'A Celebration Of Wine' - Another Successful year!

Unless you've been flat-out ignoring my posts, you're most likely aware that I'm heavily involved with planning and organizing 'A Celebration Of Wine.' This wine-tasting event always falls on the first Sunday in June, and is a fundraiser for the Viticulture & Enology department at FSU, and is one of the most enjoyable events I cater! Besides the fact that I know many of the VIP's, I finish cooking before the actual event even starts so my crew and I always get to enjoy the full festivities.
This year, my Perpetual Sous-Chef, Rithy Nuon couldn't help me out because he has his hands full with his newborn daughter though he said he would have loved to have gone. Did I also mention that he has a 3 year old as well? Yep... he has his hands full these days.

So since I needed an extra hand, I circled the wagons and contacted a gentleman who follows my blogs and is a self-proclaimed "grill enthusiast." Dustin Cunning and his Wife, Kelly stepped in and helped me out tremendously. Dustin wasn't just blowing grill smoke when he says he can work the grill - he suffered through 100 degree heat over a super-hot grill to perfectly cook more than 200 Angus beef sliders without a single complaint, and after that torture he said he'd love to help out next year! Well Dustin, consider yourself hired...
Kelly and my Wife, Amy arrived early to set up and decorate the tables and of course they did a great job. I can honestly say that this year was probably one of the smoothest years ever, and I owe a huge thanks to my team!

Let's talk about the food...
When I planned the menu this year, I did so with an amount of bravado that I haven't had in years past. For the first time in ACOW history, I decided to take a few grills out and cook on-site. Normally, I cook everything in advance and then hold it in a hot-box, but I really wanted to step things up this year for the VIP's. This meant that I had to deal with lugging out an extra 250 lbs of equipment but in the end, it was worth it. The patron's enjoyed Angus beef sliders, grilled salami skewers and Thai chicken satay right off the grill on top of some great artisen cheeses, a pesto bar, prosciutto-stuffed mushrooms, fresh fruits and berries and of course Fresno State's award-winning wines! I spared no effort this year and even made stone-ground mustard from scratch. It was definitely one of the best spreads I've ever put out, and the squirrels inside my head are already pounding rocks together for next year!

"This is a wine-tasting event, right?"
YES! And let me tell you, there were some fantastic wineries pouring this year! With more than 80 wineries in attendance, there was no way I could visit them all (and if I had, I wouldn't be able to remember anything to write about...), so let me tell you about some of the highlights. I've been really impressed with the Blossom Trail Wineries these days and two of them stuck out as winners in my book. Z Wines and Ramos Torres both had me coming back for more and I would have honestly been happy enjoying their wines all day (I actually HAVE enjoyed Ramos Torres at their tasting room on more than one occasion...) Z Wine's Tempranillo is a delighfully refreshing red with a full body and just the right amount of tannins. Ramos Torres' Conversations blend literally had me coming back for thirds... and fourths... and fifths... (thanks Fabian!). Other standout wines (that I remember) were Norman Vineyard's Cabernet Sauvignon, Castoro Cellar's Sauvignon Blanc and a suprisingly delicious Rose from Engelmann Cellars. Yes, rose... I've never been a huge fan of rose but my winemaker friend Bret Engelmann managed to impress the heck outta me with his new vintage. I enjoyed other great wines as well, but I was really trying to focus on some of our local wineries, and I'm glad I did. Kudos to all wineries that showed up to pour and we're looking forward to you all coming back next year!

I also need to mention some of the great food (besides just mine...)! Even though restaurant attendance was down this year, those who showed up were busy putting out some incredible food. My friend Chef Karsten from Erna's Elderberry House brought his absolutely exquisite duck pate and served it on butter leaf lettuce cups (nice touch Chef...), Chef Vatche from Cracked Pepper Bistro was serving up his famous bread pudding, Chef Scott Sauer from Max's won my vote for "best steak skewer" with marinated mozzarella, grilled New York strip and cherry tomatoes, the guys at Roe were giving out some very refreshing sushi and of course, Joyce at Sadie Mae's Catering was busy serving up their popular barbecue dishes! Nobody left hungry and if they did, it was their own damned fault...

Also, as promised here's a picture of a dog dyed to look like a circus animal...

Wingstop - A Good Example of Bad Marketing...

Before I continue, let me preface by saying that it is not normally in my character to criticize any restaurant, local or otherwise, but Wing Stop rubbed me the wrong way today with their bait & switch advertising. I should also say that I did not eat their food, so this rant is entirely based upon a marketing campaign that went horribly wrong...
Friday afternoon, I go out to my car and find a flier under my windshield wiper. Now I'm not against fliers under my windshield wiper; I simply find them to be another form of junk mail. Actually, I was rather pleasantly surprised to find that the flier contained a couple of nice coupons so I decided to keep it on my desk for the following week. You see, I'm all about the wings... I love wings! I wish chickens were born with a few extra sets of wings so they'd be more readily available... Back on track though, I held on to the flier because I fully intended to stop in sometime this week (like today) and try them out. The two coupons promised "One Free Side with Any Wing Purchase" and "Five Free Boneless Wings with the Purchase of Any Regular Wing Order." Perfect, I could order a ten pack of wings, get a side and five bonus wings to boot. Heck, if they had good wings, I might even blog about how great they were! But no... when I placed my order, I was told that the coupon expired on Sunday. WHAT KIND OF SHIT IS THAT?!!! Litter an entire office parking lot with junk mail that turns out to be useless?!! Really?!! What's even better is when I told the person "Never Mind, I'll cancel my order", he nonchalantly said "Whatever Dude..."

Let's just break this down and look at this from a marketing view:

• Fliers under Windshield Wipers - I'm not against this type of guerilla marketing, but a lot of people resent some unknown person(s) molesting their cars. Any number of things could happen from a sensitive alarm going off and draining their battery, a hot windshield could crack, paint could get scratched by a careless canvaser and of course, it becomes the responsibility of the automobile owner to discard of the flier. Never a great idea, but in some cases it does work. Not smart...
• Targeting Business Complexes on Friday - What kind of brilliant minds decide to promote lunches to a business complex... at the end of the week? FYI Wing Stop: People go home during the weekend. Why not try hitting the complex on Monday when people are thinking about what they're going to have for lunch on Wednesday? Not smart...
• Set Realistic Expiration Dates People! - So you went to all that trouble of killing all those trees, you paid some minimum wage guy to manhandle our cars, you did so KNOWING that the complex was going to be a ghost town during the weekend and yet you printed the expiration date as being Sunday?! What's even the point? Seriously... Typically, a published coupon has a shelf-life of at least a month; otherwise it's better to just run a radio or online promotion. All you've done here is paid for printing that netted you zero results. I'm willing to bet that when you crunch the numbers, the coupons amounted for nothing sales-wise. Not smart...
• Not Honoring Coupons Expired by Less Than One Week - I know, I know... Coupons and promotions can be ended at any time by the distributors discretion, but this type of marketing is a form of "bait & switch" that really pisses people off. You distributed these with the intent to get people inside your door and then you tell them that they can't use the coupon? I guess you figure that once they order, they feel obligated to stay and pay... not me though. I really did want to try your wings, but I  resent the fact that you used this type of "scheme" to get me in the door. Yes, I cancelled my order when I found out I wouldn't be getting the five free wings. I know it sounds like I'm cheap and petty but... what you didn't realize was this was my way of letting you know that if you only had honored my coupon, you may have developed a loyal customer. Instead, you sarcastically mumble "Whatever Dude..." Well that cinched it! YOU don't WANT my business! Hey "Whatever Dude..." guy, fuck you. I complained about you to your corporate website, posted about your rudeness to your company's social media pages, blogged about it on pretty much all of my blogs and I'm planning to let as many people as possible know just how much you "care" about your customers. Don't ever mess with a Social Media Director / Blogger. Not smart...

