Ensalada De Mierda. . .

There are few things in life that are better than a cold Heineken, or the company of a beautiful, well-adjusted woman or smoking a big, fat doobie on a, er uh, watching the sunset on the beach in Central America. Yet, above all those lovely pleasures, not much gives me greater pleasure as a chef and as an eater than a well-prepared salad.

Sometimes, I just crave a good salad.

Yesterday, I had such a craving. Actually, I craved all of the above, yet life being what it is, I settled for the easiest result. The salad. The Heineken was simply a by-product.

Anyway, I selected T.G.I.Friday's for my salad option, solely because it was convenient and I knew the beer was cold. I arrived at about 9:15, rather late to eat for me, and ordered "to go" because I really was in no mood for late evening drinkers, which there were many.

The bartender was sharp and made an early impression with his quick attention, his refusal to serve a belligerent woman who had no I.D. and the fact that he stopped the waitress from bringing the other appetizer I ordered as she was going to serve it to me ON A PLATE AT THE BAR.

"To go", remember?

I paid the bill, tipped him nicely for his service and returned to the hotel with a house salad with sliced sirloin and an order of steamed chicken pot stickers. The pot stickers were great, for what they are, although the salad. . .well, let me demonstrate photographically:

Any guesses as to what this little tidbit might be?

That thing is a piece of meat.

I think.

I guess it was supposed to be sirloin. It could have been dog shit.

Dog shit jerky.

Sadly, the rest of the salad was phenomenally fresh and crisp and perfectly sublime. See the small, yellow-green, squiggly lettuce below all of the dog shit jerky? Most probably the freshest tender frisée lettuce I've seen in years.

Look at that lettuce, utterly perfect, and accompanied by the refreshing simplicity of a corn salsa to contrast the bitter greens making a delight not often trumped. Except of course, with a pile of cold, hard, dry, stringy, dog shit jerky.

I know how this happens and I shall summarize.

It's late. The cook has probably ruined one or two or ten steaks tonight. The cook is pissed, tired and ready for a drink or a joint or a meth-fueled evening beating his old lady.

Who knows?

But this piece of meat in question has a past. It sat somewhere in a dark nook or cranny around the stove for hours and 'lo and behold, here comes an unsuspecting jerkwad wanting a dainty little salad at 10:00 at night.

Well fuck him and his salad! I'm too busy scrubbing the stainless or dragging out the floor mats to give a damn about your salad. So, I know what I'll do, I'll just grab that medium rare that got sent back twice, once because it was under, the second because it was over, slap some oil on it, heat a second or two on the grill, slice and voila!!! Here you go buddy, enjoy your fucking salad!! Fuck you, I'm going home!

Well, I got news for you my little cook, I've shit out better salads than you've ever prepared and you're gonna slave away in that high volume kitchen, hating your life, wishing for better things until you quit on the afternoon the fat waitress you've had your eye on for months, who finally gave in to your overtures, confides in you that you might be the baby daddy.

And you will forever long for the day that you have your own restaurant where you can kick out anyone you don't like or mistakenly serve bacon in a salad to a Jewish lady on the eve of Hannukah with no real remorse or force-feed low grade cane liquor to people through a spout into their open mouths with heads cocked back. A restaurant where you can write your menu on a chalkboard for the evening showcasing delightful creations such as, "Evel Knievel Never Made It" or "English Peas Are Raggamuffins That Require Constant Attention" and your salad offering contains the accoutrements of, and I quote, "deep fried crickets and extra germs*" which sell like firecrackers until you 86 the salad at 7:30. Until then my dear shoemaker, you are nothing.

I however, may or may not have done all of the above, but what I can do now is forward my rather unappealing findings to the home office of T.G.I.Friday's and complain that I think I found my gall badder in the toilet after I ate your salad and maybe in a week or two, Guy Fieri and I will show up at the restaurant, get drunk, fire the staff, scare off the guests, burn the building down and dance around the inferno singing pirate songs about "pulverizing the pumpkin eaters" because I now own T.G.I.Friday's.


Well, uh ok. It's unlikely. But you, the shoemaker. . .straighten up man. Be proud of what you do and please, save the dog shit jerky for the employee meal. . .because YOU deserve it.


*the salad neither contained crickets nor extra germs but sold out by 7:30 p.m. again proving that human beings are unpredictabe animals. Maybe it was the cane liquor? Right Nils?

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The History and Hysterics of Hollandaise

Nothing says coronary heart disease better than hollandaise sauce. And nothing say heart attack more than the day a young culinarian learns the fine art of making hollandaise, especially when making it under the pressure of receiving a grade or during a polite competition against your fellow budding culinarians. Being one of the trickier sauces to make, very similar in technique to mayonnaise with the difference of having to partially coagulate (cook) the egg yolks before the addition of clarified butter instead of oil. Sounds delicious, does it not? "Sir, would you like some partially coagulated egg sauce with your filet?"

