Robert Reynolds Chefs Studio

It’s national hamburger day and I’m reminded that as the day approached, from deep within my psyche, came the desire to eat burgers. Portland is a city where there are food wars, pizza wars, and burger wars. That is to say, if you like one kind of pizza, Ken’s or Nostrana, or Apizza Shoals, then you probably don’t want to talk to people who aren’t of the same opinion. It’s like religion. Or like Italian food. My friend Marietta, whose family is from Calabria says they used to have a saying, “If an Abruzzese shows up at your door with food, kill the Abruzzese but keep the food. They can cook, those Abruzzese.”

It seems there is a constant search for the perfect burger here, and everyone has an opinion at whatever price point. There’s a fast food chain in the Northwest called Burgerville. Their deal is that they use only local products, Oregon beef, Tillamook cheese, shakes made from seasonal berries, etc. They make a decent burger at the lower price range. How a burger gets to come with $15-ish ticket baffles me. My own top end burger comes from Paley’s Place, is made from hand chopped Kobe beef, and I’ll give them whatever they ask.

As is often the case, over the course of an 8-week session at the Studio, I pick up certain themes as I follow the market and the seasons in determining the menus that students focus on daily. Looking back from the perspective of the 4^th of July, I see I’ve worked menus around ground patties in various forms – Polpettini, a veal and pork patty, the way they are done in Genoa; Fricandeau, a lamb patty that comes from the Savoie; and Crepinette, a forcemeat for sausage that is wrapped in caul fat. I wasn’t deliberate about planning them, it was more subconscious.

The polpettini were lovely in that you tasted every flavor that went into them. Ground meat, bound with a little bread crumbs, butter and cream, and flavored with an unusual mix of oregano, basil and parsley. Meant to be meat balls, but made to do service as a patty, they were served with a lemon sauce and morphed into a celebration of the joys of modesty.

I used to make Fricandeau as a special at the restaurant in San Francisco. You had to lie to people; they were not going to buy anything called a patty, even on a special plate of the day. So, I would just say Fricandeau, tell them the flavors of the dish, and the sources of the products. Now I blend Cattail Creek Farm lamb with a local ham made in the style of prosciutto and serve it with a fruit mustard made from local Parson’s prunes. I’d buy that. Once you’ve eaten it you’re ready to declare that it’s the best lamb burger you’ve ever had. I’ve built my reputation on it.

The third ground meat patty showed up during this week’s classes. It had been years since I made Crepinette with Cider sauce and I’d forgotten what it was like. It’s really a preparation of sausage meat, composed of lamb and pork, and wrapped in caul. It does call for egg but no other binders, so the cooking is different. I find it a little wet so toss in about ½ cup of breadcrumbs to get the meat to firm up a slightly. As with sausage, if you go too hot and too fast, you’ll wind up with dry texture. The sausage calls for a flavor profile composed of lemon, rosemary and coriander seed, but the thing that really moves this patty into the heavenly realms is the sauce made from reduced cider, added to stock, in turn reduced, and finished with butter and whole grain mustard.

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We will be offering two 1-week cooking sessions in August, one on baking and pastry conducted by Robert Hammond, the other on cooking, with Robert Reynolds. Call if you are curious about summer school.

In September we will resume a schedule of offering day and evening versions of the 8-week cooking courses. One meets 9 to 3 daily, the other session meets 2 times a week, plus one Saturday a month. Both have the goal of making good cooks. While it’s not the goal to train everyone to go into business, it’s surprising the number of students who awaken during the course of their training here and realize they have enough skill to entertain a career change. It’s lovely to watch that awakening.

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According to memory and notes, all three of these recipes came from my days with Madeleine Kamman. Like the Abruzzese, she knows how to cook.

POLPETTINA ALLA GENOVAISE

Veal or beef, remove all fat, chop meat by hand

Saute mushrooms dry

Add to chopped meat

Along with bread crumbs

Few tbsp butter and a little cream

Flavor with marjoram, basil, parsley

Bind with egg

Season with salt, pepper

Shape into cutlets

Dredge in flour (I use the breading technique from the Fricandeau)

Fry in 50-50 olive oil butter

Sear hot and fast to keep in one piece.

Then turn heat down to cook through.

Sauce:

Butter, lemon juice and parsley

FRICANDEAU - LAMB PATTIES

1 pound lamb stewing meat, or shoulder

2-3 ounces fine ham (Prosciutto)

2 thick slices of white bread

1/2 cup warm milk

2 ounces butter

Sea salt

Ground pepper

Anglaise:

flour

egg

breadcrumbs

Trim the lamb and hand chop it with the ham.

Soak the bread in the warm milk, wringing out excess moisture. Beat the butter in the bowl of the electric mixer with paddle. Add bread and beat to incorporate. Add the meat and beat to combine. Season with salt and pepper. Shape the patties.

Arrange three flat soup bowls, one containing flour, another egg and the third bread crumbs.

Dip each patty in flour and shake off the excess. Dip in egg and wipe off excess. Finish by dipping in bread crumbs and shake off the excess. Set breaded patties on a rack.

