And so it begins...

I am not yet a chef, but I am now officially a cook. As a graduate of culinary school, I consider myself ready to be a professional cook. And I am indeed “working” at a restaurant as such, though for no money. Until the cash arrives, the cook title is unofficial, but I can still throw my new titular heft around.

My graduation—a grand buffet in which every student in our class of 15 had to prepare one or two appetizers or desserts—was a blast. Most of the dishes were very good, and I think I held up nicely with my peers. I put together an “Italian-style” ceviche of grilled octopus. It included the regular additives of lemon and lime juice, but also included grape tomatoes, finely diced fennel (and fennel fronds for garnish), garlic zest, red onion, Italian sweet pepper, blood orange puree and oregano.

I’m a huge fan of ceviches, both because they’re easy and usually delicious, and I think this one went over well. I was denied my original intention to use baby octopus and garnish with lemon balm. Oh well.

The second dish was a beef cheek ravioli with a spicy marinara dipping sauce. While the ceviche took very little time to produce, this was a long-term dish. I had to start the beef cheek braise the day before (braising in demi-glace, orange zest, mirepoix, nutmeg, tomato paste and garlic). On the second day I strained the liquid (saving a bit for my dipping sauce), pureed the meet with some ricotta, parsley, more orange zest, balsamic vinegar and basil oil. The mixture resembled cooked brains, all gray and gushy, but they were all goodness and flavor.

I then rolled my own pasta for the ravioli. And therein lay my main problem, one that always seems to plague me: I underestimated how much dough I needed. So I had to rush to pump out some additional dough as the clock ticked away, chewing my fingernails as I waited for the dough to rest in the fridge.

Theoretically I could have gone ahead with my original plan, to bread and fry the ravioli, but I deep-sixed that and simply froze and boiled the pasta. The result worked fairly well, though my pasta was a tad too thick for some refined tastes, and the presentation was a little awkward. Basically I jammed one ravioli each in a small dipping cup, and then drizzled a little dipping sauce on top. Again, it was tasty but strange to eat at a standing cocktail party.

At the end of the night, which is another way to say the end of eating and beginning of drinking, we got our chefs hats (mine broke when they tried to put it on my giant melon head), a copy of Larousse Gastromique, and a pat on the back.

And so I go into the world of cooking for real. School’s out, time to get working. Time to get cooking. Time to make money doing so.