Cookie Monster
It’s almost Christmas and in my house that means it’s time to make cookies. My mom always made cookies this time of year and my sister in law Holly and niece Genevieve are usually hard at work by now measuring, mixing and baking. The last few years I have not baked but certainly have enjoyed the fruits of Holly and Gen’s labor. This year, I was invited to a cookie swap and decided it was time to dust off the old Kitchen Aid Mixer.
My first Kitchen Aid was given to me by my parents as a graduation gift from cooking school in 1977. It was and still is, an awesome addition to my kitchen. I recently had it tuned up and after all these years, it is still cranking out cookies for me! Already having mixed up a batch of Rugulah filled with raspberry jam, it then went on to produced a scrumptious batch of peanut butter bites. Next on the hit list for this week is Shortbread, coconut chocolate bites and I am thinking of making bacon praline and sandwiching it between the peanut butter bites. When I start baking cookies I simply can’t stop. All this obsession from someone who says that she dosen’t really like desserts? Really?
When I say I don’t care for desserts, let me say that I don’t think cookies fall into this category. For that matter neither does Ice cream I know, I know, but really I mean fancy rich desserts like the ones you get in restaurants. Cookies are much less fussy and more fun to eat. Cookies make people happy.Who can resist a buttery little morsel fresh out of the oven. I know I can’t. I love to mix them, love to smell them baking and yes, love to eat them as well. Everything about them makes me happy.While writing this article I polished off a dozen peanut butter bites. Granted, they are the size of a quarter but that just makes them more fun to eat. They look kind of non descript but yummy they are.
The most colorful cookies I made were the year I decided to make cookie tins for all of my catering clients. My company did a lot of Holiday parties and I liked to leave my clients a little gift to remember me by. That year, it was cookies and t shirts. And so I made rolled sugar and ginger bread cookies. I went out and bought a set of cookie cutters in various assorted shapes. Included in the cutters were the obligatory Mr and Mrs Gingerman. In addition to that, there were flowers, butterflies, stars and other fun shapes.
I started with the ginger people and they turned out nicely. They all had slightly different outfits on and each seemed to have their own personality. I literally had an army of ginger people. I averaged about 20 parties each December and so I had to really crank out a large volume of cookies to have enough for all of my clients. This operation had to be executed over several days because it was just too much to do in a day. That and the fact that I was making them after my staff went home meant I did not have any help. We were in the throws of our busiest season and everyone needs their beauty sleep. Everyone except me the ginger people that is.
One evening about two nights into it, I had finished my ginger army and was starting on my sugar cookies. I wanted to do something fun and so armed with a whole lot of confectioners sugar, many different coloring pastes, a few paint brushes and some other assorted art tools I went to work. The cookie icing was easy to paint on to the cookies and with all that color, I was about to have some serious fun.
Well it sounded good on paper but after working for two weeks straight with out a day off and in addition to cookie overtime, I was a little tired. Question: What do you get when you combine a workaholic, 20 catering jobs, some sugar cookies and some crazy colored Icings? Answer: Timothy Leary meets Mary Poppins! At 2:00 AM on the final evening, or should I say morning, of baking, the cookies were starting to talk to me. No kidding. The ginger arny was making fun of me and the sugar cookies started looking like I had put them in a spin art machine. Either that or they looked like I had taken copious amounts of LSD. They were wild looking! Had I turned out the lights I think they might have glowed in the dark. Satelites probably could have seen them from space they were so bright. So very vivid, they are burned in my memory for ever! They were so bright, the ginger people begged not to be put in the same tins!
Ok, maybe that is a little bit of an exaggeration but they were pretty colorful. The tins were beautiful, my clients loved them and everybody was happy. So maybe you won’t want to stay up all night baking cookies but if you want to give a little tin of happiness to your friends this year, lets get baking. Following is the recipe for the peanut butter bites. I hope they bring a little smile to your face.
Peanut Butter Bites
1 cup butter
1 cup sugar
1 cup brown sugar
3 eggs
2 tsp Vanilla Extract
2 cups Peanut Butter
2 Cups AP Flour (sifted)
1 tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt
Method:
1. Cream butter and slowly add both sugars until light a fluffy.
2. Add vanilla, then peanut butter.
3. Add eggs, one at a time mixing thoroughly between additions.
4. Combine the dry ingredients and mix into the butter peanut butter until just incorporated.
5. Refrigerate dough for half hour before baking.
Preheat oven to 350 .
