You know I was raised in the fine dining arena beginning with a formal internship with a top French Chef.
He was a local hero, a renown ex-member of the French Culinary Olympic Team and he pulled me aside at the end of my hiring interview.
“Follow my guidelines and flourish,” he said in French, which was the only language his kitchen staff were required to speak.
“What are the guidelines Chef?”, I asked.
“Displease me in any way and you are not here.”
I had waited four months for this chance to work under a big-time Chef, and it wasn’t even a paid position.
At first, I learned as much about winemaking and gardening, as I did about cooking. I even tended to livestock.
Really.
But I also learned some valuable lessons about the setting, maintaining, and unwavering enforcement of high standards at every position in the back of the house.
The Chef grew or raised everything he served in his 4-star rated restaurant, including fresh trout caught in the river that cut through the country estate and wine from his vineyards which his restaurant overlooked.
So, not only did I get to learn classical French cuisine from a true Master, I got to muck stalls of calves, cows, lambs, sheep, goats, hens, and chickens.
So if it has gills, wings, legs or rattlers, I can butcher it and glean everything edible from the remains.
After about three months, I no longer worked outside. I had (evidently) passed the first “test.”
I would be starting, predictably, on the lowest rung of the ladder—Steward.
Basically, I was everybody’s slave.
I cleaned up messes, helped when the dishwasher got overwhelmed which was often because he was an aging relative of the Chef that no one dared offend by asking him to clean more than one single item at a time, and I only did it one week before the chef “graduated” me to dishwasher.
Hard, steady work, but it really did make the time fly. But best of all, I was included in the staff meal which one of the Sous Chefs would prepare for us.
World-class employee meals.
At the end of two years, I had flown the coup and ended up plying my trade in casino hotels in Las Vegas, and then on to boutique coastal restaurants in California.
It took me a while to learn to be less of a demanding asshole and more of a developer of talent in my kitchens and restaurants.
One of the desserts on my dessert cart was this old French recipe for a Boule de Neige, a snowball.
This flourless Dark Chocolate cake, garnished with Sweet Vanilla cream and fresh brandied raspberry sauce is money:
Boule de Neige
Chocolate Cake
1# bittersweet Belgian Chocolate
6 egg yolks
6 egg whites
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
1 tsp vanilla
Procedure
Melt chocolate over hot water bath and put in warm place after it is melted.
Beat sugar and egg yolks until thick and light yellow. Set aside.
Beat egg whites and vanilla until stiff peaks form.
Gently fold egg mixture into whites until fully incorporated.
Fold warm melted chocolate evenly into egg mixture.
Line a Bundt pan with foil or parchment paper.
Coat with unsalted butter.
Pour in cake mixture.
Bang on solid surface to remove any air bubbles.
Bake at preheated to 350 degree oven for 45 minutes. Set aside
Sweet Vanilla Cream
1 pint heavy whipping cream
1tsp vanilla
1tbsp granulated white sugar
Reduce by half.
Brandied Raspberry Sauce
1pint fresh raspberries
2 oz. unsalted butter
1 oz. raspberry brandy
1 oz. Napoleon Brandy
1 c water
Sauté pan hot. Flambee raspberries with brandy.
Add water, reduce and mash berries into a syrup.
Strain out seeds.
Plating
On a dessert plate, ladle 2oz vanilla cream.
place 5 oz. portion of cake on sauce.
Ladle 2 oz. brandied raspberry sauce over cake.
Dust with powdered sugar.
Garnish with fresh raspberries and a mint leaf.
Bon Appetit!
******
Stay well.
