Monday, September 25, 2006

Waltzing with Wüsthofs


There is a scene in the 1990 film Goodfellas in which Paulie (Paul Sorvino) is preparing garlic to be used for tomato sauce. He is sitting down, hunched over a table, and it is as though nobody else is in the room. He uses a razor and slices the clove slowly and deliberately, with his left hand perched on the side of the table to steady it. He is a study in concentration – his eyes are focused completely and entirely on the application of the blade to the garlic and he holds his breath each time he brings the blade down – and produces transparent panes of garlic so thin that they “liquefy in the pan”. I think of this scene often, especially when I am prepping – for Rome may burn and the Bastille may be stormed, but I’ll be damned if anyone gets in the way of me chopping garlic.

I was thinking of this scene earlier today as I pulled dinner together from what I had in our depleted kitchen. I had been out of town for a week and Clayton had somehow survived without a grocery run. I had garlic – for what is a kitchen if it does not have even that – but not much else, and I did what I could. For a razor I had my chef’s knife, and as I sliced through the garlic I became aware of that sensation one gets when working with a familiar implement. It is comfort, almost, wielding my knife; but it is also power and strength and art and creativity all at the same time.

I have a Wüsthof Classic 8” Chef’s Knife, and it has served me well over the last year. I chose it for its heft, and the feeling of grandeur it gave me to hold it. The blade sharpens easily, and keeps well. It has claimed my blood only one time, and the knife and I have settled into a easy marriage of sorts. I thumb the blade without fear, and I sometimes take my eyes off the board. I can do those things now. Some day I will move on to bigger and better things – for like all enthusiasts in the culinary arts I lust after good Japanese steel. I long for the day when Hattori Hanzo will custom-make me a sushi knife. Until then I have my Wüsthof, and for now I am content.

As knives go I suppose I have been spoiled by the days living with Jose – when I had a whole bagful of his to choose from. He too had Wüsthofs – among others – and, as a dutiful student of the culinary arts, kept his steel clean and sharp. He respected the knives, and in return they did what he wanted in the way that he wanted it done. He taught me the claw technique, which I bastardized in my own use; and he showed me the proper way to cut an onion. To this day I prep as he does – he never cut so much as an onion without making a plan for the whole meal, and he never started cooking until everything he needed was cut and prepped. The plan, the prep, and the actual cooking – these were three distinct stages which had to follow one another in their entirety and could not be compromised. He would pull out everything he needed from the four corners of the kitchen and lay it on the counter; and after a flurry of his blade he would have his mise. Then, and only then, would the first fire be lit.

I hold the knife by the bolster – that thick metal piece joining the handle and the blade – pushing my hand obstinately into the finger guard, with my index finger straightened over the top of the blade. I do form a claw with my left hand, but at a forty-five degree angle to the blade rather than the ninety that I was taught to. Holding a knife gives me an adrenaline rush, and to feel the blade going through a leek or an onion or a pepper is a thrilling sensation. Rather – if your knife is sharp enough – you do not actually feel it going through, but only think that you do, and it is enough. Those in the know will understand completely that after using a good, sharp, well-weighted and well crafted knife there is no way of going back to a dull or unwieldy one – that feeling of holding a blunt blade as it crunches slowly through the leek or onion or pepper is one of unspeakable disappointment.

If, though, using a dull knife is unspeakably disappointing, then the thrill of a sharp one is quite indescribable. Jointing a chicken for example, or should I say jointing a chicken well, is perhaps one of the more satisfying tasks of those performed in the kitchen. To feel the blade of a carving knife slide easily through the flesh of the chicken, missing bone and joint altogether, sets my hair on end. I feel forceful and destructive, and entirely capable of bloody murder; but at the same time like a craftsman – delicate and elegant, unhurried and deliberate – turning a matter of a quick seconds into what feels like an eternity in paradise.

As I minced the garlic for dinner it was all I could do to keep from smiling each time the blade made its systematic thuds against the chopping board. I rocked the knife back and forth, and as my wrist moved I gradually lost the sensation that the blade and my hand were separate. I felt like an artist does in front of his canvas, and like a brute does in front of his victim; and there was no calculation whatsoever on my part as I simply did what should be done.

