Danamarie McKiernan

Eating My Way Through Restaurant Week

ohoadmin — Wed, 28 Aug 2013 20:35:46 +0000

Eating My Way Through Restaurant Week ohoadmin Wed, 08/28/2013 - 16:35 /sites/default/files/styles/width_1400/public/content/blog-article/header-image/Mock-Restaurant-Service_Culinary-Arts-Class_2.22.18_300dpi-13.jpg.webp?itok=dHxOAroa Life as a Culinary Student August 28, 2013

By Danamarie McKiernan

There have been times in the past when restaurant week came around, and it didn't matter much to me. This year was different, completely different. As a culinary student, it was a whole new world. Constantly tasting everything with an open mind, it's as if I'm a child learning to familiarize myself with new flavors, aromas, textures and sensations.

I know an amazing chef that can put a spoonful of sauce in his mouth and tell you every ingredient that is in it. That kind of palate development takes time, patience and practice—and starting that process was my primary goal during this year's restaurant week.

My first stop was lunch at Alan Ducasse’s Benoit on West 55^th Street. I used to work in that area, and must have walked past this restaurant a dozen times. The website explains that “Alain Ducasse’s bistro evokes the charm and pleasure of the original Benoit in Paris, which opened its doors in 1912”. When you walk in the door it does exactly that—you are transported to an authentic Parisian bistro. I made the reservation for 2 so as to eat at a table, and the hostess was very friendly when I told her that my (non-existent) friend had canceled and I would be dining alone.

As I looked over the menu I was very happy with the offerings they put together for restaurant week. My first course I choose a pork tonnato which was impeccably cold. I slid a butter knife over some of the sauce so I could taste it alone. It was creamy and smooth with the tang of acid from lemon juice and wine. For my entrée I chose skate wing grenobloise. It was flakey and buttery with just enough lemon, salty capers and fork smashed potatoes, whose texture complimented the dish so well.

The dessert I chose was a patisserie parisienne—a beautifully prepared cherry tart that glistened on the plate. But my absolute favorite part of Benoit? As I walked past the hostess to leave, she stopped me, said goodbye and handed me a paper bag with a treat to go. Now that's fine dining!

Next came lunch at Morimoto. This time, I sat at the bar and was able to see the extensive kitchen in action. To my amazement, it was busy but the entire kitchen was quiet. The décor was absolutely beautiful and very modern. right down to the place settings. I started with a light, floral tea and ordered a bento box, as well as tuna tartare. I heard about the latter dish many times and (as a loyal Iron Chef America fan) had seen versions of this dish plated on occasion.

It was all I had expected it to be: silky and accompanied by all the accoutrements one needs to adapt the texture to their personal taste. Every component of my lunch Bento Box was also prepared flawlessly. The miso-glazed chilean sea bass broke apart in large buttery, sweet, tangy and slightly smoky flakes. The sushi tasted fresh and clean; the tempura crunchy and flavorful. And the orange ginger dressing was probably the best I've ever had.

Continuing on the seafood trend, I headed to Esca, a marvelous restaurant for Italian seafood in the city. This time I did have a friend with me, offering the chance to taste even more of the menu. Of particular note was the grilled calamari with arugula: tender charred rings with a nutty, mildly sweet olive oil that complemented the plate effortlessly.

Of the entrées, the grilled sea bream with sautéed spinach and baby fennel stood out. The flesh just slid onto my fork, and was drizzled with a beautiful olive oil—different then the oil I admired on my calamari. I would have loved to have those finishing oils in my pantry.

Then there was lunch at Aldea. I rarely get the chance to eat at Michelin star restaurants, and eagerly sat at a bar, right in front of the open kitchen. It was remarkable. At Morimoto, the open kitchen was huge, so the chefs were far away. This time, the chefs were within talking distance. It was exhilarating to have the chance to ask questions during my meal.

At Aldea, what I noticed were the exceptional knife skills. For tomato gazpacho, tomatoes, hearts of palm and cucumbers were cut to perfectly complement each other, then placed in a bowl with tweezers to mimic a nest of fresh vegetables in a garden. It was beautiful. The soup was poured at table and slowly covered the vegetables, lifting them up into a silky, sweet both with a hint of mint.