Okay, I'm done ranting. In a nutshell, great things are happening for Chef Delaney, life is great, Wing Stop is bad and I'll try to talk at the Cutting Board in a few days about Chinese People dyeing their dogs to look like circus animals or something like that. In the meantime, feel free to chat at me on Facebook or check out my newest blog, "Fresno Unchained" on Valley411.com!

VIP Menu for the 2010 A Celebration Of Wine!

Every year, I have the privilege of catering the VIP Tent at A Celebration of Wine and it's an event I really look forward to! 

(Insert shameless plug here) A Celebration Of Wine is a benefit held every year on the first Sunday in June to raise funds for the Vincent E. Petrucci Library at Fresno State University and is Central California's most prestigious silent wine auction. Last year, more than 80 of California's finest wineries and more than 30 of the central valley's best restaurants sampled their fine wines and cuisines for the attendees, and everyone enjoyed the atmosphere at the scenic Borba Family Ranch. Tickets cost just $70 and are available by going to http://www.acelebrationofwine.com. (End shameless plug...)

For those of you who have been to A Celebration Of Wine, you know that the VIP Tent is reserved for those patrons who help financially support the event either by sponsoring at a certain level or by spending a certain amount on the silent auction. In my 7 years of catering the event, I've come to know certain "regulars" whom I see year after year and I always make a point of observing what they enjoy and what they don't. I then use that info to create the next year's menu, and this year I'm planning to do some good stuff!

On the Menu...

• Prosciutto-stuffed jumbo mushrooms
• Chicken satay w/ Chef Delaney's signature Thai peanut sauce
• Bruschetta bar w/ assorted pestos and toppings
• Angus beef sliders w/ sauteed wild mushrooms
• Seasonal fruit and cheese platters
• Balsamic-glazed salami skewers w/ vidalia onion marmalade
• Pulled-pork sliders with Chef Delaney's signature smoked peach & chipotle BBQ sauce

Be sure to try to make it out to this event if you're a fan of food and wine! For a complete list of restaurants and wineries that are participating this year, check out A Celebration Of Wine on Facebook. For complete information about the event, visit their website for details!

If you're a Chef who wants to keep his job...

Don't allow yourself to get sick - ever. Getting sick is the worst thing you could ever do to your "loyal" employer. You have the sniffles? A fever? You've lost a limb to accidental amputation? That doesn't matter one bit - if you like your job, get your ass in to work right now! How dare you get sick! What the hell were you thinking anyways?! Getting sick on company time... what kind of employee are you?!
Unfortunately, this attitude exists among some restaurant owners, and getting punished for being sick is a likely possibility. If you work as a key employee for a busy restaurant, you cannot afford to be sick because your ass will get replaced in a New York second. Don't believe me? Listen to this story...
I had been working for a year at a nice nieghborhood Italian joint where we tossed our own pizzas, broiled some great steaks and ran authentic weekly specials such as Osso Bucco and Cartoccio Tutta Mare. I ended up as the Executive Chef very quickly and decided to do whatever it took to build my name up. Unfortunately, the Owner had plans of her own and sold the place to a shady Armenian guy who made it his life's mission to make my life pure hell. First thing he did was to fire my entire kitchen staff under the guise of bringing in more experienced cooks from Italy. Guess what? They never showed up. Problems with thier geren cards I guess (if they even existed in the first place). In the meantime, my workload increased from a mere 50 hours per week to having to fucking live there. Six days a week, I was working from 9:00 a.m. to 2:00 a.m. - alone!!! Needless to say, it got old really fast. Where were these fucking Italian OTB's?! Every time I asked, the new owner had a new excuse but kept assuring me that they were on their way. So I stuck it out... Three months of this bullshit and my life had become an unhappy blur. Here I was, a first time Executive Chef trying so very hard to build a reputation and I had everything working against me because of this jackass's greed. He was literally working me to death. I was expected to do everything! And I gladly did!!!
The point I almost gave up was when he decided to change the concept of the restaurant from Italian to Armenian cuisine. Nothing against Armenian cuisine but WTF?! Seriously?! Now I was expected to spend 90% of my life making schwerma and kebobs?! Again, not putting down Armenian food but... WTF?!
I wasn't the only person who felt strongly about the menu change. Within a week, our customers were falling off faster than Jay Leno's Facebook fans. Regulars who had been coming to us for years to get the same calamari friti, gravy, minestrone and brick-oven fired pizzettas were all the sudden told that they couldn't get those items anymore. However, the eggplant and cous-cous appetizer was good... Bye-bye business! We'll miss you!
Still, I stuck it out though. Why? Hell... I'm not even sure. I hated my job by that point, hated the menu and was tired of being forced to work 90 hours a week. Now, here's the REAL point of my story folks. Do you know what happens when you work an entire kitchen by yourself for 90 hours per week for the duration of more than half a year? First off, you start to look like one of those experimental lab monkeys they pump full of heroin and cancer cells. Second, you start to get punchy... real punchy. I had more than my share of fights during that time and started to "self-medicate" just to appear normal. I lost more than 20 pounds during my last month working there and eveloped a very nasty chest cold. I ignored it the best I could for a few weeks until it literally almost killed me. The week before I had to be taken away to emergency was a complete and total blur. For more than four days, my fever was more than 102 degrees and eventually I passed out on the line. Yep, right during the middle of a busy dinner service I got dizzy, tried to grab the counter and went down like a ton of bricks. I don't remember anything between passing out and being in a hospital bed with tubes in me but when all was said and done, I was severely dehydrated, my electrolytes were completely out of whack, my insulin levels would have made a diabetic cringe and I turned out to have bronchitis and pneumonia. I was in horrible shape. Overworked, malnourished and generally exhausted, the only thing I could worry about when becoming coherrant again was whether or not I still had my job.
I called my boss and told him the Doctor had informed me that I would be out of work for a month but I would be back in a week, and he told me not to worry about it. He said that he would put on the Chef's jacket and work through it while I got better and I believed him. I did show up in less than a week (against Doctor's orders) to find that a new face was in the kitchen. I had been replaced...

That entire experience was a real wake-up call for me about employer loyalty. I had compromised my health for this jackass who couldn't even wait a week while I was busy trying not to die. After that whole experience, I took a year off cooking because I was so sick and tired of the bullshit I'd experienced, but I eventualy did return to cooking. I returned to cooking for some people who actually did treat me like a human and not a worn-out machine so I still have faith in humanity. I recieved some good news two months after I was replaced though - the shady Armenian owner who had replaced me went bankrupt and had to not only close the doors, but skip town because of the creditors who were on his ass. When I heard that news, I lifted a glass of pinot to toast the possibility that he might have had developed a terrible chest cold when he was chased out of town. If so, I'd like to think I gave it to him... prick.

One of the earliest culinary memories I have was of vacationing with my parents in the little beach town of Cambria, CA. Our vacation house was right on the beach, and every morning I would wait for the low-tide so I could go exploring all the really cool tide pools. I always found every sort of sea lifeimaginable from starfish, sea urchins and even an abalone every now and then, but one morning I stumbled upon what would from then on out be referred to as "Mussel Rock." Mussel Rock was only accessable during the lowest of low tides, and was literally covered with beautiful pacific black mussels. I found them interesting at the time, though I really had no idea that they could in fact be eaten as food until I took a couple to show my Dad. He asked if there were more and if so, how many. I told him that there were tons and he proceeded to ask me to go gather about ten of the biggest ones I could find so I grabbed my beach-combing bucket and pocket-knife and went back out. When I got back to the house about twenty minutes later, my Dad was in the kitchen chopping garlic. He had a pan already set up to cook and then he showed me how to clean the mussels. I asked him what we were going to do with them, and he said "We're going to eat them for breakfast." Intrigued that you could even eat those weird-looking things, I decided to watch and learn. After they were cleaned, Dad sauteed them with some garlic, some white wine and a little bit of butter. I watched in amazement as one by one, they started to open. When they were fully cooked, my Dad offered me one and I apprehensively popped it into my mouth thinking it was going to be disgusting. Instantly, my tastebuds were hit with what I can only describe as what the flavor of the ocean might be plus butter! It reminded me of eating garlic bread-sticks while being sprayed in the face with a crashing wave. It was an incredible new flavor I'd never had before and Dad and I sat there that morning and ate the whole batch while watching the tide roll in. Every summer after that, I would make the early morning trip out to Mussel Rock almost every day to catch breakfast, and it quicklyturned into a family tradition of eating fresh Pacific mussels for breakfast. Unfortunately, Cambria is now a protected beach and taking ANY form of wildlife from the ocean is considered poaching and punishable by severe fines. I respect the new rules, but I miss the days when I could crawl out onto a wet rock and grab the most delicious breakfast I can ever remember. I would say that those mussels with my Dad were the spark that got me interested in food and cooking. That one little shellfish changed my life forever...


