A healthy appetite

I am sick.  Nothing major, just one of those times when that little tickle in the back of your throat wins.  I was on cup of tea and bad television hour number 17 or so when my appetite started to make a comeback. You know what I didn't want?  A bacon wrapped cheese dog. In fact, I don't think I've ever heard of someone just getting over the flu wanting a bacon wrapped cheese dog. There was no desire for a 7 topping pizza, or anything with a slab of foie.  I didn't want a cupcake, or an assortment of fruits and snacks to dip in warm salted caramel.

That last one may be starting to sound okay, though.

The point is, I wanted vegetables, broth, bread.  Maybe a little cheese or perhaps an egg.  Rice would be ok.  Pasta would be fine, as long as the vegetables and the broth were there, too.  How much better would I feel, all the time, if I ate like I was just starting to feel better?  How much better would we all be if we ate like we were trying to get the vitamins in, where food was sustaining and a tonic and a reminder that we'd feel better, and with any luck we'd feel better soon?  Sometimes I wonder if we've all just played a giant trick on ourselves with our cravings.

The thing is, next week, I may be having that bacon cheese dog.  I don't know all the answers to the best way to eat food, even when I know a lot of really excellent answers on how to prepare it.  It is continually surprising to me just how vast, varied, and individual our needs for food are, and how lost each and every one of us is when it comes to the best way to eat to feel good in our own skin.

For now, I think it's good if I stick with soup.

Going Kosher

It was 1 in the morning and I was madly etching a letter B on every sheet pan. I'd already been through a long production shift and behind me the overnight bake was in full swing, but there I was, discovering my lack of Dremmel tool skills, and there I would be for a good hour. I had to be, there was no other time.

The rabbi was coming at 6 am, and he was bringing his blowtorch.

I think I had been at my job for a week when people had first started asking, "Are you going to be Kosher?"  Well, now, that was a good question.  There's a sizeable Jewish community in town.  There's a local organization dedicated to helping people make that happen. Oh yeah, and I'm making bagels.  The first problem, though, was where I was making them. A kitchen space that enjoys a wide range of clients including some serious pork people? Yeah, not so kosher.

But then we started planning out our own space - we were already getting too big to comfortably share the freezer, the walk-in and if we wanted to continue that growth, our best option was to get the space next to the kitchen and build a bakery. If we were going to do that, then, sure, why not go kosher?

So what did that mean, exactly? Well, first it meant that our Kosher certification representative came to visit the kitchen on the inevitable day there was a big pork photo shoot going on. Seriously. We're talking sides of pig laid out across three tables in all their glory. Because that's the way my life goes.  I respectfully did not offer to shake hands (Thank you, Dan, for teaching me this etiquette tidbit years ago!) we snagged my boss and went to sit somewhere pork-free.  Then, we learned what we needed to do.

One part was paperwork.  We'd already done quite a bit, chasing down Ks and circled Us on labels and considering substitutes where there were no symbols.  I heard about disreputable merchants who use false symbols and very reputable ones that don't see a need to go through the process. I learned why spice blends are more suspect than the spices themselves and how an initially Kosher product that gets repackaged by a food distributor means we better make sure the distributor is certified.  Better to go to the source. Also, all those crazy Asian ingredients in our Miso Soy Ginger bagel? Mostly not Kosher. We would have to make, boil and bake those in the other kitchen. We had to track down actual certificates for all of those products, and submit our formulas.  I wondered, briefly, if this meant that some rabbinical council had the formula for Kosher Coke somewhere. I bet they had to sign something.

Then there was equipment.  We have an advantage in having a separate kitchen, in that we can still make things for the shop with bacon and sausage (only the bagels are certified), but it meant we had to have absolute separation between all of our equipment - bowls, sheetpans, knives, bench scrapers - and the kitchen's tools. So I dremmeled my way through the wee hours.  In the morning the rabbi brought his blowtorch to cleanse the items that had been used before, and to get a complete list of all of our equipment to keep on record. They count the sheetpans. Seriously.

So, beginning just before the High Holidays, we became a Kosher bakery.  We get weekly inspections, usually during the wee hours.  I consider it a compliment that after the inspection they often ask for bagels.  I've had great conversations with some of my farmer's market friends who produce Kosher items. "Oh, did you work with Tuvia? Tuvia's great!" "Oh, we worked with Tuvia, too!"  We can't control for where knives in the shop have been, so our qualifying bagels are only certified kosher in their whole, uncut state which has caused some giggles from our customers.