For an entree, I chose to have skate, in order to compare it to the dish at Benoit. This time, the portion was a bit larger, with a divine and nutty brown butter and cooked pickled vegetables (which I had never tasted before), which added the perfect amount of acidity to the dish. I finished with a chocolate mousse dessert composed of varying flavors and textures, so that each spoonful was an adventure.

The only dinner I ate that week was at Riverpark, which proved to be my favorite meal. I had never heard of this restaurant or even knew it existed. When I made the reservation I explained that I was a culinary student and was curious if I could get a tour of the kitchen. I also arrived–with my cousin—a little early, because I wanted to see the restaurant's farm. I was amazed how something so beautiful and plentiful can live here in NYC.

When we arrived, my reservation must have been flagged, because the hostess said that they were waiting to show me the kitchen. I cannot even explain how I contained my excitement; I did not want to look unprofessional. The manager, John, took me by the arm and walked me to the kitchen. I was introduced to Chef Andrew Smith who gave me a tour, explaining each section of the large, immaculate kitchen and some of the more interesting ingredients. He enthusiastically answered all my questions and gave me his card before I left. It was absolutely astounding.

My night was already made, and I had not even eaten. We sat, overlooking the water, ordering a grilled calamari salad with farm greens, grapefruit and nicoise olive vinaigrette. The plate itself was so stunning and every ingredient so attractive that it took a moment for me to even want to eat it. I am glad that I did. The calamari was tender and perfect, the greens dressed slightly and the bitter olive vinaigrette all exploded in my mouth with flavor.

The next dish was a duck confit ravioli. The waiter poured the dish's broth over the ravioli at the table, as I closed my eyes to take in the aroma. I spent the next ten minutes talking about the ingredients and flavors that I had just experienced. For our main course, we chose the Berkshire pork chop and the black sea bass. The pork was grilled to perfection, sprinkled with grilled peaches and accompanied by collard greens. The greens were sautéed to perfection: not too salty, not too bitter.

The sea bass came on a mound of freekeh, which I had never tried before and the waiter generously explained to me. The skin on the fish was so crispy that it crunched in my mouth, even as the flesh remained very moist and flaky. A tomato consomme rounded out the dish with acid and sweetness. That meal at Riverpark was a memorable experience that I have since then told many people about.

I was fortunate enough to extern at the restaurant for the final segment of my Culinary Arts program at 91��߹ and was honored to work in such an amazing restaurant. Overall, my restaurant week experience lived up to my goal: experiencing many different flavors and textures in a short amount of time. I look forward to making a more reservations for one in the future.

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The Potential of a Tomato

ohoadmin — Tue, 30 Jul 2013 21:55:21 +0000

The Potential of a Tomato ohoadmin Tue, 07/30/2013 - 17:55 /sites/default/files/styles/width_1400/public/content/blog-article/header-image/IMG_3187.jpg.webp?itok=NjtK_-eM Life as a Culinary Student July 30, 2013

By Danamarie McKiernan

Throughout my time at 91��߹, I knew there would be “ah ha” moments when I learned something new about food. But I didn't expect that the first time this happened, it would come in the form of a tomato.

On "Tomato Day", we started off with dozens of fruits. Chef Chris explained how they do not need to be perfect tomatoes, bruised tomatoes are beautiful too. We chopped away all morning, without knowing what we were going to make. The tomatoes were then dropped into a VitaMix—one of Chef Chris' favorite tools—and blended into a silky tomato puree.

I was then sent to the stove, where I was instructed to patiently bring the puree to a boil in a 4 quart pot. Chef Chris then showed us how to completely strain the puree using a chinoise with a linen towel as a lining. Tomato water was the end product. Tomato water! Amazing! It was completely delicious and the aroma filling the room reminded me of summertime in August when my family and I jar our own tomato sauce.

The tomato water was clear with a hint of red. Alone, it tasted like light tomato broth, which I would have loved to pour in a tea cup and sip all day. But in cooking, there are endless possibilities for tomato water: from tomato vinaigrette to sauces and dressings—my personal favorite is to boil pasta in diluted tomato water to add extra flavor.

