Am I really here?

My left fingertips are burnt, calloused and numb. I have a bad burn on my right forearm and wrist. I have a strange wound that won't heal in the space between my forefinger and thumb - a little accident that happened in my wrestle with a giant Hobart mixer. Both my hands are swollen and muscular like a man's, and they tingle with tightness every morning. My back aches, my feet hurt, and I'm really really tired.

On September 3rd, I began my four-month apprenticeship at Blue Hill at Stone Barns. My day starts somewhere between 10:30 a.m. and noon and ends past midnight, around 1:00 or sometimes 2:00. When they say to come in at noon, it's really not a blessing because you have less time to do the same amount of work. I really can't believe the amount of food the kitchen is able to produce in so little time every day. With set-up for service at 3:00, family meal at 4:00 and service starting at 5:00, you only have about 4 full hours to get it all done. How do you it? You push. And push. And push. I thought I was pushing, but it's become clear that I have no idea what that really means.

In the first week, I worked with the meat guy. Ironic considering how little meat I eat at home. I spent most of my time putting various forms of meat into sous vide bags with various forms of marinade. The main takeaway from that week was that meat is heavy, especially turkey breasts. They are about the size of my thighs.

In the second week, the chef de cuisine put me on the amuse station. Talk about being thrown into the fire. I came out alive, but it felt a lot like the feeling of being thrown into the deep end when you don't even know how to doggie paddle. It was crazy. But it's also an honor to be given so many responsibilities. Every day I learn a little more - how to organize myself better, how to shave a few seconds off of this or that, how to season better, batter better, slice meat better... I'm learning on the job, hands-on, through experience. Raj at Saul used to say theory is useless if you can't execute it. Many cooks know a lot of stuff in theory but can't cook. I hope I'll learn to cook better. Someday. Day-by-day.

So how has it been? My brother asked me yesterday if I was having fun. I can't say I am, only because I've made a lot of sacrifices to be here, and life in the kitchen is hard as hell. It was never meant to be for my entertainment. There have been times, especially in the last week, when I would wonder about this new life I've chosen, if it needs to be so hard. I would ask myself, "Annie, wouldn't it be so much easier to go back to advertising? What are you doing here taking out linens and trash at midnight for zero pay?" But the thought of going back to the office life makes me cringe and my stomach churns just to think about it. It makes me sad sometimes to think how much I hated it because it would be so much easier if I didn't. If I could be just a little o.k. with it, I would go back. I really would. But I know I can't. I just can't.

What I can tell you is that I'm much happier. Or maybe it's more contentment and feeling at peace. In the morning, I drive past a beautiful lake, up to the pastures of Stone Barns filled with pigs, chickens, cows and sheep, and have a little chat with Gerry, the security guard. I get out of the car breathing sweet air, put on a crisp, clean uniform and start a new day with new challenges. I greet the staff, an amazing staff full of some real characters, then I set up my station, which has a window out to the courtyard (which I never seem to remember to take a moment to look out onto...).

At the end of the day, after thirteen hours standing on my feet and using my hands, I come home knowing that I did honest work and knowing where the fruits of my labor went. I'm also mighty proud of the stuff that kitchen puts out. Maybe not my finicky, disastrous financier burgers, but my ricotta and butter aren't half bad. And of course I'm in awe of the exquisitely beautiful plates that the chefs produce, especially the salads from the garde manger station.

Sometimes I wonder how I got here because every morning I feel like I awoke to a dream. Then I remember I just asked. Just ask. You never know if someone will say yes and where it will take you.

The photos above are from my third Thursday at Blue Hill. Thursdays are farm chore days, when we go out into the fields for an hour or two and have a chance to come that much closer to the ingredients we work with. It's great to get our hands dirty.