In the end, was it worth the time, the expense? The little rules that we have to keep an eye on, the paperwork we need to process every time we buy bowls or want to add a new flavor?  For me it's not about their religion, or my lack of religion.  It's about wanting to bring this great stuff we make to as many people as possible.  We didn't have to change our recipes, just substitute one product for another and now there's a whole community of people who can try one of my pumpernickel bagels.  That makes it worth it for me.

Dans le merde

The rhythm in a bakery is very different. My busiest day is my first day back; Saturday, I'm taking it easy, doing some extra dishes, getting out early.

Not like the line.

Which doesn't mean you don't get weeded. You do. But this is Production in a different sense of the word. And our weeds are different. It's like a different part of the swamp.

What I hate, though, are the weeds you can see from a distance, the weeds you see coming, but you just haven't reached them yet. Knowing they are mostly unavoidable. It comes from being part of a good solid team. You would think that would make it better, right? A good team can pull together, pull through. A good team can weather the occasional outbreak of the plague or maternity leave. Yes, maternity leaves come in outbreaks. Seriously.

What a good team can't do easily, is hum smoothly along when parts of it leave permanently. Sometimes it happens, through no fault of management, economy, or Acts of God, that you lose a few people all at once. Rolling over a quarter of your production staff in a two month period? That's pretty harsh. We're dealing with that now.

And if you're a team of two, and your other half is leaving? The half that could be relied upon to pick up all those thousand little jobs which, although each was a five minute job, those five minutes added up to hours of every day? The half that knew exactly what you meant when you forgot English was your native language and gibbered about the thingy. The half that made you crazy with cleaning even as you were inspired to do better yourself. The half that let you bitch about a job you love just because you needed to bitch about something. The half that actually deserved full credit because you knew that, even if that person could not do your job, you would have problems doing your job without them? When that half leaves, even if you understand, are genuinely happy for their opportunity, and wish them all the best, how do you roll with that?

You see the weeds coming. But you know the old saying about lemons.

I'll miss you, other half. Big shoes.

Worldly Distractions

Things in the world suck right now. Talked to various family members about how much money they are no longer worth thanks to the market. The place where I live was named in Business Week as the U.S.'s most unhappy city. Another friend lost his job. I'm the only source of income in my house and we just paid rent. That cat puked on the stairs. We have new neighbors and they have a barky dog.

So, I made candy. All day.

Why did I make candy? Because I love doing it. Because it is relatively easy, requires little in the way of cash and equipment. Because there is a good effort to reward ratio. It's a skill I like to develop. There is inifinite chance to adapt, to play. I shelled and toasted my local hazelnuts for toffee. I threw some matcha in the cream for my chocolate caramels. I found inspiration for my hard candies in what I was drinking and the flavor defined the shape. I got excited with each new batch to try something more. When I looked up, I had used every silpat in the house but one, I had candy everywhere and hours had passed. And I realized, for a while, it had been ok.

I can't say we'll all be ok, I can't even say that it will get better. There may be some sort of deeper meaning to choosing lemon and bitters to flavor my hard candy, other than the fact that it tastes awesome.

Whatever the world brings, sugar is easy to clean up. Water just washes it away.

On Paying Attention to National Events

It took five of us to figure out what a football looks like so we could decorate cookies accordingly.

The weather outside is frightful...

It's pretty much the worst thing that could happen.

Imagine you are a small business owner in troubled economic times. You are doing ok, you're holding your head up above water and it's the busiest time of the year. Then during the busiest week, the money maker, the big cheese, the work until you drop time, the snow starts falling. And falling. And falling.

And the city shuts down. For days.

So what does this mean to me, lowly employee? It means that bread is still a living product. It means my detrempes are still active, the starters still need feeding. It means, in a nutshell, that I am still going to work. It means that if (when) I get the call saying, "well, you know how you said you could..." I'm already in boots getting ready for my walk.

We go in to work, however we can get there. We work a long day, but not as long as it should be, and we're vaguely grateful for the break, bittersweet. We are grateful for the work; we're decidedly less stir crazy than most of our customers, and many of our significant others. It's nice to have a purposeful way to fill the hours. There is also that tiny voice that tells us how lucky we are to be working at all. The gift for my labors was an extra day off. I'm not sure what to do with myself.

Holidays are always rough in this business. I think I'd rather have it the other end of the spectrum, though. Of course, I know that next December, when I'm completely in the weeds, I'll look back and dream of a white Christmas.

Holiday Spirits for Bakers

No, no, I'm not talking about alcohol, although I do have an idea for a Christmas punch recipe that would kick. In every job, there is that same meeting every year. "This is it don't screw it up we make all our money now and you like getting a paycheck, right?"

Something to that effect.

