Things Only A Chef Can Say
"Do you want to try my salami?" Yeah, I actually got asked that and yes he meant actual salami you dirty minded people. (Insert giant grin) It still has to be one of my favorite quotes from working in a kitchen. As I decided what to make for dinner tonight, I noticed I still have a bunch of meatballs in the freezer so I thought I'd do something with them. Which inspired me to hunt down a recipe, which then inspired me to blog, and then inspired the title. I was going to title it "How do you meatball?" but that seemed a bit of a stretch. So, I thought in between the recipes I'll be attempting I'd post about some of my more humorous stories of commercial kitchens and waiting on tables. At least one of these will make you smile if nothing else.
The story behind the salami is pretty simple. I walked into work one day and we were having a special that included pasta with a type of salami in it. My chef at the time never did things halfway when it came to food. Not that any of my chefs ever have. So he went out and found the most gourmet salami he could find in our tiny valley. Which considering how small the valley is the local grocer has some pretty amazing things. (Sadly fresh sushi is not an option, I missed it terribly while living there.) When he was telling me what was in the special, he asked if I'd like to "try his salami." I simply raised an eyebrow for a moment. He promptly went as red as a beet, and back tracked as fast as he could. "That's not what I meant, I promise that's not what I meant!" Seeing him in such distress over it I couldn't hold a straight face for very long and started laughing to hard to even try to eat said salami. Eventually when he figured out I wasn't offended in the least, he joined in the laughter before slicing each of us a piece to try. To be fair, it was pretty amazing salami.
Another of my chefs was infamously known for being terrified of mice. For example, a kiwi rolled across the floor and he went from a stand still on the ground to on the 3.5' counter in a single bound. No joke, this guy could move. And not just because of mice. As he was breading fish one day, he began to tap dance, not entirely unusual for him. After accidentally knocking half the pan on the floor, he simply dumped the rest and tap danced through the fish and flour. I also discovered that Yucan potatoes explode on impact after being baked from this same chef. Oh, and lamb burgers hurt when hurtled through the air at high speed and with deadly accuracy. But of all the stories I could tell of this chef, who is a hero in my book for being a guy, a beautician, reads romance novels, and is just as happy to watch chick flicks as horror or action movies, my favorite is by far is the time that I was off shift and eating the plate of dinner he handed me (he always made sure I ate before he left. And sent leftovers home. Pretty sure I gained like 15 pounds that summer. Then again he taught me to never trust a skinny chef.) at a table with Mouse. We can hear him letting his daughter know he's on his way home and asking if she needed anything. Next thing we know as we hear the phone hit the cradle he's coming through the door of the kitchen, which is on the opposite side of the kitchen as the phone. And before we can blink, he's across the opposite end of the dining room. I still think to this day the man is superhuman. When our eyes actually caught up to him, the only thing out of his mouth was "mouse." Nothing else. Not a word more. I just realized the irony in calling our dishwasher Mouse and our chef who was deathly afraid of mice. Never even crossed my mind until I sat down to write this post.
While this is certainly barely scratching the surface of the kitchen tales I could tell you, I had best post the recipe I am about to attempt. Homemade BBQ sauce and meatballs with roasted potatoes, and some kind of veggie. I haven't decided what to do with the last part as of yet. So here goes nothing. For the record I haven't attempted this as of yet, but I have a good feeling about it.
BBQ Sauce of Some Kind
Tabasco sauce
tomato sauce
tomato paste
white vinegar
garlic (of course)
worchestershire sauce
onion powder
a touch of sugar
and a pinch of chili powder
So there ya have it. Play with it to your hearts content. Well, I'm off to my yoga everyone. Good night bloggers wherever you are.
The story behind the salami is pretty simple. I walked into work one day and we were having a special that included pasta with a type of salami in it. My chef at the time never did things halfway when it came to food. Not that any of my chefs ever have. So he went out and found the most gourmet salami he could find in our tiny valley. Which considering how small the valley is the local grocer has some pretty amazing things. (Sadly fresh sushi is not an option, I missed it terribly while living there.) When he was telling me what was in the special, he asked if I'd like to "try his salami." I simply raised an eyebrow for a moment. He promptly went as red as a beet, and back tracked as fast as he could. "That's not what I meant, I promise that's not what I meant!" Seeing him in such distress over it I couldn't hold a straight face for very long and started laughing to hard to even try to eat said salami. Eventually when he figured out I wasn't offended in the least, he joined in the laughter before slicing each of us a piece to try. To be fair, it was pretty amazing salami.
Another of my chefs was infamously known for being terrified of mice. For example, a kiwi rolled across the floor and he went from a stand still on the ground to on the 3.5' counter in a single bound. No joke, this guy could move. And not just because of mice. As he was breading fish one day, he began to tap dance, not entirely unusual for him. After accidentally knocking half the pan on the floor, he simply dumped the rest and tap danced through the fish and flour. I also discovered that Yucan potatoes explode on impact after being baked from this same chef. Oh, and lamb burgers hurt when hurtled through the air at high speed and with deadly accuracy. But of all the stories I could tell of this chef, who is a hero in my book for being a guy, a beautician, reads romance novels, and is just as happy to watch chick flicks as horror or action movies, my favorite is by far is the time that I was off shift and eating the plate of dinner he handed me (he always made sure I ate before he left. And sent leftovers home. Pretty sure I gained like 15 pounds that summer. Then again he taught me to never trust a skinny chef.) at a table with Mouse. We can hear him letting his daughter know he's on his way home and asking if she needed anything. Next thing we know as we hear the phone hit the cradle he's coming through the door of the kitchen, which is on the opposite side of the kitchen as the phone. And before we can blink, he's across the opposite end of the dining room. I still think to this day the man is superhuman. When our eyes actually caught up to him, the only thing out of his mouth was "mouse." Nothing else. Not a word more. I just realized the irony in calling our dishwasher Mouse and our chef who was deathly afraid of mice. Never even crossed my mind until I sat down to write this post.
While this is certainly barely scratching the surface of the kitchen tales I could tell you, I had best post the recipe I am about to attempt. Homemade BBQ sauce and meatballs with roasted potatoes, and some kind of veggie. I haven't decided what to do with the last part as of yet. So here goes nothing. For the record I haven't attempted this as of yet, but I have a good feeling about it.
BBQ Sauce of Some Kind
Tabasco sauce
tomato sauce
tomato paste
white vinegar
garlic (of course)
worchestershire sauce
onion powder
a touch of sugar
and a pinch of chili powder
So there ya have it. Play with it to your hearts content. Well, I'm off to my yoga everyone. Good night bloggers wherever you are.
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