Cook the patties in butter, browning on each side over medium flame. Reduce the heat and cook through. I like to serve these with one of Kamman’s fruit mustards and a lovely Oregon Pinot Noir

From: When French Women Cook

LAMB SAUSAGE IN CAUL

1-1/2 tablespoons garlic, poached and minced

1-1/4 teaspoons salt

1/2 teaspoon black pepper, ground

1 teaspoon lemon zest

3/4 teaspoon fresh rosemary, chopped

1/ teaspoon coriander, ground

1/2 pound pork shoulder, ground

1 pound lamb, ground

2 large eggs

Mix all ingredients. Wrap in caul fat to prepare crepinettes. As with other patties, sauce hot and fast to get a crust, then turn the heat down and cook slowly until they are done. With patties that incorporate pork, I used an instant read thermometer to verify that they are around 145oF. Pork is white meat, and white meat is cooked.

The crepinette are served with a sauce of reduced cider, added to stock and reduced again. Finish it with butter to get the texture desired, & add thyme and Calvados. Once the heat is off, whisk in whole grain mustard.

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The French say Genoise or Savoyarde for their biscuit/cakes, both being Italian references. The Italians call the same thing Pan di Spanio. I found an old recipe from Madeleine Kamman days for a cake called Pan di Genoa. What’s it mean? Basically that you’ll eat really good, old fashioned, cake. It has the finest crumb that melts in the mouth as the flavor of kirsch, added for perfume, reveals itself. The best kirsch I know comes from Aqua Perfecta, distilled by Jorg Rupf at Saint George Spirits in the Bay Area. The cake marries well with summer fruit. We in the Northwest apparently had our summer somewhere between December and April. Nature now seems to have amortized summer/winter across spring as we head to the Solstice, coming tomorrow with the promise of 60 degrees. Oh well.

Because of an absence of sun, we have perfectly developed fruit,  However, our strawberries, while red to the core, offer the thinness of flavor you’d expect in a fruit not transformed by sun. As a result of the weather my thinking has also gone retrograde and I slip back toward winter to pair with fresh fruits with dry fruit to boost flavor. Their resulting taste seems like an extraordinary gift.

The little cake called Pan di Genoa is made with ground almond flour, but without wheat flour. The technique calls for creaming butter and sugar, beating till you barely feel the grain of un-dissolved sugar. Since the whip on the stand mixer (I use Kitchenaide) doesn’t touch the side walls of the bowl, it’s necessary to scrape and incorporate the un-creamed part of the mix. The finished creamed mixture is thick, and resembles whipped cream.

Add each egg, beating for 30 seconds or so until the whipped texture is restored to the base. Don’t over-beat or the egg protein will turn liquid. Scrape again, and beat another 20 seconds. Repeat this procedure with the second, third, and fourth eggs. In the end, you should still have that thick, whipped quality to the batter.

Folding. In order to add the flour, I remove the batter to a flatter and wider utility bowl to make the job of folding more efficient. I fold in a quarter of the almond flour/ cornstarch mixture. Before there were spatulas, there were hands, and people used them for folding. You would cut into the batter with your hand, lift the batter from the center of the bottom of the bowl, and as you raise you hand, you turn it and allow the batter to fall over the top of the batter left in the bowl. It’s the weight of the scooped batter, folded over the batter in the bowl that creates one of the gentlest ways of mixing ingredients.

You start with a quarter of the volume of the flour because it’s easier for the fat in the egg-based batter to accept the dry ingredients. When you have a quarter of it incorporated, add the second quarter of the volume of flour and repeat incorporating by folding. Don’t under-fold; don’t over-fold. Like that? It means, fold till you see the flour evenly distributed. If you keep going you’re probably fixated, having a good time, but not paying attention and the cake will fail you. Judge your actions; incorporate, stop.

Cakes like these remind me of pound cakes, they are moist, dense and flavorful. I like to butter the mold that I bake them in, and coat the pan with sugar. As the cake bakes it develops the nicest crust around the bottom. The crust not only feels and tastes good but seems to help keep the cake fresh. I wrap the cake in parchment to store them rather than in plastic that seems to cause them to deflate and the lovely texture transforms to cardboard.

I bake the cake until a knife inserted into the center comes out clean. Since there is no flour, the texture of this type of cake is a little wetter and requires more time to dry out. I baked one last week at 350oF for an hour an ten minutes. I baked the same cake a second time for 50 minutes. The point is, test and bake dry.

Serve this cake with a compote of prunes, cut to the size of raisins, mixed with golden raisins, grated lemon rind, and moistened with Brandy (I like Germain Robin alembic brandy). About 5 minutes before serving, mix in good quality (i.e. no corn syrop or high speed fructose) raspberry or cherry jam until you obtain a sauce-like mix. Finish the compote with sliced strawberries. When the season advances and the cherries arrive, add them to the mix. And as the season further advances, drop out the prunes (I do so reluctantly because the tannins from local Parson’s prunes add a lovely earthy quality to the compote).

PAN DI GENOA

1.] Butter an 8-inch square pyrex dish, then dust with sugar.

2.] Cream 125 gm butter (4 ounces) and 250 gm sugar (8 ounces).

3.] Still beating, add 4 eggs, 1 at a time, beating well with each addition.

4.] Flavor with 2 tablespoons kirsch (St George Spirits, Aqua Perfecta).

5.] Fold, a third at a time: 250 gm almond flour (8-1/2 ounces)

mixed and sifted with 75 gm (2-1/2 oz) cornstarch

6.] Bake 350o for 50 to 60 minutes minutes until a knife comes out clean, and the cake crust is lightly golden. Serve with a compote of fruit. Recipe follows.

