Stock duty. That means 8am in the school making huge pots of stock. Not the way you want your days to start, especially not ones as cold as this. 8am. I never function too well this early in the morning.
I’m done by about quarter to nine so make an early start on some bread. I use yesterday’s biga to make a ciabatta dough, sticking to the same flour proportions. It is too wet still, and takes only 75g water to 100g flour, and not 80 as the recipe suggests. I am hoping to get good bubbles and an authentic, chewy texture. I also make up a sourdough, using 25g rye flour for the first time, to try and draw the sourness out of the starter and give a greater depth of flavour.
My listed dishes today are grilled tuna steaks with salsa verde, Tuscan noodles and curly kale (yet again). Buggering about with my breads takes care of most of the first hour, during which time I also make up the dough for my pasta, which consists of just 00 flour and egg. The recipe calls for a very small quantity, which has to be kneaded for ten minutes until it is smooth and silky. Kneading something this miniscule is virtually impossible. It is a job for someone with extremely small hands.
The salsa verde we tasted the other day was overpowered by the capers. I wring mine out and rinse them, but still they dominate. I bump up a few other ingredients to compensate; the anchovies, lemon juice and garlic, and get it roughly where I want it. Seasoning and balancing it is tricky, as it is designed to accompany the tuna. Without the foil, it is tricky to get it right. That’s where experience comes in, and I don’t have enough.
I’m still backwards and forwards on the breads, and time, as is its want, is evaporating. After my pasta dough has rested for a bit, I roll it out on the machine. It reminds me of Christmas time, when Dad would roll out reams and reams of the stuff on a long workbench in the garage in readiness for the great Boxing Day family meal. Maybe it’s a bit warm in the kitchen but it is not rolling that well, and it definitely can’t take it on the thinnest setting, so I have to finish off with a rolling pin, before leaving it on a clothes rack to dry.
By now it is time to shape my ciabatta, which is tricky at the best of times. I’m pretty pleased with myself; despite the dough’s wetness (it spills out onto the worktop) I manage to get some proper slipper shapes out of it, and there are some good bubbles under the skin.
As I mentioned, the minutes are flying from me, when I suddenly remember I was supposed to be making curly kale. I grab a load from the larder, get a big pan going and start prepping it. I get a little cream and season it up with nutmeg and salt and pepper ready to go in. Everything is going to come together at once here, so I will need my merde en place again. I get a serving plate and bowls warming n the oven, and lemon and parsley garnishes ready for the tuna. My salsa verde is ready to go. I have the magimix standing by for the kale.
The kale is done and I drain it off (the water is the craziest luminous green I have seen since some tiny weird frog hopped across the balcony in Greece years ago). Into the mix, blast it, add butter and the seasoned cream, taste, tweak, and into the bowl. I get it tasted before it goes into the oven. There is a slight moment here. I have tasted it. I know it is well seasoned, and is good. I don’t think it; I know it. I trust myself.
The pasta is starting to turn a little leathery, so I get it off the rack and roll and cut it. In a bowl I grate Parmesan, a little garlic and add olive oil and some fresh basil. I have another sprig ready for garnish. I fill the pan back up with water to boil for the pasta, and get the griddle on the heat for the tuna. They will both take a mere two minutes. I have a colander ready to drain the pasta and the serving plates out. In goes the pasta, on go the steaks. After thirty seconds I turn them 90ยบ to get nice gridlines. After a minute I flip them over and repeat. The heat comes off the pasta and I drain it and toss it in the oil straight away. The tuna is on the serving plate and the salsa laid on top. Done. The pasta I flip with my hands and into the bowl, top with the basil and I’m all done. The sink is full of pans that I have crashed and banged about, but I got two last minute dishes turned out side by side, and they’re both grand and piping hot.
As the lunch rush subsides I take my ciabattas out of the oven. The ultimate disappointment. The bubbles aren't there and they just don't look and feel right. It is a regression. Did I really think I would nail one of the most difficult breads in the world at the second attempt? Well, yes, actually. Why not? I'll take a couple of days to think about it all, read some more recipes, draw up a plan, and come back for more. Bring on the slipper.
Can’t say I learnt a lot in demo today - a few mousses and fish and chips, basically. Once we were done I turned my sourdough into baskets to prove overnight, and got in position for our final wine lecture. At 8pm I hauled my ass out of there, only to find the fucking windscreen had frosted over. Twelve long hours at Ballymaloe Cookery School. Before afternoon demo there was a very public ballot to determine times for the final exam. The first shock is that the earliest slot is 7.30am. Mon Dieu! Exams are on the 9th and 10th December. I desperately want to draw the 9th, since it is my birthday, and with the exam out of the way I can set about getting pissed unhindered. No such luck. I pull 8am on Thursday 10th. C’est la vie. At least the kitchen won’t be too busy, and I can just get on with delivering the goods.
Which, incidentally, is what I did today. Nothing spectacular - just solid, good food. Going through the motions. Exactly what I came here to learn. Making omelettes, breaking eggs.
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