4.15.26 | Coming Up: Fudging It Up
For those of you who don't know, Mike will be leaving us soon.
If you don't know Mike, he is the guy you see through the kitchen window with the long hair and Grateful Dead Tattoos. If you still don't know who I am talking about, check out the picture of him below. He has been our chef de cuisine since Zunzun opened. What a long strange trip it's been.
Mike will be taking on the role of executive chef at a new restaurant. Hard-earned and well deserved. We are all happy for him, but his presence will be missed.
Mike has been responsible for pulling me out of my culinary comfort zone and introducing me to new flavor combinations and cooking techniques. He is a true magician in the kitchen. He mixes up his potions, stirs his steaming cauldron, a dash of this, a bit of that, eye of newt, leg of frog, and you have a wonderful and fragrant dish that only Mike could create. So if you've benefited from Mike’s mixes of miso, fiery hot peppers that burn your mouth, water your eyes and smoke out your ears, don't worry. I stole all his recipes. Truth be told, we created a lot of these recipes together, bouncing ideas off one another, tète de cochon à tète de cochon. Now, in true Grateful Dead style, he must Keep on Truckin'.
While he leaves us with some big combat boots to fill, I have tried to take this change as an opportunity to grow. I will be stepping back into the saddle of the kitchen and I will be trying to expand my culinary repertoire. I want to take this last month with Mike still here to up my dessert game. So I have been busy in the kitchen whipping up sweet concoctions of confections. Nougats, sablėés, jellies, jams and truffles. White chocolate glazes, feuilletine crunches, sticky, messy, down-to-the-gram-exact desserts.
I don't want to use the word disaster, but let's just say I see the look in Mike's eye when he walks in and sees the state of the kitchen. I am covered in cocoa powder and powdered sugar, the dishroom is piled high in silicon molds, whisks, and mixing bowls. I am usually very fastidious with how I keep my kitchen, but I do have to admit things have gotten away from me a little bit in my new-found fondness for fondants. With the increase in prep comes an increase in hours worked and an increase in coffee. Mike walks in, knife bag over one shoulder and casually says, “You know we don't have a dishwasher tonight, right?”
The other side to this pastry knife is that I think Becca has taken this situation as quite a challenge. Which is crazy since every time I try something new, I stop Becca from what she is doing, tug on her apron strings, and ask her to come over and take a peek at what I am doing. She tastes, she test for texture, her eyes roll up and over in thought as she conjures up flavors and textures and then she casually crushes me with the truth. My soufflé has sunk.
Back to the drawing board.
Becca seems to have this well of knowledge that I dip from. Some intuitiveness, or what Appalachians might call a “knack.” I, on the other hand, have to work tooth and nail for my desserts, breads, and pastries to turn out anywhere close to resembling nice or plate-ready. Who you gonna call? Becca. I am going to call Becca and ask her to come poke this dough, taste this semifreddo, stick a spoon in this jam, look at this glaze. Work, work, work, test, test, test, yum, yum, yum, gym, gym, gym.
Last night I come home, the house is dark, so it's just Jellybean and me in the kitchen spreading some garlicky cheese on a piece of sourdough for a midnight snack. I turn to cut my toasts into pieces, and what is on the cutting board but a bowl of about 20 lemons. In the fridge I find a pyramid of pounds upon pounds of butter, the good stuff. What is she up to and should I feel as threatened as I do right now? I didn't mean to cause division in my house, but the pyramid of butter and the golden glow of lemons is ominous. If this really is a competition, I am going to have to step up and step up fast.
It turns out Becca wants to bring back the lemon meringue that the Red Hen was known for, but it has been a year or two since she has made it and she wants to do some tests at home before it comes back to the menu. So as I wake up to Becca in the kitchen, hair tied back, polka dot apron on, microplane in hand, I realize that despite my best efforts, my long hours and hard work, I will never quite have the natural aptitude Becca has for baking and pastry. Luckily I have Becca, which is also pretty sweet.
With Michael leaving us, I have tried to turn lemons into lemonade, but I am afraid I just made more work and more messes and mess ups than I anticipated. When a recipes says cook the sugar to 240 degrees, they don't mean 243. When they say 6 grams of gelatin, they mean Six. Grams. Of. Gelatin.
Mike, you've been great here, we're grateful, congratulations!
—Chef Matt