COMPOTE OF FRESH AND DRIED FRUITS

12 prunes, cut in 1/6ths

½ cup golden raisins

grated rind of a lemon

2-4 tablespoons brandy

2-4 tablespoons excellent quality raspberry or cherry jam

1 pint strawberries, sliced

1 cup cherries, pitted and halved

Put prunes and raisins in a 1-quart bowl. Add grated lemon rind. Moisten with brandy and let sit for 30 minutes to an hour. Just prior to serving, add jam, mixing with brandy to create sauce-like texture. Add strawberries and cherries and mix well.

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I have a special attachment to the simple, creamy dessert called Panna Cotta. As with love, it’s inexplicable. When I arrived at the Studio the other day at the end of Robert Hammond’s pastry session, I asked the students what they had done and the first thing they mentioned was Panna Cotta. Robert added, “I had them prepare it with yogurt the way they do at Nostrana.” We both agree that one of our favorite desserts in Portland is the Yogurt Panna Cotta Kathy Whims does at Nostrana. Kathy’s dessert is one that Josephine Araldo would say is ‘unsurpassed.’

I remember years ago being the town of Gordes in Provence. It was a Sunday and we were just ambling. There was a market that morning to distract us with food and pottery and everything between. We drifted in the most delicious manner until the idea of lunch began to tease our consciousness. Once awakened I realized if you’re not at a table in France on a Sunday at midday, you are no one, nowhere. I asked immediately at the café where we should eat, and the waiter suggested a place in Roussillon, a village not far away.

I love the little village. You can’t really drive cars in it. So when you enter the town on foot through the big portal you fall into the rhythm of another time. The cobbled street leads straight ahead to a little chapel that opens onto a postage-stamp sized square. Of the two restaurants side by side, I chose the second. We entered a long narrow room that seemed filled, so I was very reassured when the server told us we could have the last table. She led us to a spot by a window overlooking a beautiful landscape.

Once at the table, and provided with a little aperitif and some thing to much on, I settled into the menu. I allowed myself to be pleasantly distracted by the people, ambience, noise, and aromas, certain that this meal was going to be good. I watched the waitress fly out of the kitchen almost brushing against me as she passed with a tray of desserts. It dawned on me that the people who had been there first were already being served dessert. I only caught a glimpse of those desserts, and they looked very appealing. Other people also expressed interest in them. I caught mention of “Flan,” and suddenly was struck with anxiety about whether there would be any left by the time it was our turn.

I beckoned the waitress when she passed. “Oui, Monsiuer.” “I’m anxious,” I confessed. She was genuinely concerned by my ploy. “But what is it?” she asked. I explained that I’d been watching her hurrying from the kitchen loaded with desserts that everyone else also seemed interested in. I told her I realized that I was probably the last person through the door for lunch, and was afraid that there might not be any when my turn came. Suddenly she relaxed and gave me a big smile. “Not to worry Monsieur, I assure you there are plenty of them,” and she continued on with her work.

We loved every minute, every bite of our Sunday dinner in that little restaurant. Each time someone asked about the dessert, she’d reply over her shoulder, in a friendly way but without stopping, “Flan.” When our time came, it obviously wasn’t necessary to order. She knew to bring the ‘flan’ to us. It was lovely and I savored every taste. But I was a little perplexed because it didn’t seem like a normal flan. The next time she passed by and stopped to make sure I was content, I asked her what the dessert was. “Panna cotta,” she admitted shamelessly, as though she could only tell a foreigner the truth, but was forced to tell the French diners only what they understood.

At the end of the meal we were invited to the tiny three-stool bar near the entrance and were offered coffee. We had the chance to meet her and her husband, the owners of the establishment. We shared an instant and genuine friendliness, as though the barriers of language and culture didn’t matter. We discovered we had friends in common, and we’ve remained friends.  That experience is at the heart of my attachment to Panna Cotta; it’s emotional, and cannot be explained.

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Robert Hammond is an exceptional baker and instructor who will conduct a 5-day baking class beginning Monday August 16th. Then beginning September 7th he will resume a 2-day course of baking instruction he designed. His pastry course is part of a larger 8-week course offered four times a year at the Studio and taught by Robert Reynolds.

Anyone who has an interest in the pastry course Robert Hammond teaches at the Chef Studio is invited to come spend a Tuesday with us in the kitchen, or to come at the end of Tuesday class for coffee and a sampling. Email: troufood@me.com for details.

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I wrote this story perhaps fifteen years ago. I was in France awaiting the arrival of new students who came to spend two months studying cooking. Tonight I had dinner alone. The evening was closing on a perfect pale blue sky illuminated with pink clouds. I sat contented, thinking of what tomorrow would bring with new students beginning, other students continuing. I spent the past week, not arranging the farm house in rural France, but the studio in urban Portland. It has a new oven to keep the beautiful, powder blue French stove company. Everything in the kitchen was taken out, wiped clean, and reorganized.

If in the next six weeks you’re inspired to come to the Studio to spend a day and see who we are and what we do, or if you have a week to devote to learning and to focus either on cooking, or on baking, check to see if there is a place for you at the Studio. We are in a flexible mode. We are planning two one week sessions in August, so keep us on your radar, particularly if Oregon, and all it offers in summer, is your destination.