Leftover tomato puree, to be dried out for tomato powder.

You can also add other ingredients to adjust the spice or seasoning of tomato water. For example, Chef Chris explained how he enjoys adding jalapeños to the tomatoes prior to straining, to create a spicier broth.

Once I calmed from my excitement over tomato water, we moved onto the next phase of tomato day: tomato powder! I wasn't sure how this could be made or used, but I was immediately intrigued. Making use of the leftover strained puree, we spread it on a half sheet pan. The pan was then put into the oven at 150 degrees overnight (12 hours).

Tomato powder

In the morning, we found dried tomato crackers. Again, we blended these in the Vitamix, producing a potent, brick red powder—and again, I was amazed at the possibilities. Tomato powder is essentially just another spice to add to your pantry. One of my favorite uses thus far is to sprinkle it over fish or steak; I love the tang it leaves on my palate.

Homemade farfalle with tomato powder dough

That day, I left school with so many ideas. My first was to make pasta dough with the tomato powder, substituting it for a half cup of flour. Studded with specks of colorful flavor, I rolled out this dough to make farfalle. When cooked, it made for a tangy, slightly salty and balanced little bows, with a texture that held on to my mushroom-thyme butter sauce perfectly.

The first, but certainly not the last, of many tomato recipes to come.

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Stock-A-Palooza

ohoadmin — Wed, 19 Jun 2013 21:25:16 +0000

Stock-A-Palooza ohoadmin Wed, 06/19/2013 - 17:25 /sites/default/files/styles/width_1400/public/content/blog-article/header-image/Veal-Boar-001.jpg.webp?itok=wTtwLkIA Life as a Culinary Student June 19, 2013

By Danamarie McKiernan

At the beginning of culinary school, you're learning from the bottom up. Start to finish. The basics. And while home cooks may take this critical step for granted, that means diving head first into “stocks”. Eight hours of class, six different stocks and eight very eager students = a recipe for a great day at 91��߹.

Making a stock means extracting the amazing flavor hidden inside the bones of different proteins and chopped vegetables. Before we hit the stove, Chef Chris started class with basic knife skills and culinary terminology. Mirepoix (chopped onions, celery and carrots) is the foundation of many stocks, providing a subtle, but pleasing base flavor. Some cultures use a different combination of vegetables and call their mirepoix by a different name, but the concept remains the same.

While I anxiously waited to get to the stove and hover over bubbling pots, I had to wait and learn to cut my vegetables properly first. With his chef's knife in hand, Chef Chris demonstrated a rough chop, small, medium and large dice. My classmates and I spent the next 40 minutes chopping mirepoix for all the stocks we were to make that day. It felt great to have my knife in my hand, as it became easier and easier to slice through the vegetables.

Once you understand the method of making a proper stock, you can create practically any sauce, stew or soup. Carrying my mise en place for chicken stock to the stove, I grew eager to bring my stock to life. A flash of flame burst under the stock pot, the oil rippled as it heated, and the mirepoix sizzled as it was added to the pan. Mirepoix is your starting flavor; a little salt is added, and then it should sweat without creating any color. From there you add a sachet d'épices (which I mentioned in my last post), water and bones, and leave your stock to simmer for hours. The most interesting aspect for me is that idea: "just leave it alone”. At home I would stir it and move things around, checking the flavor throughout the cooking process, but Chef Chris explained that stirring produces a cloudy stock.

From there I moved on to a lesser-known stock: white veal. What is that? The base of this stock is veal bones, which are first blanched to remove any impurities. From there, they are strained and then the process continues like all stocks with mirepoix, sachet, water and bones—brought to a boil and then left to simmer.

On the other end of the spectrum, brown veal stock requires pincage. This French technique (pronounced pin-shage) involves caramelizing the bones and mirepoix with tomato paste in the oven. This concentrates their flavor, and then the bones and vegetables are (again) added to the stock pot with a sachet and water.