Roll dough into quarter walnut size pieces and flatten slightly on a lightly greased cookie sheet. Cross hatch the top with a fork.
Bake for 12-14 minutes.
Cool on a cookie rack.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
“There’s no crying in Baseball” yelled Tom Hanks in the movie A League of Their Own. As I sat in our practical kitchen last month watching students cry in front of me I wanted to tell them the same thing, with a slight change. Because there is no crying in the kitchen!
Now to understand what I am talking about I have to tell you what I was doing. I was reassigned to our practical kitchen for a few blocks. We have second and fifth term practical tests for our students. The second term students have to prepare a soup and an entrée with three side vegetables in 2 ½ hours. The fifth term students have to prepare a first course fish course with assigned sauce and their own selected accompaniment and then an entrée with three side vegetables. Now let me tell you that they each have a six burner stove/oven, their own refrigerator and work station. They know the six menus before they come down and can, if they are on the ball, do the recipes and a time line for all of the stations. That way no matter which one they draw, they are prepared. Easy, right? Not so much…… Oh and did I mention the oral exam? They have to answer 7 our of ten questions to pass that part of the exam.
The second term students are so terrified that they read all of the questions and memorize the answers. They do all of the timelines and bring all of the recipes. For the most part they are prepared. The thing that gets them is the fear. When I tell you that they are quaking in their toques, I mean it! Shakes, cotton mouth, you would think that something else was going on at times. It’s crazy. I always tell them to relax but the fear is so great that they can’t.
I try my best to reassure them that they will do just fine but sometimes, things go wrong. As I sit at my tasting table wondering why the the Hollandaise looks like scrambled eggs and butter or why the consommé looks like a garbage disposal back up I feel like a parent wondering what I did wrong. We do our best but sometimes it just doesn’t stick. Our skills instructors at school are wonderful. They take these kids and teach them the basics for 9 weeks plus. But we all know that sometimes there are those who just don’t get it. And unfortunately for me, I get to see the results when they come to the practical kitchen.
Your sauce is broken, your consommé is cloudy, your poached fish has the texture of canned tuna fish, your vegetables are turning brown, your potatoes are missing, your roast chicken is raw, your stew is about as tender as rubber gaskets, your carrots taste like the sugar bowl was dumped into them. You name it, we see it. Your station looks like a bomb went off in it and you look like you rolled in the compost bin! What would a customer think if they had to pay money for this? Would you pay money for this? And these are only the second term students!
Now the fifth tern students have some really scary habits. I had one guy in there that I now refer to as White Pepper Dude. This kid put so much white pepper in his food that it all tasted like he had simmered all of his food in his dirty sock drawer. Unreal and nasty! And I had to taste it. I feel like a crash test dummy some times. Since I started working there, I have gained … pounds, my cholesterol and triglycerides are out of control and I anticipate stroking out any minute. All so our little darlings can learn to cook! I would like to put them in a room and force feed them bad food for a few months strait to teach them a lesson some times. Well we can all fanaticize sometimes, right? But all of these thoughts occur only when I get someone who clearly doesn’t have a clue or a passion for food. Who else would serve me raw poultry or well done steak when I asked for it Medium Rare. Why else would they prepare a sauce that looks like goopy glop or prepare a sauce piquant (which by the way is a brown sauce with cornichons) with a tomato sauce base. Yummy, tomato sauce with sliced pickles in it! It was a sight to behold, one I never want to see again. And did I mention the student who plated their side dishes and then started cooking the meat! This person was supposed to be graduating in two weeks. And then come the tears.
You know how well or bad you performed. You know if your food was good or nasty. You know if your station is messy or if you did not follow sanitation procedures. You know and yet on come the tears. And there I sit, feeling like a schmuck. I don’t like making people feel bad and I don’t like seeing them cry. I prefer that you walk out of there after giving me the high five. But there you have it. We have a special term in the business for bad cooks. We call them “Shoemakers”. Is it because their food tasted like old shoes or because they should probably be making shoes, not food? I don’t know really but that’s usually who the criers are. And one more thing…..”THERES NO CRYING IN THE KITCHEN” !