DINNER ALONE

Next week the students come, but this week belongs to me. It is time to settle, to arrange the farmhouse at Ste. Ouenne, and to readapt, to re-familiarize myself with the different world that France is. I ask myself if it is the way the evening light that falls across these gentle valleys, softening all the colors and contours of this landscape that makes me or any of us love a place. Patches of newly turned earth have been planted. The earth is exposed to sun and sky. In the morning mists it appears moist, velvety, chocolate colored. Now at evening, after a full day of warm sun, it is a radiant terra cotta, it has a golden glow.

Is the love of place tied to the reception from friends, from acquaintances, from casual contacts? At the market I find some changes. I ask the young couple selling vegetables where their parents are? They look puzzled and ask “What parents?” “But aren’t you Guy’s son,” I ask, convinced by the resemblance. “No,” the young man answers, “I’ve bought the business from Monsieur. You’re the chef from California though, aren’t you?” This is a place of continuity. My friend agrees that the young man looks just like Guy did when he started selling produce twenty five years ago. The woman who sells fish greets me as though I saw her last week. The butcher and his wife do the same. The couple who sell excellent birds, ducks, foie gras, joke with me about being alone. “When do the students come?” “How are those who were here the last time?”

The woman who sells honey explains to me her work these days. At this time of year, some of her bees take it into their heads to leave the hives and go to establish new ones. This of course would not be a good business practice for her to condone. She says the bees fill their gorges with honey before they leave so they have enough to live on for three or four days until they can re-establish their work habits and build new hives. She tracks them down, following them from flowering plants to their new nests. She finds the queen and transports her back to a hive that she has readied. And the new colony follows the queen faithfully, obediently. She says she can tell by the sound of their humming if the bees are upset and therefore whether she should wear gloves and hat. This conversation with me turns into a performance. She speaks in a voice that becomes more public as more people stop to listen in on our conversation. I take my pot of honey and my soap, wish her well, and I continue on my way. (photo:John Valls)

Tomorrow there will be students who bring so much openness to be compressed into a short period of time. They will want to know many things and there is much we will do. But this week I have the odd experience of buying only for one person. Now I reeducate my palate. I eat simple foods, well prepared. On their own they taste like what they are; they don’t need to be something else. A piece of cod from the fish vendor, cooked in paper with a little local butter is all discovery. The potatoes, new this season, taste all by themselves as though they are already loaded with butter. They need nothing additional in order to be enjoyed.

The ratatouille made from a small dice of onions, sweet peppers, tomatoes, eggplant and zucchini, is cooked with garlic in some olive oil from the mill at Maussane in Provence. The dish gets seasoned only with local salt and fresh ground pepper. I bring a little to friends who think immediately of the Midi and of summer. It is so evocative a taste and provides so clear a memory. Cooking for one person, I buy only a small pot of fromage blanc. To go with it I buy a small pot of local creme fraiche from Echire. These things give my palate an immediate sense of the taste of the season. There are gariguettes, early strawberries, and a small box lasts me through three servings. I find that the fromage blanc, topped with a little creme fraiche, sprinkled with beet sugar and garnished with these perfumed little strawberries makes the best dessert. It is much more satisfying that any ice cream, any where.

The shadows grow longer as the setting sun finds its way further west. From the top of this little hill where I sit, I see the winding roads that separate field and woods. The sound of a tractor returning from the fields percolates to my hill. The beauty of this landscape is the result of industry. It comes from hard work and diligent effort on the part of people who take great pride in making their world look the way it does - cared for, manicured, domesticated, tended. It produces an image of a world that matches their expectation, and mine.

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Based on Chef Robert Hammond’s view and experience of classic and contemporary American and European patisserie, students are introduced to the fundamental skills, concepts, and techniques used by pastry chefs today.

Special significance is placed on study of ingredient function, product identification, weights and measures as applied to baking.

Lectures, demonstrations and hands-on exercises with close instruction and supervision.

For the week-long course a sampling of the following subject areas will be covered:

[] Quick breads: include coffee cakes, muffins, scones, tea breads, biscuits and popovers.

[] Pastry dough: pie dough, pate brisee, pate sucee, pate sable, linzer dough, puff pastry, pate a choux, strudel and phyllo.

[] Cookies

[] Creams, custard and mousse

[] Souffle, meringues

[] Cake batters, iciings, fillings

[] Sauces

[] Selection and proper use and handling of chocolates used in baking and decorating

[] Sugar cooking basics

Each lesson will build on techniques and methods studied in the previous lessons.

Upon comletion, students should be able to prepare many of the basic pastry components that comprise the major building blocks of modern pastry.

For questions and information regarding dates for 1-week pastry courses in August, email: troufood@me.com

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I love that food can always be an occasion for discovery. I grew up in New England so I have a homing device for cod. When I stand in front of the fish counter and see it there, I have a hard time ignoring it. I love sole, salmon, halibut, and what the ocean provides, but when cod is available, it’s all I see.

I had the students prepare a dish last week that called for poaching cod in court bouillon, water flavored with a small dice of vegetables and herbs. The dish also called for boiled potatoes, and a handmade mayonnaise to which were added some exotic things, paprika, cayenne and the ultimate luxury, saffron. In the end when the dish was assembled, it called for herbs, basil and parsley. It seemed straight forward enough.