There is some discussion about the history of hollandaise with the consensus being that it originated in France (duh!) more specifically Normandy in the town of Isigny-sur-Mer and was originally called Sauce Isigny. I have read other accounts that it was brought to France by exiled Huguenots that sought refuge in Holland during the persecution of their kind in the late 1500's. Wherever the origin, it is agreed that hollandaise can be one of the most versatile and delicious sauces that can accompany a variety of meats, fish and vegetables.

Simplified, the sauce is nothing more than egg yolks, butter and lemon juice. The trick is the proper "cooking" of the yolks before the addition of the butter and the temperature of the butter. This sauce falls into an archaic limbo of things that shouldn't be too hot or too cold which can only be learned by trial and error.

So using the ratio of one egg yolk to 3-4 ounces of butter, we begin. The most careful and efficient method is working over a barely simmering pot of water, making sure that the water is at such a level that it does not touch the bottom of the bowl you are working with. And speaking of the bowl, use a sterilized stainless steel bowl with sufficient depth to accommodate the eventual volume of sauce. Sanitation is the key here since this sauce is only partially cooked, and in the home is rarely kept warm in a water bath, it is imperative that everything be clean. Bacteria loves dirt and loves you if you're dirty.

So, in your bowl and using a clean balloon whisk, whisk together 4 yolks, a pinch of salt, and about two tablespoons of water. The water will slow the cooking of the yolks, but it will increase the viscosity, the eggs will thicken as they cook and you will have to add a bit of water anyway to keep it workable. Whisk constantly while the bowl is over the water until the egg yolks thicken, becoming a pale yellow, and the approximate consistancy of mayonnaise. You can remove and replace to bowl over the water as needed to ensure that the eggs do not overcook. Remove from the water and add about a tablespoon of lemon juice. This will help slow or stop the cooking.

Next is the addition of the butter. Now, what I say next will be tantamount to blasphemy to all things French and all of my old French chefs will want to have me drawn, quartered, stuffed with a chanterelle mushroom and foie gras mousse, but you DO NOT have to use clarified butter. Simply melting butter until all the components have separated is sufficient. No one at your dinner table will ever exclaim, "Hey, what the heck are these milk solids doing in my hollandaise!" And if they do, they are not your friends and they are probably only there to get drunk on your wine anyway. So, melt your butter, keep it warm and be happy.

Yolks are cooked, so lets add the butter. Start with a few drops, whisking continuously until it is incorporated. This is the beginning of your emulsion and it will become easier from this point on. A few more drops, whisk whisk, more drops, whisk whisk, then you can begin to add the butter in a steady, thin stream all the while whisking, stopping the butter on occasion to let your arm catch up. Your emulsion will increase in volume and should it become too thick, do not hesitate to add a tablespoon or two of water to thin it out. Continue this until all of the butter has been whisked in. At this point, adjust your seasonings, salt and white pepper. Cayenne and a few drops of Tabasco if you desire. And violin!! You have hollandaise and as an unintended consequence, you arm is all pumped up for some pre-dining arm wrestling.

On the off chance, no, actually it's quite inevitable that your sauce will break while adding the butter, at least the first couple of times you attempt to make hollandaise. Or even worse, you might scramble the eggs before you even get to the butter. DO NOT FRET! If your eggs scramble, enjoy your scrambled eggs because there is nothing you can do. If your sauce breaks, then you have some options. Take a couple of tablespoons of cold water in another bowl and whisk your broken sauce slowly into the water. This is physics that only Einstein and dead French people can understand, but it works.

Your finished sauce should be quite thick, less thick than mayonnaise and easily poured. From this point and this is where it gets fun, you can transform you partially coagulated egg and butter sauce into something truly outstanding. Let's start with the classics in reverence of all things French:

Sauce Choron - added tomato product, marinara or even seeded and fine diced ripe tomatoes
Sauce Mouselline - whip heavy cream to stiff peaks and fold into the hollandaise
Sauce Foyot - add a spoonful or two of ultra reduced veal stock aka glace de viand
Sauce Maltaise - the juice and minced zest of blood orange
Sauce Bearnaise - add an au sec reduction of white wine, white wine vinegar, tarragon and cracked black pepper, the perennial classic

Beyond this, open your brain hole to creativity. Here are some others I have made before:

Sauce Pesto - add a tablespoon or two of your favorite pesto at the end, drain as much oil as you can beforehand (personal favorite: sage and mint pesto with pecorino cheese)

Sauce Burnt Toast - add a quantity of pureed chipotle peppers in adobo sauce or McIlhenny Chipotle Pepper Sauce

Sauce Grecia - add crumbled feta cheese and minced oregano

Be creative and don't be afraid to attempt this sauce because it is assured that as you read this there are several hundred culinary students sweating it out over double boilers while angry Frenchmen hover about just waiting for some shoemaker to screw up.

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