1 lb Live Greenlip or Pacific Mussels
1/2 cup White Wine
1 tbsp. olive oil
2 tbsp. butter
1 cup Chicken or Vegetable Stock
6 Cloves Minced Garlic
1/4 cup Finely Diced White Onion or Shallots
1/4 cup Chopped Green Onion or Leeks
2 tbsp. Fresh Basil
1 tsp. Saffron Threads (appr. 30 threads)
1/2 tsp. Celery Salt

Yields four servings

Clean the mussels thoroughly using a hard-bristled brush until the "beard" is removed. Discard any mussels that are dead or broken. Next, Saute the garlic and white onions or shallots in the olive oil until golden and deglaze the pan with the white wine and stock. Add the green onion or leeks and reduce by half. Add the mussels, celery salt, saffron and fresh basil and cook covered until the mussels start to open (about 3-5 minutes). Remove the cooked mussels to a plate and whisk the butter into the cooking liquid. Pour over the mussels and serve immediately with fresh-baked bread.

The Food Network - Don't believe the hype...

Another stain on the Cutting Board...

Cooking is nothing like what you see on TV.
Seriously, nothing. Most people that see cooking on TV think how fun it would be to become a Chef, but they have no idea the amount of physical effort, insane scheduling, stress and lack of loyalty are involved. Also, there's really no money to speak of unless you're extremely lucky and in the right place at the right time. Do you realize that they average Chef works on salary for maybe $35,000 a year... and culinary school costs close to $48,000? Not just that, but most salaried Chefs work more than 60 hours per week and never have weekends or holidays off. That's Chefs folks - not cooks. Cooks can expect to make about $11.00 and hour and again, no weekends or holidays. Anyone who's ever worked a busy shift can tell you that it's not always fun. Orders start flying in faster than you can think, your coworkers can get irritable (and sometimes dangerous), oil-burns, cuts, steam-burns and bitchy customers are all a possibility and the list goes on...
On TV, you see sparkly-eyed spotless Chefs happily making one dish in an entire hour but in reality, a working Chef is on the verge of an adrenaline-fueled heart attack, is covered in kitchen spatter, reeks of garlic, is working on 10 dishes every minute and most likely holds a certain unspoken contempt for his customers. All this to try and pay off that student loan and still have enough left over for booze.
I'm not putting down every Chef you see on TV but lately The Food Network has been responsible for giving some complete hacks their own "cooking" shows. I stopped championing The Food Network  after the introduction of Rachel Ray. Rachel Ray a Chef?! The guy frying your frozen calamari at Red Lobster has more credentials than her! Here's a woman who won a Food Network contest that dealt more with how the contestants looked on camera than their actual cooking ability. Now, she's teaching America that French's Fried Onions and canned corn are quality ingredients when dressing up that box of instant mashed potatoes... and she's considered a Chef?! On The Food Network?! I miss Mario Batali. I miss Ming Tsai. I miss Wolfgang Puck. Hell... I even miss Emeril Lagasse. Those guys started out in the trenches and worked their way up with the intent to teach America how to make good food. Now we've got Sandra Lee showing us how to make "Kwanzaa Cake." Where the Hell did she even come from? Which Producer is she related to?
Okay... Let me calm down here... Sorry. I didn't mean to go on such a tirade but it really bothers me that a television network dedicated to the culinary arts has become so convoluted with irrelevant content. It bothers me that many people who think that being a Chef would be "fun," have never really considered just how hard it can be.
All my ranting aside, I did enjoy the last decade working as a Chef and feel that I gained a lot. I honed a skill that some would say make me an artist, I learned how to manage in unmanageable situations, I think-banked enough stories to write a book and learned what works and what doesn't. I still enjoy cooking (though catering seems to be much kinder to me), and it's nice to not only be able to focus on my writing but go to school and have a day off as well. One of these days Chef Delaney will again be "running the wheel" but in the meantime, I salute those still in the trenches. They should be the ones making Rachel Ray's salary...

Some of the Crazy Characters I've Worked With (Part 1)

I once heard a very stupid yet funny joke. A friend and I were talking about Disneyland one day and he breaks out with "My Grandma used to work for Disney but she got fired." Of course, I had to ask the obvious - "Dude, why'd she get fired?" Without even breaking a smile, he responds, "She was fucking Goofy."

Okay, I fell for that... But it did get me thinking about all the various goofy, memorable and balls-out insane people I've worked with through the last decade - and there've been some real nut-jobs! Thankfully, I came through with most of my sanity intact, but every now and then, I wonder what became of these people...

"Omar" - Omar was the first cook I ever saw break a sweat. Here I was, a green stick in a Mexican kitchen thinking I was the shit because I'd been promoted to the fryer. Sure, I was in charge of making the chips, chimichangas and chicken strips for the kids meals but I was still making only 20 cents above minimum wage. It didn't matter though... I had been enpowered. I had graduated from slicing tomatoes to actually working "on the line". I was a cook. One particular friday night, the two saute cooks called in sick so it was just myself, the expoditer and Omar. I'd never even worked with Omar before and didn't know what to expect, but by the end of the night, I'd learned a new level of panic.

Omar was one of those crazy Mexican cooks that had the energy level of a chihuahua on meth (probably because of all the meth he did), and would drive everyone in the kitchen crazy because of his inability to settle down. I swear, he used to do aerobics on his smoke break to "keep the flow going". The guy was certifiable 51/50, and to me he was a God. Omar had what many of us would consider a "helium" voice which only made his frenetic attitude even more disturbing, and that particular night he aksed me in his Mickey Mouse Mexican, "Whetto, you'se ready fo sum dat shit?! Is gonna gets CRAZY up in hur!!! Grab dose purty ankles an holds da TIGHTS!"

Did I mention that there is a little known language spoken by only a few known as Omar-nese?

Never mind the fact that I couldn't understand every third word out of his mouth - he was the knowledgable one in the kitchen and I had no choice but to try my hardest to follow his command.

"WHETTO! FUR ME SUM DAT PAINYO POPS WIT DAT CHIGGIDY STRIPS! LAY UPPAN DAT TORTY WIT DA GUAC!!!"

 - Translation: "Excuse me Caucasian friend of mine. Would you be so kind as to deep-fry two orders of the breaded chili rellanos alongside the order of chicken strips that you are currently preparing? It's ever so much appreciated. Also, I'm not sure if you're aware but the guest on table six would like a ration of guacamole with their quesadilla." -

Even with Omar's speech impediment, we got throught that and many other shifts together, and one of the main reasons I have never forgotten him is because he was the first person to work with me. He knew I was wet behind the ears, but he went out of his way to teach me... even though I couldn't understand a damned word he said half the time. I'll always remember Omar and I still have tremendous respect for the guy. Wherever he is, I'm sure he's confusing the hell out of the other "whetto" cooks, but I'm sure he's still a stand-up guy.