When a student prepared the mayonnaise, it broke. It turned out that after adding the egg to the processor, he left out a catalyst, no acid, no mustard, and no salt. All the oil had been poured in and nothing came together. I had him take it all out and start all over. Another egg went into the bowl, this time with lemon juice, some mustard and salt. With the machine on, I watched while he added the oil slowly, literally a drop at a time and I pointed out the emulsion, the thickening. When he saw that, he was then free to add the remaining oil – slowly. The oil for the second mayonnaise was the mixture from the first. The second mayonnaise worked very well. When it was done, he added paprika, cayenne and saffron. It was gorgeous.

While the potatoes simmered we cut the piece of sole into finger-thick pieces. An inch or so of water was added to a straight-sided skillet, followed by onion and celery cut into a small dice so they would cook quickly and give up their flavors. We also added parsley stems, bay leaf and thyme and let the court bouillon simmer for 5 minutes.

When ready to serve, we peeled the potatoes while reheating the poaching liquid. The serving bowls were on the counter, and all the garnishes were in place. The fish went into the court bouillon to simmer until tender. I simply waited a few minutes until I tested the fish by pushing against it with a spoon to see if it would yield. When it did, I removed it at once and started to assemble the dish.

We added sliced potatoes, sprinkled parsley and basil, and put a generous dollop of mayonnaise on top of the fish. The instruction for the dish mentioned that we could add some of the court bouillon to the dish before sending it out. It was only then that I realized that this could be a soup. I tasted the court bouillon, and was not surprised to discover it tasted like water. I quickly strained some of the liquid into the blender, added all the vegetables and from the court bouillon, and turned the blender on. While it whirred, extracting flavor from vegetables and herbs, I seasoned it with salt and knew it was going to be magnificent. I strained the liquid directly into the bowls with the fish, and then before sending it to the table, added a drizzle of olive oil. We drank a rose from Tavel, a wine region across the river from Chateauneuf du Pape in Provence. It loved the saffron and olive oil and we ate to our satisfaction.

COD IN BROTH WITH SAFFRON MAYONNAISE

Sauce:

1 cup of home made mayonnaise

1 teaspoon paprika

A few drops tabasco

1/2 teaspoon saffron

2-3 cloves garlic, minced

1 tablespoon minced parsley

Court bouillon

¼ cup tiny dice of carrot

¼ cup tiny dice onion

¼ cup tiny dice leek

4 cloves garlic, peeled

A pinch saffron

1 whole clove

1 bay leaf

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1 tbsp fresh parsley leaves

Salt and pepper

Cod fish fillets

Small red potatoes

Fresh basil

Lemon wedges

Prepare the mayonnaise. Combine all ingredients in small bowl and refrigerate.

Cook potatoes tender. Peel and keep warm.

Prepare the court bouillon.

Poach cod in court bouillon; remove to serving bowl. Strain court bouillon, saving solids and liquid. In a blender, add the vegetables from the court bouillon, then add 1-1/2 cups of poaching water and liquefy for a full minute until the mixture thickens to the texture of sauce. Season with salt, and strain to remove any fibers and keep warm.

Add potatoes to the bowl with the cod and garnish with parsley and basil. Pour the strained sauce into the bowl, finish it with a drizzle of olive oil. Put a generous spoonful of mayonnaise on the fish, a slice of lemon beside it, and serve hot.

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Judith Jones, the Vice president of Alfred Knopf, attended the IACP conference in Portland. She is the editor who shepherded both Julia Child and James Beard’s work to the American public. A fact unknown to many however, is that she was responsible for bringing “The Diary of Anne Frank” to publication. The reach, scope and depth of her accomplishments are monumental.

Under the guidance of President Scott Givot, this year’s conference in Portland broke with tradition or habit by turning responsibility for organizing it over to young people, Ken Rubin, IACP Board member, and Director of the Culinary program of the Art Institute in Portland, and Mike Thelin, chair of the Portland conference, who both shared a vision and a genuine love of place. They also had the intelligence, skill, and ability to network, pull people together, get things done, and stay true to that vision. Large conferences, for example, don’t play out without the de rigeur, 600-person rubber chicken dinner held in huge halls at convention centers, museums, or Stalinesque hotels. Portland’s organizers decided to go for a variety of small venues to exemplify Portland’s mystique. That way, they reasoned, participants at the conference would attend different events, and their varied experiences would create huge buzz. Their thinking proved correct.

When I was asked to do one such dinner, I turned at once to include two other local chefs to collaborate with me. Kevin Gibson is a colleague and friend at a very quirky café called EVOE. He is a master of pure flavors and I felt that the cauliflower soup that he often makes best exemplifies his skill. Kristen Murray, pastry chef at Fenouil, is the consummate professional. It is difficult to find words that frame her singular and exuberant expression of the food arts. We agreed she would make a Baba or Savarin, a soaked brioche dessert that would reflect season and place.

The young organizers decided to promote well-known professionals attending the conference and, referring to them as luminaries, asked each to act as host at various dinners. Madhur Jaffrey held court in one restaurant, Ruth Reichl went a cross town to another, and Judith Jones accepted an invitation to dine at the Chef Studio, a tiny venue accommodating fourteen.

