I just finished the finale of Top Chef and while in my heart I hoped for Carla, I’m glad Stefan didn’t win. That makes Hosea, a compromise of compromises, Top Chef. Oh, well, so Glad paid him $100K. Bully for them.
When I was in cooking school at ICE (Institute for Culinary Education, formerly Peter Kump’s NYCS) we had a stagiere, pronounced “staj” for short. He was working his way through school and while he couldn’t help us with our food, he brought in all the ingredients before we showed up, cleaned up after us and brought us certain things we needed that weren’t on the cart that morning (i.e. 2T cognac for a dessert).
Currently I have one stage, but her only job is to be the “first rinse” at the dishwasher so I’m basically alone in the kitchen. Jim’s not allowed in except to get ice, water and soda. Perhaps tortilla chips. But if he goes around the other side of the island he knocks over pots and pans and none of them are round anymore. Oh, my stage is the dog, Zoe. She can be helpful. I opened a Dr. Pepper bottle for Jim the other day and it erupted. I cleaned the counter, cupboards and floor. Later that day she was licking the floor, so I know I missed a spot!
One thinks only Texas dogs like Dr. Pepper, which one connoisseur likened to “Dallas’ answer to Beaujolais.” Well, husband and dog are Texan. I keep my Diet Coke preferences to myself. I hate it when a restaurant switches our beverages and as I am the official “taster,” take a swig of prune juice instead of DC!
Here’s to stagieres across the nation and world. If I’d known I’d have financed culinary school that way and learned even more. Plus kept a few cents in the bank.
I modified an old cucumber salad recipe tonight and baked potatoes to go along with our roasted chicken breasts. More chicken is available for tomorrow so I’ll figure out what to do with it. I also want to make French Onion Soup a la Julia Child in the next few days. No way I’m making my own beef stock. ‘Night now, Dee.