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A Point: The very end of the knife, which is used for piercing
B Tip: The first third of the blade (approximately), which is used for small or delicate work
C Edge: The cutting surface of the knife, which extends from the point to the heel
D Heel: The rear part of the blade, used for cutting activities that require more force
E Spine: The top, thicker portion of the blade, which adds weight and strength
F Bolster: The thick metal portion joining the handle and the blade, which adds weight and balance and keeps the cook's hand from slipping
G Finger Guard: The portion of the bolster that keeps the cook's hand from slipping onto the blade
H Return: The point where the heel meets the bolster
J Tang: The portion of the metal blade that extends into the handle, giving the knife stability and extra weight
K Scales: The two portions of handle material (wood, plastic, composite, etc) that are attached to either side of the tang
L Rivets: The metal pins (usually 3) that hold the scales to the tang
M Handle Guard: The lip below the butt of the handle, which gives the knife a better grip and prevents slipping
N Butt: The terminal end of the handle

***Courtesy of Wikipedia

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Thursday, September 14, 2006

Death in the evening

Fall is the best season to cook meat in. The weather accommodates both grilling outdoors and slow roasting indoors, and the wealth of options possible is greater than at other times in the year. I take much comfort in trotting out the old favourites in my recipe book, especially the ones I associate with lovely memories of our Friday dinner parties that one fall when Morgan and I first started cooking together. Margaret came to visit this past weekend and we planned and made a lovely dinner for seven – complete, of course, with a vegetarian option.

There are moments in time when you are doing something you love and you feel you cannot be touched. Sportsmen call this being in the zone, and it is a great and glorious thing to experience and behold. Yesterday in my kitchen – a kitchen I have been cooking in for almost a year now – I had a heightened, somewhat different, awareness of my entire space and I worked with passion and honour. Without realizing it I was thinking three or four steps ahead subconsciously and I moved with much certainty. I did the right things in the right way, and I was proper and honest and sure and the result was quite a tasty meal indeed.

I invited Amanda because she is such a delight, and Clayton because he pays rent here as well; and Margaret had three friends that she also invited. Margaret loves mussels, and I made those in her honour; as well as a whole roasted leg of lamb with plenty of garlic and fresh rosemary and mint, that I could not take my eyes off the entire time it was cooking. Big, hearty haunches of meat always make me weak in the knees, just a little bit, and I die a little death every time. It is a happy death, of course. I made the caramelized onion and apple tart that is my favourite vegetarian option; while Margaret also made a salad of greens with red onion and apples and toasted pinenuts, dressed in a ginger-balsamic vinaigrette.

There is something about a dinner party that excites me no end. Last night there was much chatter and pockets of conversation and wine glasses clinking, and we had a ball. At one point I leaned back and smiled while thinking to myself that these were grand times we lived in. Margaret made strawberry shortcake for dessert which was simple and extremely satisfying, and Clayton made us all coffee to close our palate. It was a perfect dinner, with nothing missing, and I enjoyed myself greatly.

Mussels in Saffron and White Wine Broth

1 bag of mussels
1 tsp saffron threads
1 bottle dry white wine
3 strips bacon
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 large leek, chopped
2 cups chicken broth
Healthy sprinkling of Old Bay
Half as much paprika as Old Bay
Half as much cayenne as paprika


Clean the mussels, picking out the bad ones, and leave them in iced water while making the broth. Pour the white wine and the chicken broth into a large mixing bowl and steep the saffron threads in them. This should ideally sit for about 20 minutes.

When ready to make the broth, fry the bacon in a large pot to a crisp. Starting soups and sauces off with bacon adds so much flavour and smoky goodness, it is a wonder people do not do more of it. When the bacon fat has been rendered, take out the bacon strips and set aside. Add the garlic and leek to the pot and season with the spices. Cook for about five to six minutes and then add the broth. Simmer the mixture for a while – ideally for 15 or more minutes – then add the mussels to cook. Remove them when they open and serve in bowls of the broth.
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