"Danny the Gay Saute" - Sometimes, you'll run across an enigma wrapped in a riddle, and Danny the Gay Saute had all of us scratching our heads in bewilderment. Here was a guy who came in to his interview and basically TOLD the Chef that he had the job because nobody was as good as him, was more pierced and tattooed than all of the kitchen staff put together and maybe weighed 120 lbs when wet. When he left after his interview, we all gathered around the Chef to laugh about what we'd overheard when the Chef dropped a bomb on us. "I'm going to give him a chance. Worst case scenario, he doesn't work out and we have a good laugh."

The next Monday, Danny showed up wearing (I can't make this up) a fishnet sleeveless shirt and cutoff shorts. His excuse? His older brother had burned all his clothes when he told the family about his boyfriend. Well, he started training on the line during lunch and it turned out he was really good. He didn't miss any orders, all his food was cooked perfectly and he was even able to help out the Sous-Chef on the broiler. This little freaky guy was REALLY good! Mind you, this was one of Fresno's busiest restaurants at the time and it wasn't rare for a new cook to give up and quit on their first day but Danny the Gay Saute was loving every minute of it! Not just that, but he was frustrating the other cooks because he was trying to have a conversation with them...

"So Nacho, how many kids you got?"

Nacho - "Dude shut up! I'm trying to concentrate!"

"Sorry man. HEY! Are you going to to the fair this year?"

Nacho - "Seriously man! Shut the fuck up before I cut you!"

Danny just kept on going like the Energizer Bunny on crack and took every bit of abuse the rest of the kitchen heaped on him... for months. Eventually, the cooks warmed up to him and accepted him into their family. But one fateful day, the Sous-Chef overheard him talking to a busboy about his new "Prince Albert". Those of you who don't know what a Prince Albert is and still want to be able to sleep tonight, leave now! Seriously!

A Prince Albert is a specific piercing that involves a metal ring through the urethra of a male's genetalia - basically an earing in the tip of the dick... ouch. Needless to say, the Sous-Chef (who turned out to be a closet homosexual himself) was very intrigued and asked to see Danny's "Prince Albert". Danny, being the classy guy that he was, obliged... the whole freaking kitchen staff. He unabashedly dropped trou and showed us his piercing, plus cock, plus balls, plus a very strange tattoo of the words "Mr. Belvedere". Mr. Belvedere?! Wow...

Never mind the fact that this crazy little pierced-up and tattooed freak of nature had no quelms showing off his cock-piercing, but allow me to say this without prejudice - his dick was the smallest any of us had ever seen! Seriously! Don't take that the wrong way because I know that a man's anatomy doesn't define him but DAMNED!!! This guys dick was absolutely tiny! I'm not kidding. The jewelry involved was larger. It had to be an inch if that and I am not kidding. I'm not one to rag about the size of a man's penis but he opened himself up. If I were that small (and who says I'm not?), I'd keep my pants on.

Danny the Gay Saute is still talked about to this day and the last I heard he was managing a vegan restaurant in Seattle. Wherever he is, I'm sure he's still working circles around the other cooks and making them feel much better about themselves...

"Bren" Bren, Bren, Bren... What can I say about her. Bren was one of the sexiest and most volitile servers I've ever worked with and even though she's no longer in the restaurant industry, her legacy lives on. Bren and I worked together for a year at a dying Italian joint and we had our fun. She wasn't the best server around but she was good for a lunch shift. Her problem was that she would get heated and take it out on whoever was nearby. I remember one lunch shift where she took out her checkbook and wrote a check for the entire amount of the bill for a bitchy old lady who forgot to tip. She presented the check to the lady and said "I'm paying for your lunch today but this check will probably bounce because nobody here ever fucking tips me on this fucking shift!" - WOW!

Yes, I was in love... but scared shitless. I actually tried to date Bren but it was obvious from the get-go that we were too different. I liked her but she was really scary. Also, I was too busy trying to build up my reputation and she was busy demolishing hers.

Needless to say, we both moved on to seperate restaurants and the next I heard of her was when she earned her namesake. She was working at a popular sports bar and grill and apparently they weren't treating her right (which means she wasn't making $30 an hour with weekends off). She waited until they had not one, but TWO banquets going at the same time on a busy Saturday night before she executed her exit plan. Ten minutes before both banquets were supposed to be served, she went into the kitchen and tipped over three speed-racks full of the banquet food, removed her apron and stormed out. Considering that each speed-rack held about $500 worth of food, and the labor to execute those banquets was probably around $700, and the percieved incompetency of the restaurant not being able to deleiver was easily in the thousands, Bren quickly became famous - and unemplyable.

To this day, whenever someone screws up royally, it's known as pulling a Bren.

Golf Carts, Goldfish and Garbage...

Without a doubt, one of the most laid back cooking jobs I ever had was as the acting Banquet Chef of an upscale golf resort in the middle of nowhere. This particular golf community was in it's infancy and all of us who worked there spent a great amount of time sampling wine (did I mention it was also a winery?) and practicing trick shots on the putting greens. There were some busy days... don't get me wrong, but all in all it seemed like a year of collecting a very undeserved paycheck.

The reason for the lack of business was due to a serious lack of people. The developers of said golf resort/community planned on selling 200 acre parcels for rich Bay Area commuters to build houses on, but because of the isolated location and lack of a reliable water table, only four houses had been built in the two years it had been opened. That left us with a million dollar kitchen, all the high tech gadgets a Chef could dream of, gorgeous banquet facilities, two full-service bars and a serious case of boredom. Four kitchen employees + unlimited access to wine + nothing else to do in the middle of nowhere = trouble...

Due to the nature of the golf course operation, the kitchen employees were always the last to leave, and we were responsible for locking up everything. One building we got to lock up was the golf pro-shop. I know what you golf enthusiasts are thinking but no, we didn't steal any high-performance golf balls or high-dollar clubs. We may have been trouble, but we weren't thieves... besides that, there were cameras in the pro-shop. The reason we had access to the pro-shop in the first place was because that's where the carts were garaged. To explain, our waste containers were about a mile and a half away from the kitchen so without the golf-carts, taking out the garbage every night would have been exhausting and time-consuming. We would simply grab a couple of the carryalls, load up the cans and go for a ride.

Right before I started working there, one of the new cart mechanics showed our closing cook how you could adjust a gas-powered golf cart's regulator to make them go up to 50 miles per hour. He had given us the green light to do so just as long as we promised to set the regulator back to normal before the first tee-time the following day. For the most part, we were pretty good about doing so. Except for one fateful night...

After one particularly slow workday, we decided to close a bit earlier than normal. The sun was still out, but the last golfers had already headed home. We weren't the only ones who decided to call it a day; the clubhouse office staff, the pro-shop guys, the maintenance crew and even the guard at the front shack all took off early leaving us to an afternoon of sunshine, wine and a world-class golf course all to ourselves. Needless to say, it was turning out to be a very nice afternoon. As we were loading up the trash cans onto the carts, one of the line cooks asked if we could stop by his car on the way to dump the trash. He explained that he had brought his fishing gear with him and had been wondering what fishing for the Japanese goldfish on hole 11 would be like. Being that we were all pretty tanked on pinot noir, it seemed like a great idea. Not just that, but he had his Wife's and son's pole with him so we could all fish.

We dumped the trash, dropped off the cans back at the kitchen, grabbed a few more bottles of wine for the road and proceeded to hole 11. We dropped lines and within seconds, the koi were biting. These were big fish too. Big, lazy and stupid fish... We were seriously hooking them at a rate of about five per minute but we were releasing them. Keep in mind that each of these fish were worth about $200 each and besides, what were we going to do with all those koi - run them as a lunch special? We stayed there drinking wine and trying every possible bait in the tackle box (those stupid fish even bit at tin-foil) until the sun started going down. It was officially time to close up shop. We jetted back to the pro-shop after returning the fishing equipment to the car and then went to tuck the golf cart in for the night. Amazingly, we managed to lock everything up and headed home for the night.