It's the most wonderful time of the year; where clients get even more crazy and the work gets even more hectic. Suddenly you look up and see you have stood on your feet for something like 13 hours and didn't even notice even though you have been checking timers in twenty minute intervals at least forty times. Online shopping is the only thing that is saving you from disinheritance if you remember to shop at all. Your house appears to be festively decorated with fake snow, but you know that's just flour you've brought home with you.

Embrace the spirit.

I look at it this way; eventually, the endorphins will save me. I can dread it, prepare for a month of misery and exhaustion, or I can make chemistry work for me. I will come home and bake cookies after spending all day baking cookies. I will fill the house with the scents of the season - citrus, cinnamon, clove. I will think of new ideas for festiving up our regular products while churning out what I need to. I will NOT sing carols to my coworkers every day because they have limits, and I don't know who owns a gun. I will, however, try and remember pleases and thank yous because after 15 hours that can go a long way.

I will probably crochet up a few festive hats. sorry.

And then, when all is said and done, I'll rest, and let my brain do it's thing, flooding me with chemicals that will make me say, "Hey, that wasn't so bad. It was actually kind of fun. How long until next holiday season?"

And then I will duck so nothing that got thrown at me will hit me in the face.

What you take with you.

I hate last days. I've moved around a lot, had a number of last days and given my general state of mind, I give those last hugs listening to the little voice in my head say, "I won't remember your name in two months."

Well, I am kinda bad with names.

I'm good with personalities, though. This team will set types in my head for many moons to come - the ambitious production guy, the batshit bipolar cook, the seriously mellow dishpit king, the cake girl. Some people will be beyond recasting, like the handicapped drug dealer prep cook who wants to get it on with my little sister. I won't find another one like him. But those roles will be how they live on in my head.

There's some practical lessons gained, too. Some, I will work hard to overcome almost immediately. Others I will write down, or don't even need to write down, because they are mine now, incorporated into the whole. A few recipes, too. Like that flan. Without the cockroach. Don't ask.

There is still a little part that wonders what would be if I stayed. And what all of those people would become. But they will, in their own time and place, leave as well. I'm going on my terms, and that makes it worth the wondering.

Next!

Dangerous Times in Food Photography

I confess to a certain degree of perfectionism. I'm not a neatnik, I don't compulsively wash dishes or take tweezers to my arm hair, but I am aware of details. For example, when I put pictures up for public viewing, while I may not be the most skilled photographer, I want them to look decent.
I tend to take pictures of food on my porch. Natural light is better than the nasty apartment lights in my kitchen, leafy trees make better backgrounds and overall, it makes me happy. But well, there are occasionally issues.


See, I made this lemon berry dessert. Lemon mousse, a berry gelee, almond crumble, and a nice joconde with a pink abstract pattern. I really like the joconde. Came out awesome. And the whole thing tastes pretty good. The plan was to plate, garnish, snap a shot, write something about it. I got it in my head that I would rather do a sugar curl than a tuile. So I made one with the leftover nearly dead isomalt I have lying around for practice. This is a neat trick because 1. I was warming up the sugar in my toaster over 2. This sugar is really crystalised and dead. Inevitably, I hated it. And the next one. The next one as well. Then I broke a few.... you get the idea. I get one that is passable and now it's time to plate. I have an image in my head of what I want the plate to look like, so the sauce goes on easily. Dessert on the plate, almost perfect temperature now because it has been out of the freezer for a while. On to the garnish!

Strawberry, ok, blackberry maybe... oh hey, I have raspberries! Oh, they've gone moldy inside. Skip the raspberries, we'll make do with strawberry and blackberry. Ok, half a strawberry, yes, blackberry ok, sugar curl and...

No. Plate itself looks kinda empty and I don't like the balance of the fruit (Even as I am sitting here now I have another idea that would have been better. Oh well.) Try fruit on the plate. Nope. What if I move that strawberry? Oh, well, I guess the mousse isn't frozen anymore, will have to cover that and whoops!

"Hey!"

Adult that I am, I duck in the house so the kid who just got a mousse covered strawberry on his head can't see me.

Anyway I have another strawberry and you know I think I'll use one of those raspberries that's just moldy inside; it's just for the picture. Rearrange, no no no, ah screw it, I'll just cut this one open and get an inside shot. Decision made, I decisively pop the garnish fruit in my mouth. Including the moldy raspberry.

So here's the inside of this dessert, crumbs on the plate and all. I have to go drink something.

A little knowledge in the wrong hands...

It was suggested that the kitchen really needed to jump on this whole local/seasonal/organic trend and put together a menu reflecting a deeper understanding of where our food comes from in service to our clients.

My personal favorite item was the grass fed tomato.

Grass. Fed. Tomato.