Rustic walnut pesto

Coming back from my trip to a completely empty fridge, I'm now reacquainting myself with my kitchen and the kinds of food I used to eat pre-California, pre-fast food, pre-lavender-infused everything. One of the last meals I had before the trip was with a beautifully rustic pesto made with walnuts. It started with a bunch of basil I couldn't refuse. It called out to me with such an intoxicating fragrance at the farmer's market that it made me swoon. I used walnuts in place of pine nuts because they're more heart-healthy, and I was also in the mood for a little bitterness.

As for technique, I'm a bit of a techno-phobe in the kitchen. Aside from my KitchenAid mixer, I'm convinced all things taste better the closer they are made to the hands. In the pesto realm, I've read several cooks' opinions that using a mortar and pestle is far superior to the food processor because mashing the basil allows the flavors to fully release whereas processing it just turns the pesto into slop. You're also left with a more vibrant green color. For me, hand-mashing just feels like the right thing to do.

This time around, I wanted to try a method I read about in 101 Cookbooks. I oftentimes find great satisfaction in the long method of doing things, and this process looked so messy and appealing to me. You simply chop the ingredients together one-by-one with a knife or a mezzaluna. And because you're left with nut pieces that are chopped rather than smashed, this method yields a very rustic version of a pesto. I just loved the way it came out with the basil still a bright green, in varying shapes and sizes with irregular bits of nuts and garlic in between.

To serve, I had the pesto on pearl barley instead of pasta because a chef friend of mine eats pearl barley practically on a daily basis and I wanted to see what the fuss was all about. Cooked right, it has a great toothiness and a nuttiness that goes really well with pesto. I also tossed in some steamed asparagus and some lemon zest for a bright flavor.

Recipe: Rustic walnut pesto
Adapted from 101 Cookbooks
Ingredients
1 large bunch of basil, unbruised leaves only, washed and dried
3 medium cloves of garlic
1 small handful of walnuts
3/4 cup Parmesan, loosely packed and freshly grated
A few tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, or to taste
Salt

Technique
Start chopping the garlic along with about 1/3 of the basil leaves. Once this is loosely chopped add more basil, chop some more, add the rest of the basil, chop some more. Scrape and chop, gather and chop. At this point the basil and garlic should be a very fine mince. Add about half the walnuts, chop. Add the rest of the walnuts, chop. Add half of the Parmesan, chop. Add the rest of the Parmesan, and chop. In the end you want a chop so fine that you can press all the ingredients into a basil "cake" (see photo). Transfer the pesto "cake" to a small bowl not much bigger than the cake. Cover with a few tablespoons of olive oil.

You can set this aside or place it in the refrigerator until you are ready to use it. Just before serving, give the pesto a quick stir to incorporate some of the oil into the basil. Once tossed with the medium, season well with salt. And if needed, thin the pesto with a splash of pasta water.
Makes about 1 cup.

California recap

Hello everyone. I hope you're having a nice summer so far. I had a blissful, beautiful and relaxing time at the festival. Most of my time was spent at the Lavender Green Cafe making sandwiches and salads and gaining some front-of-the-house experience. I'm not exactly a social creature, but I really got a kick out of making customers happy, especially when they seemed to get excited about the smallest thing. Kitchen-inhabiting chefs don't often get to see the smiles on their customers' faces, but at the end of the day that's what this industry is all about isn't it? Pleasing the peeps.

As for eats, I sustained myself on lavender-infused chicken wraps, BLTs, burgers, salads with lavender-honey-mustard vinaigrette, and crumb pastries with lavender custard, lavender ice cream, and iced lavender green tea and lemonade. Not too shabby a diet for a vacationing volunteer, but I was pretty lavendered out by the end of the first weekend.

Outside the festival, I encountered mostly culinary bombs, including the worst meal of my life at a faux-Brazillian steak house and the most Chinese sushi I've ever had. Life is too short to have such bad meals, and towards the end I had enough of them and decided to consult my trusty Chowhound.

