It was my obsession with fine, prestigious, noteworthy dining that first drew me to Didier. I had been planning a trip to the big city, and wanted to eat at some place really special. Not comfortable enough (at all) with the New York dining scene to decide on my own, I consulted whom I held [read more ...]
I’ve made pâte a choux before. I followed a recipe in Gourmet magazine earlier this year for gougeres, and the result was a tray of puffy, airy, cheesy, golden, adjective-filled pastries. I was awfully pleased with myself for tackling such a difficult and traditional recipe, and to great avail.
So when I realized that making pâte [read more ...]
When I walk into the classroom on Tuesday, the first thing I notice is Daniel, cutting butter into his flour with a sense of urgency. I’m confused; we’re making genoise cake today, not tarts.
“WE ARE MAKING ZEE APPLE TART TODAY,” Chef yells to me and the other few students who’ve arrived early. ”You do NOT [read more ...]
A version of the following will appear in this week’s Syracuse City Eagle.
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It’s Thursday night, and we’re supposed to be cooking eggs. We’re supposed to be making omelettes, poached eggs, baked eggs and boiled eggs. We’re not. It’s 10:30 on Thursday night, and Chef has decided that he’d rather we make pastry dough for Saturday’s [read more ...]
“We’re going to PDT,” my friend said as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. ”At 12:30.”
I looked down into my glass of wine. PDT? Please Don’t Tell? Tonight? Me? More drinks? I hadn’t eaten dinner, and the riesling had already started to drift to my head. Wasn’t PDT a secret cocktail bar? In [read more ...]
The following will appear in this week’s issue of the Syracuse City Eagle.
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The kitchen was insufferably hot, so I had been zoning out a little (okay, a lot) during a demonstration at culinary school when I heard my chef-instructor say, with plain indifference, “We are oozing butter with the Gratin Dauphinois.”
Oozing butter? It seemed like [read more ...]
The following will appear in this week’s Syracuse City Eagle for my “Miss Syracuse” column.
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“Whisk, whisk!” Chef barked, standing over my shoulder as I incorporated air into egg yolks and a reduction of white wine vinegar. He was watching intently, waiting for me to make a mistake. The béarnaise sauce still looked a little thin, [read more ...]
After running around the Upper East Side all afternoon on the Fourth of July in a silly get-up, I was ready for a good meal. Actually, Ryan and I were both starving, and since neither of us had access to a grill or hot dogs, we did the next best thing to celebrate the birth [read more ...]
The following piece will appear in this week’s Syracuse City Eagle.
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“Never with salt season a stock,” I read aloud from the marker board upon entering class last Tuesday. I’ve been a student at the French Culinary Institute in Manhattan for a little over two weeks, so I’m not yet entirely used to my instructor’s way [read more ...]
My street pants were loose and sat low on my hips, so when I unzipped them, they fell easily down to my feet. I felt momentarily sensual but quickly stepped out of them, leaving them in a pile on the floor. I stepped into the black and white checked pants and pulled them up around [read more ...]
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