The next morning, we all showed up to work bleary-eyed and headachy but we still managed to get through lunch unscathed. Sometime around 2:00 though, we were all called into the clubhouse manager's office. She told us to have a seat and then asked us why we thought a golfer had tipped a cart going about 35 miles per hour that day. Speechless, we all looked back and forth at each other and had a mental conversation. You could tell what each of us was thinking... "I didn't readjust the regulator, did you?"

As it turns out, a rather intoxicated golfer hit a corner going way too fast and had an unfortunate mishap involving a tipped golf cart and some very surprised ducks. The only reason the golf course wasn't being held responsible was because thankfully, the golfer wasn't injured and was rather embarrassed at being so drunk in the first place. All that said though, the guys from the pro-shop passed the blame onto us (it was our fault after all) and we were each written up and put on probation. As an added measure, the golf cart mechanics were instructed to start locking up all the gas-powered carts and the kitchen could only use one crappy old electric cart that was on the verge of being retired. What used to take just 5 minutes now took the kitchen almost 30 minutes and two trips to dump the trash.

Needless to say, the relaxed atmosphere changed on us rather quickly and that added to the lack of work forced us to look for jobs elsewhere. I myself found a job closer to where I lived that payed double what I was making before. I heard the Sous-Chef went on to become the Chef of another golf course and the line cook with the bright idea to go fishing for koi ironically ended up opening a pet supply store with his brother. If not for a careless drunken oversight, some of might still be there twiddling our thumbs today. Strange how things happen sometimes...

"Did anywhere see where the tip of my pinky went?"

Ask any seasoned Chef if they've ever cut their fingers and they'll probably show you some pretty impressive battle wounds. I'm no exception. I've cut my fingers and burnt my arms so many times during my career that anymore, I don't even feel it when it happens half the time. My hands and arms are a timeline of busy shifts, careless mistakes and nights I should have stayed home. I've donated enough blood in the kitchen to keep a hemophiliac alive for weeks (thankfully, I'm not a hemophiliac or I'd be dead by now), and had I bought stock in those NSF first-aid kits found in all kitchens, I'd be a richer man today. 

I'm sorry if this article makes you squeamish but you have to know that this stuff happens. Think about it - you take a person who probably drinks way too much, put them into an environment were the temperatures and moisture levels can be dizzying, hire about ten people wearing tuxedo shirts to place unrealistic demands on them, expect them to knock out about a hundred or so meals an hour more than 40 hours per week... and then throw extremely sharp instruments into the mix. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, doesn't it?

I've had my share of soiled band-aids and have learned to cook and cut with both my left and right hand. Most of the time when I cut myself, it's more of an inconvenience than anything, but I have had some near-crippling accidents that sent me to the emergency room on more than one occasion. Being the loyal (though somewhat mentally disturbed) individual that I am, I usually do my best to wrap up the cut and work through the shift, but now that I'm older and wiser, I'm not afraid to get to the hospital when I need to. I have enough nerve damage already and scars don't heal as nicely at thirty-four as they did in my early twenties. Besides that, I no longer have anything to prove. I'm a reliable worker, I value my health and if you're planning on firing me because I need medical attention, you can get yourself a nice tall glass of go fuck yourself.

Almost a decade ago, I finally got a good break and scored a job as the Sous-Chef at a new upscale Italian wine bar and grill, and I was eager to pour my blood, sweat and tears into the place to build up my reputation. Keep in mind that up until this point, my most illustrious job title had been 'cook' at a golf course, and now I was going to be the second in command at a fine-dining restaurant. I was ready to do anything for that restaurant to prove myself. For the week before opening night, the Chef and myself worked almost around the clock organizing the kitchen, planning out the mis-en-place for the various stations, stocking the walk-ins and freezer and prepping up all the food. Opening day, we were nervous, stressed out and exhausted. About two hours before the doors opened, the serving staff showed up to have a staff meeting and iron out any final details, and they decided to hold the meeting in the kitchen - much to our chagrin. we were almost fully prepped on all the stations, but the salad line had been delegated to the servers and needed some attention badly. They had spent the entire two hours talking about where to put the damned salad forks without actually stocking the salad station! They hadn't so much as opened the cases of iceberg or romaine, and their mis-en-place was empty. The Chef agreed that I should help them chop, slice and set up the salad station so I went to work. One thing I had to do for them was slice some beets paper-thin so I grabbed the only mandoline available and went to work. This particular mandoline belonged to the Chef, and he'd had it for quite a long time. He kept the blade sharp, but one of the legs was ready to fall off so I was exercising extreme caution with this tool. I was about halfway done prepping the beets when the leg slipped out from under the mandoline. In response, I quickly jerked my hand out of the way to avoid cutting myself, and I didn't cut myself on the mandoline.

I did, however, slice the tip of my pinky clean off on the serrated knife some dumb-fuck server had set on the countertop with the blade hanging off the edge of the cutting board. They even went so far as to set a wet rag over the handle to assure that the blade wouldn't move as it was cutting like butter through one half of my 'hang loose' sign.

This was no small cut. This was one of those cuts where you not only see the bone, but can tell how fast your heart's beating by the pulsating spray of blood. A lesser person would have passed out (and I'll admit, I almost did), but I knew that for me to leave on opening night would have more than assured me a place in the unemployment line. I had to get through the night come hell or high water. The first thing I did was demanded to know who the dip-shit was that set a blade out like that but of course, no one confessed. Next, I looked around and found the severed tip of my pinky on the floor and washed it of. I knew I had to clean up my wound before attempting to dress it, and already the initial shock was wearing off. When I ran my injured digit under the faucet, the pain hit me like a ton of bricks. The cooks were coming over to get a peek out of morbid curiosity and the servers were turning whiter than I was when they glanced at it. I knew there was no stopping the bleeding but I was determined to wrap it up enough to work.

After completely depleting the supply of band-aids in the first aid kit (seriously, why don't they include some actual human sized band-aids?), I resorted to wrapping the finger in plastic wrap and then taping the thing up with duct tape. By this time, customers had started filing in and orders were coming fast. So fast, in fact, that I didn't get a chance to focus on the dull throbbing pain in my left hand. Unfortunately though, my makeshift bandage soon proved no match for my hideous wound so I had to once again clean and redress. Shit! The pain was unbearable at this point and the tip of the severed tip was starting to turn purple-black. Never mind the fact that it wasn't even attempting to reattach itself. I had to take some drastic measures, and I had to do so quickly. I told one of the bus-boys to go to the supermarket next door and get a tube of super-glue...

Yes, you heard that right. Super-glue. I had heard somewhere that soldiers in WWII had used superglue on the battlefields to stop bleeding and I was desperate to stop my own bleeding. When he got back, I carefully superglued the tip of my pinky back on and then wrapped it tightly with medical tape. Let me tell you, I know they say child-birth is painful but this had to be a close second! After I bandaged the finger up without passing out, I continued working for the rest of the night with only one hand. I'm not sure exactly how, but I made it through the rest of the night. All in all, we turned the tables four times that night and had over 200 covers. It was an impressive opening and my job was safe.

Instead of enjoying some celebratory post-shift drinks with my new colleagues, I drove straight to the emergency room where the Doctor lambasted me for so stupidly using superglue on my wound. He actually needed to surgically remove the glued on tip and see what, if any, viable tissue he could salvage.  Two plastic surgeons and about $4,500 later, I was sent home with a water-proof dressing, a scrip for vicodin and instructions to stay home from work for at least one week.

I showed up to work the next day fifteen minutes early...

The night Elvis tipped me $100...

Once upon a time, I was employed as the Chef of an nieghborhood restaurant, and while it wasn't exactly fine dining, I enjoyed the fact that I was able to toss pizza dough in front of the customers, create some great specials and most importantly, put on a nightly cooking show for patrons sitting at the bar. Thanks to the fact that the previous Chef/Owner had designed the restaurant with showing off and drinking in mind, I seemed right at home doing my thing until the restaurant group unfortunately changed hands. Things weren't always a party though. Because it was my first job employed in the capacity as Executive Chef, I really had to work my ass off. I had to prove myself, and I did so by agreeing to work 65 hours per week on salary (can you say $3.75 per hour?)