My tummy my senses were appeased with a beautiful dinner at Lucques, Susanne Goin's restaurant in L.A. the plates were simple, elegantly rustic and colorful. And as my friend pointed out, quite feminine. In San Diego, I inhaled about five utterly addictive fish tacos at Blue Water Grill and washed them down with a surprisingly decent non-alcoholic Becks (California = driving, driving and more driving). And on my last day before my flight, a trip to The Hungry Cat in L.A. Though not exactly a value meal, it was made memorable with a watermelon and heirloom tomato salad with feta and the grapefruit-rootbeer soda. And finally, one must never forget the comfort of In-N-Out burgers.

I wish I had taken more time to take careful pictures of everything and I'm actually appalled at myself for my lax attention to photographing food, especially at the festival. But in all honesty I think my mind was elsewhere for once. I hope you'll at least enjoy what's here, a random collection of shots from my trip in a very different place from here called California.

What lettuce tastes like

When I lived with my parents in Queens several years back, I got to experience the beauty of living off the land. Being Korean and never fully comprehending what a big patch of grass did for anybody, my parents converted the entire back yard into an edible garden. It wasn't a big yard, maybe 10 x 20 feet total, but they managed to plant a plum tree, a pear tree, and an apple tree amongst the pumpkin patch, lettuces, cucumbers, and perilla. I regret not having appreciated this patch of paradise more at the time because I currently long for a garden of my own.

My mom, having grown up on a farm, knew the ins and outs of composting like the back of her hand, so everything was grown organically. It's one thing to be fed by your mom, but another to be fed with ingredients she raised with love and care from a little seed. When preparing meals, she would often ask me to go pick a bowl of lettuce or cucumbers from the garden, and I can't quite explain the sensation that hand-plucking these tender greens produced in me. On the one hand, it was a feeling of subtle caution because they're living things that require care and respect. But mostly I felt a deep satisfaction, knowing where my food came from and what I was feeding my body with - good stuff that would go into my cells and produce more of who I am.

Jamie Oliver's paradise (he's so charming)



One day I hope to have such space of my own - plot of land, however small it may be, where I can simply step out to grab a handful of pungent greens - a simple salad, a daily meal. To me, there's really nothing better than this, a bowl of hand-picked greens with a small drizzle of good vinaigrette. Each bite is an explosion of flavor, and I get completely lost in it's surprising goodness - an entirely different experience from the salads we know of these days. Even the best organic packaged greens will begin losing their flavors the moment they're picked. By the time we wash them and put them on our plates, they'll have been triple-washed, packaged, and shipped across the country and been sitting for days on the grocery shelves before hitting your salad bowl.

The closest alternative to having a garden in Brooklyn is to hit the farmer's market. Although taking a subway to pick my greens is a far cry from the garden experience, I still feel lucky to have even this. I grab a giant bag of mixed salad greens, which oftentimes include beautiful edible flowers. When the salad craving kicks in during the week, I just toss in some Parmesan cheese, some quick-toasted nuts (hazelnut, walnuts, almonds, etc) and maybe some sliced fruit on top of a heaping mound of greens, and I'm a happy camper for a days and days.

Some tips for a perfect salad:

• Get yourself the freshest greens as possible. If you have a garden, I envy you...
  
• Rinse and dry your greens in a salad spinner as soon as you get home, wrap them in a paper towel and store them in a container. This way, you'll have easy access to a great salad any time during the week with minimal fuss.
  
• Keep a stash of various dry ingredients always on hand to throw into the salad at whim: nuts (hazelnuts, walnuts, sliced almonds, pistachios), dried fruits and/or cheeses in the refrigerator, and some homemade croutons in the freezer.
  
• As with any salad, a good dressing is essential. I like to make a large batch at the same time that I wash my greens. Below is a recipe that I posted in a previous post, and it's quickly become my recent favorite - it's very clean and refreshing, perfect for a simple summer salad.