As the IACP guests arrived at the Chef Studio, Andy put a glass of Apolloni Pinot Blanc in their hand, and helped them settle in with a slice of our pork, chard and prune pate, topped with a dot of violet mustard made from grapes leftover from crush. Kevin prepared the first morels of the season, so highly prized they were just short of contraband. He breaded them lightly, deep fried them to perfection, seasoned them with salt, and passed them around to be nibbled and savored.

Everyone was seated, welcomed, given an explanation of where they were, who was helping with the menu, and what the menu would be. We planned to begin with Kevin’s cauliflower soup. A dish of noodles, which I referred to as “pasta in the French manner” followed. It was a completely un-Italian noodle dish, originally from Madeleine Kamman, and served as a course as the Italians do. The noodles were sauced with mustard cream with sautéed radish leaves. We garnished the presentation with paper-thin slices of radishes sweated in butter and vinegar until tender, and we finished our French noodles with caraway seeds.

Before going on to the main course, we offered an Intermet prepared as a gel flavored with honeysuckle eau de vie, cracked pepper and first-of-the-season strawberries.

The main course called for lamb prepared with a very old fashioned sauce that I was taught to make by Josephine Araldo. It was flavored with fresh mint and wild huckleberries. Cheryl Bennett, who raised the lamb at Lava lake Farm in Idaho, was there to tell her story. The lamb was accompanied by a savory ‘cake’ prepared with blanched herbs and green leafy vegetables, pureed with a little potato and eggs and baked like a custard. The magic of the dish was that instead of the custard being bound with cream, it was suspended with pureed vegetables. The recipe came from Georges Blanc and tasted like a garden in spring. Apolloni provided us with a reserve 2006 Pinot Noir that married perfectly with the lamb.

Kristen Murray’s dessert, devised to be served like a Baba, was soaked in a floral, tutti frutti syrup perfumed with kefir lime, vanilla, mint, coriander and schezuan peppercorn. Each Baba was garnished with fromage blanc mousse; a raw, shaved rhubarb salad tossed in loveage sugar and julienned lemon balm. It was accompanied first by a warm compote of Gayles Meadows Farm rhubarb with Meyer lemon confit, second with a rhubarb and celery sorbet, and finally with a white chocolate cigarette.

We were five in the little kitchen, Kevin, Kristen, and myself. Andy served and kept everyone in wine while Amie, one of the students at the Studio, made herself available to do whatever was asked. She prepared, for example, the medallions of lamb with perfect care. Everyone did a little of everything, helped plate, serve, clear, pour wine, and clean up. Judith Jones took great pleasure watching how well we worked together.

After explaining the menu, I spoke to the group about Mrs. Jones. I asked that they make an effort not to just talk to the person next to them, but to profit from the opportunity of her company as host. I returned to the stove to work. I could tell the conversation defaulted to talking to the neighbors. I was too busy to do much about it, but found myself thinking that everyone there had probably seen the movie “Julie and Julia.” I was sure that in their circles they buzzed about it. That was only a movie, however, and Judith Jones, sitting at the same table, wasn’t. I could see them all back home telling their colleagues and friends that they’d had dinner with Judith. I imagined someone asking, “What did you talk to her about?” And I was frustrated to think they’d say “Well, I was too shy to ask a question.” When this line of thinking made me crash into a wall in my mind, I turned to Kristen, who knows me well enough to recognized ‘the look.’

I stepped from behind the stove as desserts were being prepared, and addressed Mrs. Jones. “I can’t imagine,” I began, “that you are a person who ever sought vindication for your work, but did you find something like vindication when “Julie and Julia” appeared fifty years after you’d taken what must have been a huge risk to publish Julia Child originally?”

She answered by saying that the marketing types always want to explain how things work, or how things need to be, as though they understand. Yet, no one could ever have predicted in the beginning the resurgence of interest in Julia Child after so much time had passed.

The people around the table became more animated and started to engage. Someone commented on how much they loved Kevin’s soup, noting how rich it tasted. When he told them there was no cream in it, they couldn’t believe it. I interrupted them: “Look at us. I’m all about cream and butter, and he’s thin. Believe him.”

The guests were starting to shift in their chairs, obviously curious. They asked about the making of the movie and if Judith was consulted. She told them a story about being asked to verify some “Julia-ism” the directors were trying to get Meryl Streep to say, and Judith told them Julia would never speak those words. She felt Julia would have gotten a kick out of the movie but wondered if she would have liked the representation of her. It was a fun, light story, but she brought us quickly back to understand that the movie wasn’t completely reality. She left us with the feeling that while the movie was a fun fluff piece, everyone should really read the books themselves which opened a whole arena of publishing.

As one guest said, ‘here we were randomly assembled from all strata of food life, from the legendary Judith Jones to others like me who are still finding their way in the food world, and yet we seemed like one big happy family sitting down to dinner at the end of a long day. Warm, friendly, comfortable - really wonderful.

Judith discussed the excitement of being in post war Paris between 1948 and 1951. She recalled how the French felt happy to have the Americans there. But, she was quick to add, it also didn’t take long for them to want us to leave, and to begin protesting our presence.

I had only recently learned that Mrs. Jones was responsible for advocating that “The Diary of Anne Frank” be published in America. I asked her about that. She explained that in the late 40’s she had been working in New York. She was offered the opportunity by the publishing company to go to Paris after the war to search for European manuscripts which would be published in the U.S. “When I went to Paris,” she added, “I wasn’t inexperienced.”

