Just writing that title scares me. Day 40. Even Jesus would have been thinking of heading home round about now.
The halfway stage Herb and Salad Leaf Recognition and Technique Exam dominates the day. The first ‘exam’ since my finals way back when. I adopt the standard approach that served me so well all those years ago, and leave everything until the last minute. The exam has several parts. First up for me is the Technique Exam. There is a list of thirty odd kitchen techniques that we should know. We are all tested on chopping and sweating an onion and making a paper piping bag. On top if this, we each get two other techniques, ranging from assembling a magimix (!) to making scones. In between are my two - slicing and sautéing a mushroom and, surprise surprise, making an omelette.
Paying extra special attention to my technique, I chop and sweat my onion. I probably use a little too much butter, but otherwise no real dramas. Next up the shrooms. I slice in the prescribed fashion and sauté in two batches over a high heat, being careful not to crowd the pan. I taste the first batch and I have over-seasoned them. I inexplicably season the second batch, instead of leaving it unseasoned so I can combine the two and be about right. Consequently they are far too salty and are disgusting. I tell my examiner about this, which won’t help my marks any but at least stops her from spitting them out in front of me.
Next up is the omelette. Bring it. I know this is all about their technique, and having never made one before the other day, I only know one way. I make a perfectly acceptable omelette, happy in the knowledge that I have followed all their little instructions to the letter. I had to really, didn’t I….
Leaf recognition is next. Firstly, I have ten herbs to name and then suggest two ways in which I would use each of them. Easy. Now for the salad leaves. They have a lot of different salad leaves in this place. More than I ever knew or cared existed, in fact. Mizuna, mibuna, texal greens, golden marjoram, sorrel, salad burnett, tatsoi, pak choi, lambs lettuce, spinach, mustard greens, red mustard greens, the list goes on. I knew but a mere handful at the beginning of the week. I made the mistake of learning them in groups, by comparison with other leaves, and by taking pictures of them on my phone. Also, there are a number that are so distinctive that I don’t bother tasting them. Real smart.
I start with the ones I know - curly kale, pak choi, rocket, mibuna. Then things start to become a little murky. That mizuna looks a bit wide. Maybe it’s not mizuna. Maybe it’s a really small green mustard green? Doesn’t taste that mustardy. It tastes more like petrol. Like epazote, in fact. But epazote is a herb (according to our list at least), so it can’t be that. The red ones - red mustard greens, surely. Beetroot leaves? No, they’re too big. Er, I don’t know any other red ones. And that thing that tastes like rocket. Is it rocket? It doesn’t look like rocket. By the time I have chewed my way through most of them hoping for some Divine inspiration, they all taste like bloody rocket anyway. In the end, I throw a few wild, and almost certainly inaccurate, stabs in the dark.
To finish off I have to lay a table and present and pour a glass of wine. Nice and easy. The lovely Florrie comes over. “Now Joe, is there anything you’d like to change before you show me.” A couple of quick adjustments later and things are looking a lot better. Not perfect, unless you are right handed but prefer to eat your soup in your left hand, but better. The wine is easy - three golden rules. Don’t obscure the label, offer a taste, and don’t overfill the glass. Two and a half out of three isn’t bad; some would say I poured a little overenthusiastically but I might have just got away with it. Oh well, mizuna mibuna, as the saying goes (or should do, at least).
One day I’m going to open a restaurant. You help yourself to cutlery, add your own salt and pepper to everything and bring your own wine. I’m going to call it Salad is for Wimps and there won’t be a single leaf of the stuff in the whole God damned place.
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