Three-citrus vinaigrette
Zest and juice of 1 lemon
Zest and juice of 1 orange
Zest and juice of 1 lime
1 tablespoon of fresh ginger, rough-cut into small pieces
1 tablespoon honey
1 teaspoon oyster sauce
1 cup grapeseed oil (or other neutral-flavored oil)
1/4 teaspoon salt (or more to taste)
Fresh-ground pepper

Emulsify all ingredients in a blender and season with more salt and pepper as needed. Makes about 2 cups.

Spaghetti with ramps

Last week I brought myself down to the Union Square Greenmarket with the hopes of picking up some final harvest of ramps. If you've never tasted them, I suggest you put it down on your list of must-eats. Ramps are wild leeks, with a soft, almost velvety green body and a scallion-like stem that's slightly more bulbous. They taste like punched-up leeks, made pungent with notes of garlic and onions. And they're delicious. Really delicious. I had ramps for the first time a few years back at Franny's in Brooklyn, sitting at the bar eating small bites with a great glass of red (the best way to eat there, in my opinion). It was a revelation in flavor, and I never forgot it. It was prepared with great reverence, simply sauteed in olive oil with salt, pepper and a perhaps a little lemon. Reverence because with such great-tasting produce, it would be a crime to cook it to death, or cover it up with anything more than just the essentials - oil, seasoning and some acid.

Anyways, the painfully short season for ramps (3-5 weeks) fills me with longing. They appear as one of the first fresh new faces of spring, then quickly disappear as if they arrived just to announce that spring has finally sprung. I was tempted to buy up every single one that I saw at the farmer's market, just fill up on as many ramps as possible for the rest of the year. But instead I would come home with just a few bunches and savor them on their own, with eggs, or my favorite, spaghetti with ramps.

It's prepared in the simplest way, quickly sautéed and simply seasoned, with no other sauce than the oil, salt, pepper, some pasta water and a squirt of lemon. It's one of those dishes that's so simple yet so delicious that you keep looking at your plate, wondering where in the world all the flavors are coming from. Unfortunately you'll have to wait till next spring to try this recipe (no, really can't think of a good substitute for ramps), but isn't there something beautiful about waiting, anticipating what nature will provide, and eating with your head bowed to the seasons?

Some notes:

• To clean the ramps, just fill a large bowl or pan with cold water, let ramps sit undisturbed for 5 minutes, lift them out gently, then repeat a few more times with a new change of water until water runs clean. Be sure to dry well on paper towels or with a salad spinner prior to cooking.
• The bulb is incredibly yummy when caramelized, so make sure to give them time to do so. Tand the greens tend to puff up and wiggle around not unlike a worm once it hits the pan so don't be disturbed to see this.
• I've tried this dish a couple of different times, once with and once without pancetta. It was good either way. If you choose to use it, sautée a slice of rough-chopped pancetta in the pan before adding the minced stems and bulbs.
• I also liked it with a few thin pieces of shaved Parmesan. I wouldn't recommend grating the Parmesan because it'll muddle up the dish with cheesiness rather than rampiness.
• Make sure to reserve some of the cooked pasta water to add to the pan.
• Here, a video of Mario Batali making this dish with Martha Stewart. He's just so fun: Mario on Martha making spaghetti with ramps
  

Recipe: Spaghetti with ramps
Adapted from Mario Batali's recipe
Ingredients
1 pound dry spaghetti or linguini
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
8 ounces fresh ramps
1-2 tablespoons red chili flakes
kosher salt
2 tablespoons breadcrumbs
Fresh lemon wedges (optional)
Shaved slices of Parmesan (optional)