Stockmania continued with fish stock, mushroom stock, vegetable stock and Parmesan Reggiano stock. Parmesan stock was a shock to me, a completely new concept. Did you know you can really make a stock out of anything? All you have to do is follow the same technique; mirepoix, sachet, water, boil down to simmer.

The Parmesan stock was very interesting we used the rinds of the Parmesan to make the stock. We wrapped the rinds in cheese cloth (just in case they fall apart) and used our same stock technique as we have been doing all day. Chef Chris explained that this was actually a broth because stock requires the bones of a protein.

Danamarie, hard at work in the kitchen.

That day, I learned more about stocks, broths and bones than anyone would have even thought they needed to know. The stocks that we made today will be the foundation, throughout the year, for recipes in many of our classes. That beautiful Parmesan Broth will be turned into delicious French Onion Soup. Now that is something to look forward to!

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The First Day

ohoadmin — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 20:47:44 +0000

The First Day ohoadmin Wed, 04/17/2013 - 16:47 /sites/default/files/styles/width_1400/public/content/blog-article/header-image/Chefwalking_0.jpg.webp?itok=3zNLAcQg Life as a Culinary Student April 17, 2013

By Danamarie McKiernan

Finally, it came. My first day of culinary school. The night before, I ironed my uniform and organized my equipment in my new tool bag. My family took photos of me leaving the house with my white coat on a hanger and chef shoes in hand. That’s when the nervousness kicked in, and I felt the butterflies swimming in my stomach. I had waited for this day for so long. I had no idea what to expect - and that was the most exciting part. My student advisor said we should arrive at 91��߹ thirty minutes early. I’m a food nerd; I was there an hour early. I felt flushed as I walked off the elevator and hoped my cheeks’ pinkish tone was not too noticeable.

Looking around as if at Disney Land for the first time, I took in the photos on the walls, walked past a pastry class, and inhaled the scent of fresh baked breads. At the front desk, I check in, collected all my text books and took a photo for my student ID. Then off to my locker, where I changed into my uniform before entering the kitchen. Ah! The beauty in that command, “head to the kitchen”.

With a smile as bright as my chef’s coat, I looked around the bright, fresh-smelling kitchen, and suddenly, I was no longer nervous. My classmates cheeks’ wore the same flushed tone. We were all in this together. Our advisor, Jennifer Fallon, ran us through the rules and regulations, then asked us to introduce ourselves and explain why we came to 91��߹. It was very interesting to see how so many people, at different points in their lives were all led here by their passion for food – a passion strong enough to make a person change their whole life.

Then Chef Chris Gesualdi stepped up to the plate. I will never forget him, as I am sure no culinary student has ever forgotten their first Chef Instructor. He was the one to help me pave the foundation of my culinary career. Chef Chris got down to business very quickly, walking to each student and handing them their personal knife kit. I teared up and wondered if he noticed. It was the sign of becoming a real chef, receiving our knifes. Chef Chris explained that we are all starting at zero, no matter what we had done or where we had worked. In his class, until the end of the program, we would move together. That was true. Very true.

Class started right away and right away it hit me all at once. I was so excited that I forgot that this was still school. It was shocking, but I quickly learned how much hard work this was going to be. The first class was a blur, reminding me that I didn’t know as much about cooking and the culinary world that I thought I did.

After a brief school tour, we learned to identify kitchen equipment. A strainer may just be a strainer in the outside world, but in a professional kitchen it is a china cap. We then learned to identify herbs. “What is chervil?” I had cooked my whole life, been around my family, watched food network obsessively, and I had no idea what chervil was. It had a nice, refreshing flavor. It was also the first time I had seen or smelled fresh oregano.

Chef Chris explained that the next few weeks would be “stock mania”, where we learn how to build flavor and create beautiful stocks. I have made stocks and soups at home since I was a kid, but it was interesting to learn that the herbs used in almost all stocks are thyme, parsley, bay leaf and whole peppercorns: a sachet d’epices.

Last, but not least, Chef Chris explained mise en place, “everything in its place”, which would become a way of life. Everything organized, where you need it, when you need it, and always clean.