She described the day her boss left her with a pile of manuscripts. She was supposed to go through them and issue letters of rejection in French. When she came upon the manuscript of Anne Frank, it was in a more finished form because, at that point, it had been refused by five other publishing houses.

“I think they must have just been careless with it,” she reflected, and must have thought of it as the work of a young girl which couldn’t have been very interesting, so passed over it without examining it in depth. “I sat at my desk, opened it because the look of the girl on the cover drew me in and so I started to read. At 9 o’clock that night I was still sitting there, reading. My boss returned and asked what I was doing at the office so late. I looked at him and answered, “We’ve got to publish this.” She continued, “It was a matter of my being the right person in the right place at the right time. “

She went on to tell us that she met Anne Frank’s father when he came from Amsterdam to Paris to sign the contract. “I recall him saying that he didn’t want to sign away the rights for any movie or play because he didn’t want just anyone to be allowed to play the role of his daughter.”

The diary seemed to hold a cherished and sweet place in her memory. She was a young woman in her twenties, who by her own admission was not inexperienced, despite the fact that she had not been with the publishing company very long. Her storytelling revealed how poignant it was for her to be in that place and time. The story of Anne Frank was meant for her to publish. The experiences with both Anne Frank and Julia Child, showed how sharp her level of intuition was, and revealed a vision beyond her age and her awareness.

She was graceful throughout. When I asked if she would talk about Evan Jones, she replied without hesitation, “That’s a sad story.“ I backed away. In addition to her grace she demonstrated a fast wit. When we look at someone of her age, we forget, or are not mindful of how big a life they have to share. During the evening she spent at the table at the Chef Studio, she gave us a peek into the window of her intelligence. I told the students later, “When you are in the presence of someone in her age, and their faculties are intact, be open. They only have your interest at heart. They don’t want your job, they only want to share the benefit of their experience, their wisdom.”

When Kristen thanked her, and expressed the honor it was to cook for her, Mrs. Jones commented on how wonderful it was to watch the orchestra in the kitchen. The evening we created started and ended with the cooking, but it came together with conversations, laughter, and washing dishes. She loved watching us handle, plate, and keep the workspace in order. She missed that way of bringing an evening to a close, the way it was before dishwashers existed, and when everyone talked while cleaning up together.

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BECOMING A COOK – DIPLOMA COURSES AT THE CHEF STUDIO

Robert Reynolds offers culinary training at the Chef studio in Portland, Oregon

[] Beginning September 7th,

[] Day time classes operate from 9 AM to 3 PM,

[] Mondays through Fridays

[] and evening classes are scheduled from 6 to 9 PM

[] either Mondays and Thursdays,

[] or, the same hours Wednesdays and Fridays.

[] The evening program operates

[] two nights a week,

[] and this september session continues for 8 weeks to October 29th.

[] Upon completion of four 8-week evening sessions

[] Students qualify for the same Diploma

[] Students receive who attend the 8-week, day time session.

Robert trains good cooks. He passes on the cultural heritage he inherited first-hand from two great chefs – Josephine Araldo in San Francisco, and Madeleine Kamman in France. Robert’s students are exposed to ideas, learning to hear, see, taste, cook and go beyond - to become independent thinkers who return to their own kitchens with a solid foundation shaped by a respect for ingredients, soil and season, and supported by good skills.

Classes are small enough to offer a one-on-one transfer of ideas, as Robert drawn upon an immense fund of information and his own experience as chef and educator. In Oregon or in France, his focus reflects a love of place that is almost limitless, backed by people, products, networks and ideas.

He is an experienced restaurateur, and a credentialed Educational Supervisor. He is co-author with Josephine Araldo of From a Breton Garden, a book on regional French cooking. currently, he is working with Vitaly and Kimberly Paley on their book released in 2008.

Sessions in Portland start September 2010, and resume in January, March and May 2011.

A 2-week session is scheduled in the Fall of 2010 in France.

The next series of classes will begin early January 2011

Email for information: robeirtchefstudio@gmail.com

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A few weeks ago, Tag, Nick, Porter, Simon and myself discoverd the indulgent diet of the French Alps.  Known as the Savoie region, this area bordering Italy and Switzerland is famous for its steep, snow covered mountains and comforting food.  It’s cheese country.  Abundant dairy cows feed a thriving cheese industry: Think Tomme de Savoie, Chevrotin, and Reblochon.

So it makes sense that Savoyarde Fondue is one of this region’s most famous exports.  We used the quick melting gruyere.  It’s simple enough to make–garlic, butter, dry white wine, cheese, kirsch–but requires constant stirring so that the cheese won’t clump.  Even though the alcohol lowers the boiling point of fondue, supposedly making it less stringy, ours was very stringy.  We had no choice but to eat directly out of the pot on the stove since we didn’t have a transportable burner needed to keep the cheese at melting point on the table.  But you’ll notice it didn’t slow us down!  A lighter fondue is made by stirring in whisked eggs.

Kevin Gibson from Evoe also joined us for lunch and gave us a quick tutorial in trussing the tiny quail.