Preparation
1. Bring 6 quarts of water to a boil and add 2 tablespoons of salt. Add the spaghetti to the pot and cook according to the package direction, until tender but still al dente.
2. Heat olive oil in a 12-14 inch sauté pan over medium high heat. Separate ramps by the white root ends and the leafy green top. Add root ends to the pan and sauté until tender. Add salt and chilli flakes. At the very end, add the greens and sauté until wilted.
3. Drain pasta and add it to the sauté pan, reserving some of the pasta water. Toss gently to coat the pasta with the sauce.
4. Divide pasta evenly among four warmed plates. Drizzle olive oil over top and sprinkle with breadcrumbs and, if desired, a squeeze of lemon and some Parmesan.
Makes 4 Servings

June Lavender Festival in Beaumont, CA

Starting this weekend! I'll be slaving away in the kitchen somewhere on the last two weekends, working with beautiful organic lavender buds. This is an incredibly beautiful property, with hiking trails, fig trees, a wondrous olive grove, and what they call, "The Thousand Year Oak" tree. If any of you are out in California during the month of June, please be sure to stop by. Highland Springs Resort is in Beaumont, near Palm Springs, about 2 hours east of L.A.The festival takes place every Friday, Saturday and Sunday of the entire month. The entrance fee is only $5.

Crêpes a la Jannette

Ahhhhh... food memories. This is one of the last things I ate before the big stomach trauma, and I think in just about 24 hours, my tummy will be strong enough to revisit this happy moment in my gastronomical life.

As often is the case, the simplest things make the best meals. Here is a basic crêpe rolled in a schmear of glistening butter and strawberry-rhubarb jam, topped with a dollop of crème fraîche. The thing that makes it special is the jam, homemade by my friend Jannette. Thanks, Jannette. This made my mouth very very happy. If you don't know Jannette and worry that you can't find mouth happiness, too, never fear. A good jar of jam from a local farmer's market should suffice.

Recipe: Crêpes a la Jannette
Adapted from Jacques Pépin's Chez Jacques
Ingredients
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 egg
1 1/2 teaspoon neutral-tasting oil (grapeseed, canola, peanut)
1/2 teaspoon sugar
A little less than 1/2 cup milk
1 tablespoon vanilla

For the filling:
4 pats of butter
Good-quality jam
Crème fraîche

Preparation
1. Blend ingredients in a food processor for 8-10 seconds, until smooth.
2. Melt a generous tablespoon of unsalted butter in an 8-inch non-stick pan (I used a cast-iron pan and it worked out just fine, though a bit heavy) over high heat.
3. When butter sizzles, add about 1/4 cup of batter to the pan and swirl around as quickly as possible to coat the pan entirely with batter.
4. Cook for about 1 minute until brown and lacy around the edges.
5. Flip the crêpe over with your fingers or a spatula. Cook for another minute. When it's browned with a crunchy buttery edge, transfer to a plate into stack.
6. Spread each crêpe with a pat of butter, some jam, roll up or fold, top with crème fraîche, and enjoy!

Yields about 4 crêpes.

Note: Crêpes apparently freeze really well. I say apparently because I've never had the will-power to not gobble up every single one of them. Apparently you can make a large batch, layer a sheet of wax paper or parchment between each one, freeze, and simply defrost when you need one.

Blue Hill at Stone Barns

I'd like to share a video and some pictures I took at Stone Barns Center for Agriculture, a Rockefeller-funded organic farm near Tarrytown, NY. And for a hint of some changes to come: I also spent two days trailing (kitchen-style interviewing) in the kitchen of Blue Hill, the restaurant run by Dan Barber, the ultimate East coast farm-to-table chef.

I hate food

For three days straight it's made me ill to think about any kind of food except a dry piece of toast (hold the butter) with some penne pasta, dry, no sauce, maybe with just a dab of tomato sauce on the side. I visited the farmer's market today to see if I could rev up my appetite by the sight of some fresh Spring produce, but all I felt towards the beautiful bunches of local asparagus was neutral, removed and passionless. An odd sensation.