I did manage to learn a tremendous amount about Napolitan cuisine while working there though, and I enjoyed learning the nuances of using an authentic wood-fired brick oven (I still can't grow hair on certain parts of my forearms). When I first started (you'll read about that night from hell in another future post...), the GM decided to bring a previous Sous-Chef back on as a temporary consultant to help me adopt my skills to a more traditional "sauce and strings" menu. At first I was a bit offended, but when I found out that this guy's second language was English and he enjoyed Corona Beer as much as I did, I lightened up a bit.

One interesting quirk the consultant from Naples had was that he wouldn't allow subsitutions or take special requests... ever. He was very vocal about it to which I'm sure ended up losing more than a lion's share of loyal regulars. Keep in mind that the kitchen was open to the diners and the acoustics were just right for everyone in the dining room to hear everything the kitchen staff said. "I Don'ta Fuckin' CARE Iffa She's Allergic! She Shoulda Stayeda Home!"

I, as well as many of the servers, were a bit intimidated by this guy's flat-out refusal to accomodate special requests, and it gave me no pleasure to see a server freeze up whenever a customer would ask for a side of soup instead of vegetables. It was like watching Bambi in the headlights of a big rig. I asked him on several occasions why he refused to be more accomodating to the customers and he said "They gonna breaka your balls if you let 'em! Tonight, maybe no cheese on top butta next time, they bringing in there own food for me to cook! They no gonna breaka my balls!"

Thankfully, he would usually get pretty hammered on the box wine by about 7:00 and take off for the night leaving me to run my own damned kitchen! At that point, everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief (including the Owner), and at that point I would gladly fulfill any requests made by the customers. Tips would increase, servers would actually smile and I didn't have to worry about a crocked Italian setting my kitchen on fire... oh yeah, he did that too one night. Long story - another post.

One particularly slow Thursday night, a guy came in right as I had pretty much finished closing the kitchen. I overheard him ask one of the waiters for a menu and the waiter turned his head to me looking like a terrified chipmunk, and it made me think of the consultant's bad behavior regarding requests. I did not have any desire to be at all like him. To me, the customer's always been the boss. Even though I was literally five minutes from having the freedom to leave, I simply nodded yes to the server and turned the oven and fryer back on. The server (we'll call him Chris), explained to the guy that he could order from the appetizer menu because the kitchen was already cleaned and then went out back to smoke. While Chris was on his break, the guy at the bar said "Excuse me, Chef? I know you're only serving appetizers right now, but I literally just drove in from Vegas (a ten hour trip) and haven't eaten anything all day. You think there's any way you can cook something a bit more substantial? Whatever's easy for you. I'm just starved!"

For just a split second, I could hear the consultant's voice in the back of my mind "He's no gonna breaka my balls!" and I decided to feed this guy and feed him right! I told him to go ahead and order whatever he felt like off the menu but he asked what I would recommend. Being that I'm a genious on the grill, I told him I'd make him a filet mignon with the condition being that I'd try out a new sauce I had going in my mind. He would be my guinea pig and I would make sure he had a great meal. He said to go for it and I started cooking. As I was plating the finished filet, he offered to buy me a beer for my troubles. I told him he didn't have to because I also fed the bartender, but I thanked him anyways. As he was eating, I cleaned up the mess I'd made and wrapped everything up for a second time that night feeling good that I was nothing at all like the pissy consultant. I could only imagine if he had seen the whole thing. He'd probably throw a chair through the window.

Before I left for the night, I asked the customer how his steak was, and he said these exact words. "I spend most of my time dining in the best restaurants in Vegas and I rub shoulders with some of the top entertainers on the marquees. Never before have I had a finer steak. I know you didn't have to stay and cook but I'm glad you did. You've got some magic. Thank you. Thank you very much..."

And then he reached out to shake my hand and in it was a hundred dollar bill. One... hundred... dollars. Holy shit! I told him that wasn't necessary but he refused to take it back. I told him he was welcome to eat after hours anytime I was still there and introduced myself. He handed me a business card, gave me a playful hand gesture of shooting a gun and left. When I looked down at the card after he was gone, it read "Elvis Presley - Musician and Actor"

How to cook 250 Filet Mignon in 50 minutes...

Welcome to another stain on Chef Delaney's Cutting Board. I say the word "stain" not as a bad thing, but rather proof that the Cutting Board's being put to proper use. Don't worry, if you feel dirty after reading this next entry, you can always soak in bleach and hot water then rinse with vinegar...

Before I begin, let me say that I enjoy being a Chef. I'd have to. I really love creating menus and specials, organizing my mis-en-place and bringing together a band of misfits to dance together during a busy service. I love the frenetic pace of pushing out food so fast that I forget what I plated 5 minutes before. I love the interaction between myself and the front-of-house staff, no matter how heated it may get. It lets me know I'm alive. More importantly, it lets me know I'm needed! And what Chef wouldn't consider his or her favorite part of the day enjoying a post-dinner service drink with their fellow "Cookies"?

All that said, being a Chef is tough work. It's nothing like what you see on the Food Channel. All those Celebrity Chefs you see wearing pristine white jackets and taking one hour to make one dish? Yeah, half of them have never even worked "on the line." I'm not putting them down (with the exception of Rachel Ray - she's not a even worthy of the canned food she cooks with), but there are some that I have a lot of respect for. Those rare few have actually proven themselves by starting in the trenches and working their way up through hard work and dedication. I guess what I'm trying to elude to is that what you see on television is in no way a reflection of what working in a busy kitchen's like at all. I have twelve years worth of stories to share about just how difficult and taxing it can sometimes be. The following is one of those stories...

New Year's Eve, 2002. I had just been "stolen" away from a restaurant that had pigeon-holed me to prep-cook hell by a Chef that I met at a dessert competition. He had just started to work at a busy new upscale bar & grill and was desperate to put together his kitchen staff. He offered me a position as his Sous-Chef and I gladly accepted - two days before Christmas. Needless to say, I burned a bridge with the restaurant I was already employed at, but I had heard promises of a raise and promotion for far too long. So, I start working at the new bar & Grill the same day I quit at my former job, and was immediately asked to help plan a New Year's Eve menu. The Chef already had most of it put together, but just wanted a fresh set of eyes to make sure the menu was simple, yet offered enough of a choice and would be easy to execute (we were all new staff starting in an unfamiliar kitchen on one of the busiest restaurant nights of the year). Together, we made a few tweaks, and started preparing for dinner service of 300 people. New Years night before dinner service, we had a little pow-wow to see what stations each cook would work. It turned out that I had the most experience working the grill, so I was put in charge of cooking the Filet Mignon. I didn't have any problems with that choice because I knew I was strong on the grill and wanted to prove myself to my new Chef and Boss. By the end of the night, prove myself I would...

There were only four items on the menu for the night and we knew that the Filet Mignon would be a popular choice. Just how popular, we highly underestimated. The doors opened, and the appetizers started to flow out of the kitchen. Things were off to a great start. About 20 minutes after opening the doors, the first dinner tickets started coming in. "Fire on 2 filets - 1 medium, 1 medium-well!"

No problem Chef, I got this...

Two minute later, I heard "Walking in, 6 filets - 2 medium, 2 medium-rare, 1 rare and 1 well-done!"

Okay, now we're starting to dance a bit...

"Walking in, 4 filets - 3 medium, 1 medium-rare!"

Breathe Delaney... you can do this.

"Party of 8 walking in! 3 medium filet medium, 2 filets medium-well, 1 filet well-done! Call back please!"

Shit - getting buried. "Okay Chef, I've got 9 filets medium, 6 filets medium-well, 2 rare, etc..."