–Louissa Neumann, Teacher

THE MENU:

Savoyarde Fondue with Bread and Cornichons

Fresh Pumpking Stuffed Savoie Cabbage

Roasted Quail

Potato Cakes with Onion Confit

Apple Custard Tart

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Today I walked into the Studio around lunch time to drop off some paperwork and a borrowed plate–it seems like I’m always stopping by the Studio to return a plate or a bowl that I’d brought home weeks ago filled with delicious Studio leftovers.  I’d been sick for the past few days, stuck in my home, drinking broth and slurping noodles when I could, craving wine but drinking orange juice instead.  It was the first time I’d gone out into the world in three days.  When I opened the door I was greeted by Kristen Murray and Robert, both talking away about Kristen’s new series of pastry courses she’ll be teaching at the Studio, which we’re all excited about.  Thomas the dog jumped up to give me encouraging face licks, and as I took a few steps in, I was greeted by the smell of kitchen learning, the energized faces of five or so students, a certain appealing bustle and clank, chilled white wine in glasses, strands of long freshly made pasta nested in piles on silver trays, and plates of delicate agnolotti ready to be bathed in a steaming savory broth.  Jerry Huisinga, the mastermind behind Caffe Mingo was teaching a class on pasta and the group of students and guests had gathered around him, wine in hand, eagerly awaiting lunch. I couldn’t stay for the meal, or even a glass of bubbly, but the scene enlivened me, breathed a certain verve back into me that I’d been missing for several days.  I reminded myself: when in doubt, when holed up sick, when hustling through a gray period on a very gray day, always make time to stop by the Studio.  It will revive you, it will.

–Camas Davis, Random Visitor, Resident Studio Eater, Sunday Dinner Host

I’ll let the menu and these few photos speak for themselves.

Today’s Menu - Chef Jerry Huisinga

Agnolotti in Chicken Broth

Eight Layer Spinach Lasagne with Veal and Four-Mushroom Filling

Tuscan Apple Cake with Crackly Meringue and Homemade Mascarpone

(Wines presented by Aaron Coe at Casa Bruno)

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Class starts with a snack. I toast some bread and I soften some onions on the stove. While the onions go, I gather the ingredients for the dishes the students will prepare. That is how we begin.

Organization of the Studio is important. There is thoughtfulness to how we prepare our meals, of our mise en place, of our execution. There is a heightened level of awareness that requires six arms and two sets of eyes. But above all, it requires the quick agility of an ever-present mind, an ever-present memory. I strive to convey that. I strive for each student to fee an accountability for their implementation of the entire dish.

Knowing that, I burn my onions. That is a “hmmmm” coupled with an “oops”. Robert catches them on the stove and I rush over to either fix what I can, or start over. What onions remain translucent and sweet, I scrap out of the pot, into a bowl. They taste good. I mix them with some gruyere that we needed to use. I spread the melted cheese and onion mixture over the toast. We all sit down and discuss our recipes that we will make for the evening.

Preparation is often peppered with the winds of chaos and change, of mechanical and human malfunction. Those winds blow through the studio on a regular basis. Invariably, we can do our best to buffer against those winds, but they are perhaps one of the reasons we cook. Nothing keeps us on our toes better. We should also credit the invaluable gift of “reparation” that follows preparation gone wrong. At the Studio we teach preparation, yes.  But through the course of classes we learn that creating something beautiful because something else traveled off-course is just as valuable.

Preparation and reparation.

–Blake Van Roekel, Teacher

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A few Saturdays ago, students Nick, Tagg, Porter all met me at the Chef Studio in the morning. Heavy rain was predicted, so we drove over to the market as soon as we could. As I usually do, I first walked them through the market without buying, checking out what looked wonderful, pointing out interesting sights to the students, and talking to the vendors. We had a great talk with the Hood River Organics vendor, who sold us two varieties of apples for our tart, one of which was pink-fleshed. Then we scored some late-season Roma tomatoes at another booth. And finally, we headed over to Gales Meadow Farms, where Annie gave us an overview of everything they’re growing and had us taste different heirloom peppers. We particularly loved the many squash varieties, and picked out a couple of Uncle Davids to use that day.

Other interesting conversations with farmers included one about fall- vs. spring-harvested artichokes (they lose much of their choke and become more squash-like in flavor this time of year), one about picking out the first-of-season Brussels sprouts. We also picked out a little present for Robert: huckleberries.

Jake Greenberg of Classic Foods met up with us. We picked up a pound of his famous butternut squash gorgonzola ravioli, by far his best-selling pasta (I believe he said he sells more than 70,000 pounds of it a year!). We also visited the mushroom vendor, where Jake talked about the differences between wild mushrooms and their various grades. We purchased some gorgeous porcinis and chanterelles, then headed over to another booth to look at their leeks and fall greens. Fortunately for us, it was a large covered booth, because it was then that the skies opened up and we were deluged. The rain quickly flooded the market street, and when we finally made a break for our car, it was deep enough to come in over the tops of my clogs.

Damp but happily laden with our treasures, we headed back to the studio. There, we made lunch for Robert, utilizing our finds as well as some lovely puff pastry Kristen and her class had made earlier for us. Our menu:

Tomato soup with crème fraîche
Leek, porcini and Uncle David squash turnovers
Butternut squash gorgonzola ravioli with a sauce of shallots, chanterelles, riesling and cream
Apple rosemary tarts

I do wish we had photographed the dishes, particularly the apple tarts, which were stunning with the contrast between the pink and white apples under their apricot glaze, flecked with bits of fresh rosemary. But it was a lovely day, and the students are a pleasure to work with: competent, curious, and a lot of fun.   –Caroline Lewis, Teacher

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