’m not just interested in cooking for you, but also in knowing that the environment in which you and your companions are eating it is equally satisfying. This is what I want your visit to bread&cup to be about. Come in as our guests, let us entertain you, and maybe even inspire you with what you experience here.

Order in

I knew this night would come. I just didn’t think it would take 22 months for it to happen.

Take an ambitious menu, combine it with a houseful of people, add in a lack of rhythm between the front of the house and the back, and you end up with that feeling in your gut that the night is not going to go as planned. We had never been this inundated. The perfect storm erupted.

I think what I hate about moments like this is that I never get another chance to make that first impression. New guests. Visitors from out of town, and who knows what food writer was here for the first time. Folks must have gotten the memo simultaneously and made plans to all come at once, and order the same thing at the same time. Anyone who has worked in a kitchen knows this feeling, when the tickets won’t seem to stop arriving, and the rail won’t hold any more. Getting a do-over is not an option at this point.

What makes it worse is that I know I can do better. Of the ninety nine times we get it right, I don’t want to be remembered by the first time guest as the place where they got slow service. And it only takes that one to stick in the mind, regardless if those other ninety nine were on the mark. Human nature seems bent this way.

I know it’s a team effort, but the buck ultimately stops with me, and before I lay blame on anyone else, I first ask myself what I can do better. My biggest fault in planning my menu tonight was veering from my strength. My food is slow and deliberate. It is slowly made to be promptly served. I put too many things on that required too many steps. I boast that I let time and natural processes do most of the work. I relied on a course of action that didn't fit my kitchen, nor my staff, and ultimately not my customer.

So I consider it all a lesson learned. Now’s the time for my weekend to start. Gonna take some time tomorrow to brew a couple batches of ESB and IPA. Maybe I’ll get to sleep in til 6 instead of 5.

72 and sunny.

About a month or so ago, I began to sense some significant heart palpitations. I’ve had them before, which is why I knew what they were, but never to this degree. Ten years ago I probably would have just pushed on through without much thought. But this time at my age, it brought me some concern.

My first response was to call my sister, who is a registered nurse and who’s opinion on medical issues I highly respect. I explained my symptoms to her on the phone, and after a brief query, she reached her conclusion. Delivered in a way only an older sister could, she bluntly said, “Preacher, you need to listen to your own sermon.”

I knew exactly what she meant.

How ironic that the very concept that permeates my whole philosophy on food has not made its way to how I manage my health? What’s the use of putting sustainable food on your plate if it isn’t put there by a sustained chef?

I saw a chance this afternoon to atone for some of my recent frenetic series of choices by getting outside and enjoying the 72 degree air that had notes of bright sunshine and a hint of Colorado. Maddie, our beagle, was in the back yard baying at the slightest stimulation that came across her nasal radar, so I figured the outing would do us both some good. So off to the dog run we went, knowing the IN box will be right where I left it.

Some of you said you missed our food at Jazz in June last night, and I have to confess that I missed the deadline for sign up, and didn’t get our booth registered in time. But it’s one of those clouds that has a silver lining. As good as business has been this last month, both at the restaurant and Farmer’s Market, it would be stretching our manpower too thin to add another major set up to an already taxed staff. Sometime you have to be able to say no. And this time it was said for me.