"Walking in, 4 more filets medium-well!"

Okay, at this point I was beginning to sweat. It was only 15 minutes into dinner service and I had about 45 filets going at the same time - all with different temperatures. Tickets were starting to literally fly in and I had to use every ounce of my cognative ability just to remember how many steaks I needed to cook.

"Walking in, party of 10! 9 filets, 3 well-done, 2 rare, 4 medium-rare! 1 Salmon!"

Hey People! We DO have other items on the menu!!!

"Next, fire 7 filets! 2 medium-well, 2 medium-rare..." you get the point.

To cut a 50 mintue long story short, I worked my ass off that New Year's Eve, and by the end of the evening, only had one steak come back. I had earned my reputation of being one of the fastest and most consistant grill-cooks in the valley (may sound concieted, but that reputation has followed me), and I went home that night reeking of smoke but feeling accomplished that I single-handedly managed to perfectly cook 250 filet mignons in less than an hour. Actually, 249. The guy who sent his steak back wanted his to be leather, so it's excused. Five filet mignons a minute... Beat that Rachel Ray!

Grilled Filet Mignon with Buerre Rouge

for the filet -

• 4 eight ounce filet mignon (trimmed and peeled)
• 4 cloves fresh garlic
• 1/4 cup olive oil

for the Buerre Rouge -

• 1/4 cup minced shallot
• 1 tbsp. minced fresh thyme
• 1 tbsp. apple cider vinegar
• 1/2 cup red wine
• 1/2 lb. chilled butter (cut into one inch pieces)
• 1 tbsp. manufacturing cream

for the grill -

• 1/2 cup melted butter
• 1/2 tsp. onion powder
• salt & pepper to taste

Chop the garlic cloves and add to the olive oil and use to marinate the filet mignons for at least one hour. Meanwhile, saute the minced shallots in a heavy-bottomed sauce-pan until just translucent. Deglaze with the red wine and add the fresh thyme. Reduce the mixture by half and add the apple cider vinegar. Remove from heat and add the cream. Next, whisk in the chilled butter until fully incorporated. Hold in a water bath or bain marie on medium-low heat until reday to serve.

Over hot coals or the hot side of a gas grill, mark the filet mignons for about 4 minutes on both sides brushing with butter then transfer to a sheet-pan to finish in the oven. Cook to desired temperature then allow to rest for 6 minutes before serving. To plate, ladle the buerre rouge over the top of each filet and garnish as desired.

As I was flipping through the channels last night, I ended up finding an old episode of ‘Family Feud’ on the GSN. Being that it was close to 1:00 a.m. and the only other interesting show to watch was ‘Golden Girls’, I decided to settle in to the comedy-stylings of Louie Anderson. When I watch ‘Family Feud’, I can’t just sit nicely and take it all in – I’ve gotta play along!

The topic was “Name things that you get at a Chinese food restaurant." There were only two boxes left, and I thought to myself, “Chopsticks… already taken, huh? Soy sauce packets! Nope that’s taken too… OH! OH! FORTUNE COOKIES!” It wasn’t up there yet and I just knew it had to be! Louie, the perpetual host, asked the next person to “Name something you’d find in a Chinese food restaurant” and the person had to think reeeeeeeeally hard before saying “PIANO!”

PIANO?! Where the hell do they find these people?!

“FORTUNE COOKIE!” I silently screamed and tried my best to project my subconcious thought through the airwaves and into their meager minds... and meager minds they were. Sure enough, they got three strikes before finding out that the remaining two answers did in fact, include ‘fortune cookie.’ The other answer was 'fish tank.'

Piano?… Come on…

That little mental vignette got the troll-dolls in my head banging rocks together, and I put together my next blog entry which you are currently reading. Everyone knows what a fortune cookie is, but hardly anyone knows the history behind this stale little sugary soothsayer.

The fortune cookie dates back to the fourteenth century right before the Chang Dynasty and actually wasn’t a cookie at all, but rather a type of steamed dumpling. You see, at that time the Chinese were under the control of the Mongols and were oppressed as a people. The Mongols were not known for being kind to the Chinese, and certain groups of Chinese people started to convene in secret to stage a revolt. Obviously if they were discovered by the occupying Mongols, they would be quartered by horses or set on fire, so secrecy was mandatory. The big struggle these Chinese revolutionists had to overcome was how to let the Chinese people know about the revolt without alerting the Mongols. Fortunately, there was among the group a very observant person who noticed that while the Chinese people enjoyed eating a form of dumplings that had raw egg-yolk in it, the Mongols wouldn’t go near them and considered them dirty peasant food.

Chu Yuan Chang proposed using these dumpling (called mooncakes) to secretly deliver messages on stamped copper to his countrymen alerting them to the upcoming revolt. The plan worked beautifully and the Mongols were overthrown and run out of China in 1386. Chu Yuan Chang would go on to become the first Emporer of China, and one of the first things he would do was to oversee the construction of the Great Wall of China.

After the Chinese acquired control of their country, there really wasn’t any point in putting metal into food anymore, so the secret message inside the food went away… for awhile.

Jump ahead a few centuries and the fortune cookie re-emerges in (drum-roll please…) San Francisco! Common speculation is that the Chinese immigrants brought to the west coast to build the railroads brought with them their history, among that being the story of the mooncakes. In 1890, Chef Makoto Hagiwara of the Golden Gate’s Japanese Tea Garden started making a hardened molasses cookie that was shaped around a “blessing of good fortune” written on common paper. (Editor’s note: Even though Chef Hagiwara was of Japanese decent, he most likely would have been lumped into the same community as the Chinese when fresh off the boat. Furthermore, the Japanese would probably know the history of the mooncakes due to their close proximity to China.)

Even though Chef Hagiwara was known for introducing the western United States to the fortune cookie, it was in 1918 that not one, but two official claims were made as to the invention of the fortune cookie. In San Francisco, David Jung of the Hong Kong Noodle Company started to mass produce the cookie while farther south in Los Angeles, Seiichi Kito started to make the same exact cookie at his restaurant, Fugetsu-Do. To this day, nobody’s exactly sure who gets the credit for inventing the modern day fortune cookie but two things are for sure – they are a fun way to end a Chinese meal and nobody actually plays those lucky lottery numbers…

Here’s a fortune cookie recipe I used at a martini lounge and grill I worked at a few years back. We used to print drink coupons to put into the cookies and would give them out to our diners and VIP’s. It was a great promotion and people really enjoyed them!

Fortune Cookies

•2 large egg whites

•1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

•1/2 teaspoon pure almond extract

•3 tablespoons vegetable oil

•8 tablespoons all-purpose flour

•1 1/2 teaspoons cornstarch

•1/4 teaspoon salt

•8 tablespoons granulated sugar

•3 teaspoons water

Preparation:

1. Write fortunes on pieces of paper that are 3 1/2 inches long and 1/2 inch wide. Preheat oven to 300 degrees Fahrenheit. Grease 2 9-X-13 inch baking sheets.

2. In a medium bowl, lightly beat the egg white, vanilla extract, almond extract and vegetable oil until frothy, but not stiff.

3. Sift the flour, cornstarch, salt and sugar into a separate bowl. Stir the water into the flour mixture.

4. Add the flour into the egg white mixture and stir until you have a smooth batter. The batter should not be runny, but should drop easily off a wooden spoon.

5. Place level tablespoons of batter onto the cookie sheet, spacing them at least 3 inches apart. Gently tilt the baking sheet back and forth and from side to side so that each tablespoon of batter forms into a circle 4 inches in diameter.

6. Bake until the outer 1/2-inch of each cookie turns golden brown and they are easy to remove from the baking sheet with a spatula (14 – 15 minutes).

7. Working quickly, remove the cookie with a spatula and flip it over in your hand. Place a fortune in the middle of a cookie. To form the fortune cookie shape, fold the cookie in half, then gently pull the edges downward over the rim of a glass, wooden spoon or the edge of a muffin tin. Place the finished cookie in the cup of the muffin tin so that it keeps its shape. Continue with the rest of the cookies.