Now to understand what I am talking about I have to tell you what I was doing. I was reassigned to our practical kitchen for a few blocks. We have second and fifth term practical tests for our students. The second term students have to prepare a soup and an entrée with three side vegetables in 2 ½ hours. The fifth term students have to prepare a first course fish course with assigned sauce and their own selected accompaniment and then an entrée with three side vegetables. Now let me tell you that they each have a six burner stove/oven, their own refrigerator and work station. They know the six menus before they come down and can, if they are on the ball, do the recipes and a time line for all of the stations. That way no matter which one they draw, they are prepared. Easy, right? Not so much…… Oh and did I mention the oral exam? They have to answer 7 our of ten questions to pass that part of the exam.
The second term students are so terrified that they read all of the questions and memorize the answers. They do all of the timelines and bring all of the recipes. For the most part they are prepared. The thing that gets them is the fear. When I tell you that they are quaking in their toques, I mean it! Shakes, cotton mouth, you would think that something else was going on at times. It’s crazy. I always tell them to relax but the fear is so great that they can’t.
I try my best to reassure them that they will do just fine but sometimes, things go wrong. As I sit at my tasting table wondering why the the Hollandaise looks like scrambled eggs and butter or why the consommé looks like a garbage disposal back up I feel like a parent wondering what I did wrong. We do our best but sometimes it just doesn’t stick. Our skills instructors at school are wonderful. They take these kids and teach them the basics for 9 weeks plus. But we all know that sometimes there are those who just don’t get it. And unfortunately for me, I get to see the results when they come to the practical kitchen.
Your sauce is broken, your consommé is cloudy, your poached fish has the texture of canned tuna fish, your vegetables are turning brown, your potatoes are missing, your roast chicken is raw, your stew is about as tender as rubber gaskets, your carrots taste like the sugar bowl was dumped into them. You name it, we see it. Your station looks like a bomb went off in it and you look like you rolled in the compost bin! What would a customer think if they had to pay money for this? Would you pay money for this? And these are only the second term students!
Now the fifth tern students have some really scary habits. I had one guy in there that I now refer to as White Pepper Dude. This kid put so much white pepper in his food that it all tasted like he had simmered all of his food in his dirty sock drawer. Unreal and nasty! And I had to taste it. I feel like a crash test dummy some times. Since I started working there, I have gained … pounds, my cholesterol and triglycerides are out of control and I anticipate stroking out any minute. All so our little darlings can learn to cook! I would like to put them in a room and force feed them bad food for a few months strait to teach them a lesson some times. Well we can all fanaticize sometimes, right? But all of these thoughts occur only when I get someone who clearly doesn’t have a clue or a passion for food. Who else would serve me raw poultry or well done steak when I asked for it Medium Rare. Why else would they prepare a sauce that looks like goopy glop or prepare a sauce piquant (which by the way is a brown sauce with cornichons) with a tomato sauce base. Yummy, tomato sauce with sliced pickles in it! It was a sight to behold, one I never want to see again. And did I mention the student who plated their side dishes and then started cooking the meat! This person was supposed to be graduating in two weeks. And then come the tears.
You know how well or bad you performed. You know if your food was good or nasty. You know if your station is messy or if you did not follow sanitation procedures. You know and yet on come the tears. And there I sit, feeling like a schmuck. I don’t like making people feel bad and I don’t like seeing them cry. I prefer that you walk out of there after giving me the high five. But there you have it. We have a special term in the business for bad cooks. We call them “Shoemakers”. Is it because their food tasted like old shoes or because they should probably be making shoes, not food? I don’t know really but that’s usually who the criers are. And one more thing…..”THERES NO CRYING IN THE KITCHEN” !
Saturday, March 7, 2009
They call me Chef
Well that sounds nice dosen't it. At term of respect and authority. At first when the students addressed me as Chef, I almost looked to see who they were talking to. Then I realized it was me. At my catering business and then my restaurant, everyone called me Lynne. I was not used to the title! But it sounded so good, I thought I could easily get used to it. And when in rome.....