The stomach virus is a powerful thing to turn a food-lover like me into a hater. And aside from the inherent sadness that comes from the lack of appetite, a deep-rooted fear has been creeping up on me - the fear that this will somehow become a permanent state, that I've lost the love and feeling for food altogether. I've spent many hours lying in bed trying to think up worse things that could happen to a striving cook... of course the first thing that came to mind was Grant Achatz, the innovative molecular gastronomist of Chicago's famed Alinea, and the ironic tragedy of his tongue cancer. First his appetite was gone, then his sense of taste altogether.

Even for non-cooks, the loss of appetite represents something of a loss of zest for life. Eating is one the most immediate and primal pleasures in life. And the pleasure of being in the kitchen for me, unmatched as of yet. I ask myself if I would return to the kitchen even if I landed on a permanent state of nausea. Yes, I think I would. I couldn't enjoy the pleasure of the food itself, but there's another major factor in cooking - the desire to share and please others. But would the food be just as good? Probably not. I could cook with my intellect, using good ingredients and good technique, but ultimately food can be only as good as the love and passion that goes into it. So please, oh God, make me healthy again so I can get back to the kitchen with full love and passion...

Horseradish crème fraîche with salt-crusted beets

This is an amazing combination of flavors. So simple and elegant. The salt crust looked fun to make so I tried it, but I won't be attempting it again as it's too time-consuming for what you get as a result - pure saltiness with none of the orange and thyme flavors coming through. The horseradish crème fraîche is a keeper though, and I'm rather addicted to its flavor. Last night, I made a new batch of simple roasted beets in a 400 degree oven for 45 minutes, peeled them, and gobbled them up with the leftover crème fraîche on top of warm red quinoa. So delicious!

Note on crème fraîche: If you can't find crème fraîche, it's easy to make at home by adding 2 tablespooons of buttermilk to a cup of heavy cream. Let it sit at room temperature until thickened, up to 24 hours. You can expand or extend the life of the crème fraîche by reserving 2 tablespoons of it, and adding it to another cup of heavy cream and letting it sit again in room temperature up to 24 hours. I'm growing crème fraîche in my apartment this way now, and it not only does it allows me to choose my organic dairy ingredients, but it somehow makes me feel like I'm utilizing what's given to us freely by nature - oxygen and bacteria - to add something great to my pantry. If I can't grow a garden, I might as well grow crème fraîche, right?

Note on the horseradish: At RestoX, I've been taught to cover it in rice vinegar as soon as it's grated to keep it from changing color, which happens quickly. You just need a touch of the vinegar, enough to turn the horseradish a bit doughy, like the wasabi you get at sushi restaurants.

Recipe: Horseradish crème fraîche with salt-crusted beets
Adapted from Epicurious, courtesy of Dan Barber

Ingredients

Horseradish Crème Fraîche:
1 cup crème fraîche (8 ounces)
1 tablespoon grated horseradish (more to taste, if desired)
1 tablespoon chopped fresh chives
2 teaspoons Sherry wine vinegar

Beets:
2 cups coarse kosher salt
5 tablespoons prepared horseradish
2 tablespoons chopped fresh thyme
1 tablespoon finely grated orange peel
3 large unpeeled beets (each about 8 ounces), trimmed, scrubbed

Preparation

For horseradish crème fraîche: Whisk crème fraîche, horseradish, chopped chives, and Sherry wine vinegar in small bowl to blend. Season to taste with salt and pepper. DO AHEAD: Can be made 1 day ahead. Cover and chill.

For beets:
Preheat oven to 375°F. Mix coarse salt, horseradish, thyme, and orange peel in medium bowl. Place three 3-tablespoon mounds of salt mixture on small rimmed baking sheet, spacing apart. Top each salt mound with 1 beet, then cover all beets with remaining salt mixture, pressing very firmly with hands and forming crust around each beet, covering completely.

Roast beets 1 3/4 hours. Remove from oven; crack salt crusts open and remove beets. Peel beets; cut into 1/4-inch-thick slices. Arrange beet slices on platter. Serve with horseradish crème fraîche.