As I arrived home, I sat alone for a while to reflect on what just happened. It was more difficult than I expected, but I knew this was right. I cracked open my books and started organizing my notes and recipes. To become a chef, I had to master the art of organized chaos. Mise en place, I got this.

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Returning to Your Roots

ohoadmin — Mon, 25 Feb 2013 21:45:21 +0000

Returning to Your Roots ohoadmin Mon, 02/25/2013 - 16:45 /sites/default/files/styles/width_1400/public/content/blog-article/header-image/vita-vilcina-3055-unsplash%20%281%29.jpg.webp?itok=TDtEPIvc Life as a Culinary Student February 25, 2013

By Danamarie McKiernan

Culinary school has been calling to me since I was 17, but I just wasn’t listening. Raised in Brooklyn, I have been surrounded by good food for as long as I can remember. Holidays with my Irish-Italian family meant days of preparation and cooking, finally gathering around our oversized table for the main event.

My grandfather, “Gramps” oversaw the feast each and every year. Our family of astounding home cooks whipped up homemade delicacies such as crab sauce or calamari with baby lobster tails. My mom, uncle and I would stay at the table long after the others, sucking on crab legs to extract every last piece of meat. Alongside the crabs, we served perfectly golden, stuffed fried shrimp and baked clams. The meal continued with flaky fish filets, tangy, lemony seafood salad and perfectly al dente pasta. If I close my eyes I can still smell and taste everything.

That is reason why I am going to culinary school. It is because of the women and men in my family that surrounded me with food and shared their passion for cooking. My mom taught me how to make the most amazing chicken cutlets and buttery mashed potato pie. My Aunt Annie introduced me to the importance of fresh produce and shared the secret to her amazing crepe-like pancakes. Uncle Frankie was the adventurous one. He always used spices and animal protein that I didn’t even recognize.

My grandma Margret taught me consistency. The most saintly, wonderful woman, she made the best butter smothered shrimp and bacon-wrapped potatoes. They taste the same every time she cooks them – even today, at age 94! Aunt Lizzie pushed me to do things my own way, to be creative. She would pop open that refrigerator door, pull things out randomly and, an hour later, a masterpiece was served. It was her recipe I adapted to make the best lobster bisque my family had ever tasted.

But more than anyone, it was my grandparents, “Lucy" and "Gramps” who inspired my interest in food. Each night, I would walk downstairs to their apartment to help Gramps get dinner ready. At first, I was in charge of salad dressing, placing the spices he had laid out in the correct shaker. At that age, I remember he would eat this horrible, dark green, spinach-like vegetable with pasta, and the oil would drip down his chin. I thought it was horrible, but today pasta with broccoli rabe is one of my favorite things to cook and eat.

My Lucy made everything from chicken, fish, pasta, pizza to desserts and pies. Late at night, she would whistle for me to come downstairs, and we would make apple pie together, trying not to wake Gramps with our giggles. The first meal I ever cooked alone with no help was for her and Gramps. It was a “Buttermilk Chicken” from my mom’s red and white Better Homes & Gardens cookbook. I still have the book, with its stained and ripped pages.

The first all-adult dinner party I prepared was for my Lucy’s 70^th birthday. I planned out the menu, cooked everything myself, and even hired a waitress to come to the house and help. It was during that dinner party that Uncle Frankie suggested, “Dana you should go to culinary school”. From that point on, it was always in the back of my head.

I looked into a cooking school in Manhattan called “Peter Kump’s Cooking School” (today, the Institute of Culinary Education). But instead of going to culinary school, I ended up in the service industry. I have bartended and managed bars and restaurants, but none of those jobs ever stuck. I now know why. This is what I was meant to do and it has just been waiting for me. After leaving my last job, I said to myself, “This is it.” I applied for the Culinary Management Program at 91��߹ and have never been happier. In September 2012, I graduated, winning an additional award for Leadership.

Now, I'm in the Culinary Arts program. This is the best decision I have ever made in my life. Things are going to change. I will be a chef, and I am ready. My application papers are signed, the knife kit is in my hands and I have been fitted for my chef coat. I cried when I put that coat on for the first time. There is an amazing culinary road ahead of me. Stay tuned; it’s going to be a fun ride.

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