And so life as Chef began. When I saw my colleagues in the hall I also addressed them as chef. Hello Chef. How are you Chef. Nice to see you Chef. Chef what are you teaching these days. Chef, would you stop by and let me know what you think of my ham? Chef, your fish class is amazing. Chef, how come you wear a hard hat in class instead of a Chef Toque It started to sound like a Marks Brothers routine after awhile. As I greeted another in the hall one evening early on, he informed me that if I forgot anyone's name it was easy because they all start with a C.
So now I am in my own classroom, my first class. I have 21, mostly under 21 students and we are going to spend 6 weeks together. I am going to be teaching them Skills 1 and 2. We will be in class for 7 hours a day with an additional 1 hour dinner break. How many times a day do you think I will hear the word Chef?
21 Students many of whom have never picked up a knife before and we are going to start knife skills trays in the next two days. For 40 minutes every day they will have a tray with 4 onions, 2 shallots, 3 cloves of garlic, 2 potatoes, 1/2 cup parsley leaves and 2 roma tomatoes. I will teach them basic knife cuts and from that day for the next 6 weeks they will do a timed knife tray. For the first three days I hear the word Chef about 100 times an hour, seriously! Before during and inbetween the bloody trips to the nurse, all day until the end of class. Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef.........and so on it goes.
By the end of class I feel like that Cheech and Chong Album from the 70's and the skit about Sister Mary Elephant. For those of you who have no idea what I am talking about, you should go rent it. In an progressivly louder and more aggressive voice, Sister Mary Elephant attempts to squelch her class by yelling :class, class, class, now class, class,
class, class, really class, and it ends by her screaching SHUT UP!
Now it gets louder and louder because my little darlings are quite full of energy despite the blood loss. At one point in class I am simply at a loss as to what to do. I collect myself and think of something dramatic that does not include yelling, screaching or even wining. I am holding a stainless steel all clad saute pal when it comes to me. And it's a swing, hear the crack of the pan and she hits one out of the park. I wound up with all that I had, did a girls fast pitch and laid that all clad down on the top of a stainless steel table. You could hear a pin drop. 21 twenty somethings and absolute pristine silence. You've got to love it. Ahh, its good to be Chef
And so life as Chef began. When I saw my colleagues in the hall I also addressed them as chef. Hello Chef. How are you Chef. Nice to see you Chef. Chef what are you teaching these days. Chef, would you stop by and let me know what you think of my ham? Chef, your fish class is amazing. Chef, how come you wear a hard hat in class instead of a Chef Toque It started to sound like a Marks Brothers routine after awhile. As I greeted another in the hall one evening early on, he informed me that if I forgot anyone's name it was easy because they all start with a C.
So now I am in my own classroom, my first class. I have 21, mostly under 21 students and we are going to spend 6 weeks together. I am going to be teaching them Skills 1 and 2. We will be in class for 7 hours a day with an additional 1 hour dinner break. How many times a day do you think I will hear the word Chef?
21 Students many of whom have never picked up a knife before and we are going to start knife skills trays in the next two days. For 40 minutes every day they will have a tray with 4 onions, 2 shallots, 3 cloves of garlic, 2 potatoes, 1/2 cup parsley leaves and 2 roma tomatoes. I will teach them basic knife cuts and from that day for the next 6 weeks they will do a timed knife tray. For the first three days I hear the word Chef about 100 times an hour, seriously! Before during and inbetween the bloody trips to the nurse, all day until the end of class. Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef Chef.........and so on it goes.
By the end of class I feel like that Cheech and Chong Album from the 70's and the skit about Sister Mary Elephant. For those of you who have no idea what I am talking about, you should go rent it. In an progressivly louder and more aggressive voice, Sister Mary Elephant attempts to squelch her class by yelling :class, class, class, now class, class,
class, class, really class, and it ends by her screaching SHUT UP!
Now it gets louder and louder because my little darlings are quite full of energy despite the blood loss. At one point in class I am simply at a loss as to what to do. I collect myself and think of something dramatic that does not include yelling, screaching or even wining. I am holding a stainless steel all clad saute pal when it comes to me. And it's a swing, hear the crack of the pan and she hits one out of the park. I wound up with all that I had, did a girls fast pitch and laid that all clad down on the top of a stainless steel table. You could hear a pin drop. 21 twenty somethings and absolute pristine silence. You've got to love it. Ahh, its good to be Chef
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