On playing a role
Nov. 16th, 2009 11:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pecuniumI was invited to a "mystery party". The sort where someone gets murdered and one of the guests did it.
The theme was English country life, between the wars (think Christie, Sayers, and Wodehouse). The hosts didn't know me, and I was cast in a "moderate" role; the family chef; a french cook.
I borrowed a whites jacket from the head of culinary, rolled my knives up, grabbed a waterstone, packed some spices and CG and I bought the needed ingredients for some vegetable dishes, and a veggie stock.
When we got there I asked how free I could make myself with the kitchen (appointed with a 6-burner Viking range, with some workspace to the sides; the "galley way" between the wraparound sink/cabinitry. The ovens (dual full-sheets) were opposite the island. Not the best production arrangement; good for baking, but a lot of walking around to get to the ovens if one is making roasts/cassoulets/custards/puddings, etc. and and doing stovetop work; this would be obivated somewhat if one had a staff).
I was told to make as free as I wanted. So I pulled out a stock pot and set to work. It was great. The veggies made the place smell as though it were a working kitchen, the knife sharpening (mostly of the host's knives. They were in good shape, but almost no one maintains as well as they might, and very few people [even those who hone regularly] get knives sharpened) got people's eye (I didn't know if the murder was going to be by knife; all I knew, about the killing, was I didn't do it), and filled the time when I wasn't sticking my nose in the pot, slicing veggies, or pounding spices.
Because I also figured I could make a pot of chocolate to close the evening with. So I brought a about 3 cups of cream to make ganache. I was well into that (I'd put a pint in, had sherried and sugared it, was pounding pepper and allspice when I realised there was no milk. I'd not bought any... d'oh. Someone ran out for some).
So I make some cucumber slices, with black pepper and a balsalmic drizzle. Sliced a multicolored plate of tomatoes (yellow, red, green) and minced some shallots (needed salt), dipped a couple of strawberries in the ganache to share with the rest of the "below stairs" staff, ranted about the low diet the lord of the manor's doctor prescribed (la nouritture des l'apins... he would not have a man die of old age, but kill him with malaise!," etc.), and dropped in snide asides about various people bragging up England or the States.
Praised some British Cooking (the meat pies, the steamed puddings), mocked the Americans (they have boiled dinners, and fried meats, everything else they borrow (I wanted a copy of Fer de Lance to lay on a counter, but the copy I have wasn't quite the thing for a prop), and generally played it semi-straight.
At the very last I decided to toss a splash of Guinness into the cocoa.
It worked. The sherry and vanilla carried the allspice to the pepper (mild, the pot never gt hot enough to make the pepper bitter and I didn't use much more than 3/4 tbsp), which had a nice hint of bite. The Guinness gave it an earthy, sort of mushroom note.
I don't think, however it would work a pot of less than a half gallon of chocolate. I used about an oz.
It was a very good evening, and I was able to leave a kitchen in good order; clean pots (I used two; one for the stock, and then the cocoa, one for the ganache), and all the mugs in the dishwasher. Counters wiped, and everything packed away, with about a half gallon of vegetable stock left behind in the fridge.
The theme was English country life, between the wars (think Christie, Sayers, and Wodehouse). The hosts didn't know me, and I was cast in a "moderate" role; the family chef; a french cook.
I borrowed a whites jacket from the head of culinary, rolled my knives up, grabbed a waterstone, packed some spices and CG and I bought the needed ingredients for some vegetable dishes, and a veggie stock.
When we got there I asked how free I could make myself with the kitchen (appointed with a 6-burner Viking range, with some workspace to the sides; the "galley way" between the wraparound sink/cabinitry. The ovens (dual full-sheets) were opposite the island. Not the best production arrangement; good for baking, but a lot of walking around to get to the ovens if one is making roasts/cassoulets/custards/puddings, etc. and and doing stovetop work; this would be obivated somewhat if one had a staff).
I was told to make as free as I wanted. So I pulled out a stock pot and set to work. It was great. The veggies made the place smell as though it were a working kitchen, the knife sharpening (mostly of the host's knives. They were in good shape, but almost no one maintains as well as they might, and very few people [even those who hone regularly] get knives sharpened) got people's eye (I didn't know if the murder was going to be by knife; all I knew, about the killing, was I didn't do it), and filled the time when I wasn't sticking my nose in the pot, slicing veggies, or pounding spices.
Because I also figured I could make a pot of chocolate to close the evening with. So I brought a about 3 cups of cream to make ganache. I was well into that (I'd put a pint in, had sherried and sugared it, was pounding pepper and allspice when I realised there was no milk. I'd not bought any... d'oh. Someone ran out for some).
So I make some cucumber slices, with black pepper and a balsalmic drizzle. Sliced a multicolored plate of tomatoes (yellow, red, green) and minced some shallots (needed salt), dipped a couple of strawberries in the ganache to share with the rest of the "below stairs" staff, ranted about the low diet the lord of the manor's doctor prescribed (la nouritture des l'apins... he would not have a man die of old age, but kill him with malaise!," etc.), and dropped in snide asides about various people bragging up England or the States.
Praised some British Cooking (the meat pies, the steamed puddings), mocked the Americans (they have boiled dinners, and fried meats, everything else they borrow (I wanted a copy of Fer de Lance to lay on a counter, but the copy I have wasn't quite the thing for a prop), and generally played it semi-straight.
At the very last I decided to toss a splash of Guinness into the cocoa.
It worked. The sherry and vanilla carried the allspice to the pepper (mild, the pot never gt hot enough to make the pepper bitter and I didn't use much more than 3/4 tbsp), which had a nice hint of bite. The Guinness gave it an earthy, sort of mushroom note.
I don't think, however it would work a pot of less than a half gallon of chocolate. I used about an oz.
It was a very good evening, and I was able to leave a kitchen in good order; clean pots (I used two; one for the stock, and then the cocoa, one for the ganache), and all the mugs in the dishwasher. Counters wiped, and everything packed away, with about a half gallon of vegetable stock left behind in the fridge.
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no subject
Date: 2009-11-16 09:14 pm (UTC)The kitchen, and bathroom, are the two reasons I'd want to build a house. Doing the remodel would cost a fair bit, were I to try and make a space do what I want. Worse, I suspect a kitchen laid out the way I'd like it would hurt the estimated value; since most people don't really use the kitchen as much as I do, and so the better design would be attractive to a much smaller market.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-17 11:30 am (UTC)But the rooms look nice.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-17 03:13 pm (UTC)When I house-hunted my current place I walked into the kitchen, walked right out and asked "How much for a total kitchen redo?" It was terrible: everything that was wrong about the 1950s, including colors. Now it's much better. I tore the wall out between the kitchen and dining room so now the most popular room in the house is one of the biggest and has a den area as well as a cooking area. It's not a professional kitchen, it's a very good home kitchen: good triangle, gas stove, double sinks, two rooms' worth of cabinetry. PS: It was designed by an interior decorator. Maybe he cooks a lot?
You'll have to let me know if you come to the East Coast.