Warning: This blog entry is rated PG-13, so unless you’re older than the cheese in my fridge, please leave now…

I hope everyone had a great New Years and woke up remembering at least parts of the celebration! In the Chef Delaney household, we had friends and family over for appetizers, drinks and Blu-ray movies on our new 46″ LCD flatscreen. Overall, a great evening with excellent food and wine. I made my famous Thai chicken satay, prosciutto stuffed jumbo mushrooms, cabbage spring rolls with rooster sauce, prosciutto wrapped asparagus in puff pastry, rosemary-garlic sirloin skewers in an aged balsamic marinade and some wonderful “stinky” cheese from California’s famous Cowboy Creamery in Point Reyes. Everyone loved the food, the libations were flowing freely and I even got to see the look of shock on my Grandmother’s face when she saw a naked Chinese man jump out of a car trunk in high-def on the movie ‘The Hangover’.

As I was falling asleep last night though, I remembered that I hadn’t updated this blog for awhile. I brainstormed a bit about what would be interesting to write about and came up with a very interesting subject – masturbation and food. Not using food to masturbate mind you (I can’t help but think about cucumbers and bananas), but rather how the negative attitudes toward masturbation has influenced certain food products that you’ll probably find in your pantry even today. Less than a century ago there existed Scientists and Doctors who believed that diet could affect one’s libido, and being that giving in to carnal pleasures was deemed as sinful and unhealthy behavior, they strived to create foods that would “nourish the body without encouraging the devil’s desires.” - J.H. Kellogg.

Today, this type of attitude is laughable but we only have to look back a few hundred years to see the same type of thinkers burning innocent women at the stake. Thankfully, we now know that lust is not controlled by what we eat (though perfectly seared fois gras does give me a chubby) and we are therefore free to enjoy any foods available without pissing off the Pope. That said, here a few historical examples of how diet has been influenced by the fear of masturbation...

The Apple - I’m sure you’re all familiar with the story of a certain woman, a snake and an apple tree. If not, go get the bible and start reading. We’ll wait… In the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve were free to eat whatever they wanted with the exception of one thing – fruit from the tree of wisdom. Of course, Adam and Eve were only two years old at the time they were told this and being the two-year old brats that they were, had to go against authority thus condemning humanity to a life of STD’s, taxes and Pauly Shore movies. Seriously, they had to have only been in their terrible twos. Why would God put this pressure on them in the first place? “Hey guys, be all free and stuff… oh, but don’t eat the apples, okay?” I’m sure Eve adjusted her fig-leaf diaper and shouted “MINE!”

God should have been a more attentive parent… but that’s another blog entirely. How exactly did the tree of wisdom become an apple tree? Only the earliest theological scholars know for sure but one thing is for sure; throughout history, there have been a number of religions that have stigmatized the apple. They believed that after Adam and Eve had both eaten of the apple, they became aware of their nakedness. Funny how at first they hid but ultimately went on to fuck like rabbits to seed the children of Abraham. I know it’s not exactly masturbation but apparently the apple did get the ball rolling. Not only that, but because of the apple, we can all consider ourselves the product of inbreeding – think about it.

Grandma’s Easy Applesauce:

•8 Cups Peeled and Chopped Tart Apples

•1/2 Cup Packed Brown Sugar

•2 Tsp Vanilla Extract

•1/2 Tsp Ground Cinnamon

•1/2 Tsp Ground Nutmeg

In a large saucepan, cook all ingredients together over medium-low heat until apples are tender (about 30 minutes). Remove from heat and mash with a potato masher or blend in a food processor for smoother applesauce. Serve hot or chilled. Yields about 6 servings.

The Graham Cracker - Ever had s’mores? Those deliciously sweet snacks you make while camping? Would you believe that one of the main ingredients in s’mores was created by a Presbyterian Minister almost 200 years ago with the idea that it would keep children from masturbating? The graham cracker was named after it’s creator, Rev. Sylvester Graham in 1829 and beared little resemblance to the tasty treat we know it as today. Rev. Graham believed that a bland diet could curb off unhealthy carnal urges and save souls. Originally, the graham cracker was made using a mixture of unbleached fine ground white flour with coarse ground wheat bran (called Graham flour) and contained honey instead of sugar. It was his theory that a bland diet paired with an unexcitable lifestyle would help children supress their sexual urges until they were too old and sedentary to give a shit. Unfortunately, many of his charges still found the opportunity and urge to do what nature makes it so easy to do when bored out your skull. It’s not unfortunate that they were masturbating; it’s just tragic that they were caught. If Rev. Graham’s diet regimens and sermons couldn’t cast out the demonic desires of the flesh, the offender would find themselves subjected to barbaric devices affectionately referred to as “genital cuffs” and possible mutilation. But hey, it’s better than going blind, right?

Graham Cracker Pie Crust:

•6 Tbsp Softened Butter

•24 Graham Crackers

•1/4 Sugar

•1 Tsp Vanilla Extract

•1/4 Tsp Allspice or Nutmeg

•Appr. 2 Cups Dried Beans (To pre-bake pie shell)

In a food processor or blender, pulse the graham crackers, butter, sugar, vanilla extract and allspice or nutmeg until blended. Once finished, press into the bottom and sides of a 9″ pie dish to form crust. Press a sheet of foil onto the crust pressing to shape and fill with dry beans. Bake in a 350 degree oven for ten minutes and remove to cool. Use for your favorite pies and enjoy!

Kellogg’s Corn Flakes - Another fun character was a Dr. by the name of John Harvey Kellogg. Guess what he invented? Here’s a clue: it wasn’t easy-cheese. Dr. Kellogg invented what has become one of the most popular breakfast cereals to ever hit the shelves and the history is fascinating. Unlike the graham cracker, Kellogg’s Corn Flakes are produced exactly the same as when they were first created in 1894 and were only served at the Battle Creek Sanitarium where Dr. Kellogg was the Superintendant. Dr. Kellogg believed that masturbation was an unhealthy practice not so much for religious reasons but rather for the mania and insanity it seemed to create in mental patients. He believed that a strict regimen of enemas, vegetarian diet and abstinance from alcohol, tobacco and most importantly masturbation could cure even the most mentally unbalanced of patients. His methods were not as extreme as the scary-as-hell Rev. Graham, but the thought of having to endure yogurt enemas every day still gives me the heebie-jeebies!

Corn Flake Breading for Chicken:

•2 Cups Kellogg’s Corn Flakes

•1/2 Cup Bleached Four

•1/4 Cup Corn-meal

•2 Tbsp Corn Starch

•1 Tbsp BBQ Spice Rub

•1 Tsp Salt

Put all ingredients into a blender or food processor and pulse until blended. Dredge quartered chicken pieces first in flour, than buttermilk and then the corn flake breading. Fry as you would normally cook fried chicken.

Now that we’ve talked a bit about foods that cause you not to masturbate, how about those that supposedly do? Well guess what guys? There really are no foods that act as an aphrodisiac. Sure, certain foods can get you in the mood but psychologically speaking, if you’re getting horny while eating strawberries or oysters, it’s because your brain is realeasing hormones due to outside influences… like nakedness? Or the hope of nakedness? Or the remote possibility of nakedness? Or “Damned, it’s been a long time since I had some nakedness!”?

Food has nothing to do with it though a diet high in saturated fats CAN supress sexual performance, but that’s only because high blood pressure and heart disease are setting in. That’s not what Dr. Kellogg had in mind at all. The notion that diet can somehow affect your libido is bullshit, and as long as you maintain a healthy lifestyle and have good mental stability, go to town on yourself! Masturbation is not unhealthy (though I wouldn’t recommend doing it at the dinner table), but always remember what some people had to go through for you to be able to enjoy those graham crackers…