Ghetto chicken

Did I ever tell you about that time Alex Guarnaschelli threw a wad of cash in my face and told me to run - not walk - as fast as my legs could take me to retrieve a raw, whole chicken?  And not just any chicken.  Not the most expensive chicken on the shelf, but not a "ghetto" chicken either.  Hm, I'm not sure how that story slipped through the cracks.

Let me back up a little bit.  

After graduating from The French Culinary Institute's six-month cooking and pastry program (which is now the ICC), I snagged a job at De Gustibus Cooking School.  It was sort of the ideal gig for someone like me who had zero desire to be a line cook or own a restaurant, but who still had a deep passion for food.  The cooking "classes" are lead by a different chef every night - usually a well established one and often times of celebrity status.  Guests purchase their tickets, which include a multiple course meal accompanied by paired wines.  The featured chef of the evening demonstrates each course as you sit and enjoy it.  It's a brilliant premise and for a wide-eyed girl fresh out of culinary school like I was, it was like getting paid to eat the food of the gods.

While working at De Gustibus, I got more than just a taste of high end cuisine; I also got a taste for what the industry is really like behind the smiles and artfully arranged mise en place.  It is both extremes: on the one hand, an adrenaline-packed punch of stress, inflated egos and macho fury and on the other hand full of comradery, knowledge, insight and excitement.  Over the course of my stint at DG, I worked alongside the likes of Madhur Jaffrey, April Bloomfield, Gabrielle Hamilton, Geoffery Zakarian, Jean-George Vongerichten, Francois Payard and of course, Alex Guarnaschelli.  And not only did I briefly work with each those chefs, but I also worked with their incredibly talented staff members as well.  I saw the full range of personalities and food.  Some chefs were laid back, arrived with their teams and sipped espresso during the entire prep-session, while others showed up exceptionally late to the game and really had to make it work.  

Which is where my story picks up again.  Chef Guarnaschelli's team of two showed up somewhat late and began prepping everything for the class as quickly as they could.  However, when the chef finally did arrive, things were not as organized as they should have been.  The most grave mistake was that there was no whole chicken for Chef Guarnaschelli to break down during the demonstration, as well as a few other key ingredients.  I can only guess that she zeroed in on me because I had the longest legs of the bunch.  After asking me if I knew what a leek looked like, she rattled off a descriptive list of items (including a chicken that was not a "ghetto" chicken - whatever that means), threw me the cash and I was off like a shot.  After what seemed like an eternity making my way from Herald Square to the nearest grocery store and back (this includes being on an express train that decided to actually stop on the tracks for 20 minutes), I made it back in time before the demonstration, everyone sighing with relief upon my arrival as one of my bosses yelled in his thick Brazilian accent, "Get her some champagne - she's dehydrated!" ​

The bonus round of working at De Gustibus was that each chef had to actually record recipes for the dishes they chose to serve and we compiled them into booklets for each guest - almost all of which I still own.  As I leafed through them the other day, I began to realize how similar many of them were.  I think menus are sort of like movements in art - you start to see similarities in theme, technique, color and composition.  I lost count of how many menus all started with some sort of crudo and pickled every other side dish.  I wondered if leafing through the menus would make me yearn for that period of time again, or even yearn for New York.  But I've never felt so disconnected from high end cuisine in my life.  And what strikes me the most is the dishes that I highlighted in my notes as favorites were often the simplest: hummus from Michael Solomonov, an insanely delicious escarole salad with fried croutons from April Bloomfield, a simple beet salad with burrata from Geoffery Zakarian, a green gazpacho from Justin Bogle.  

​Simple and direct flavor always trumps technique.

This gazpacho popped into my head the other day because of our greenhouse.  Our "seedlings" are quickly becoming monsters, demanding to go outside.   I love standing in their midst, lulled by the warmth and the hum of the fan, the glow of the sun against the plastic walls.  The greenhouse is the humble beginning of another farm year.  My first planting season as a married woman.  Beginning the cycle again initially feels overwhelming as my husband comes in later and later for meals each day, more tired, dirtier, more weight on his shoulders.  But we always find a long, lingering moment to hold hands quietly before sleep beckons us and then I remember it's only possible to take on everything one day at a time.  My goal this year is to let things roll off of me more easily.  To just focus on what I'm doing and on what my family needs, to commit to learning and giving it my all, and to not worry about what's going on around me so much.  Spring is the time for those renewed intentions.

Garden Gazpacho
Makes 2 quarts
Adapted from Justin Bogle

The original recipe for this gazpacho is more complex with added components.  I've eliminated certain ingredients and paired it down to its most simplistic form.  The dish is different from how Chef Bogle originally served it, but the spirit is the same.  When I first ate this dish, it was accompanied by some King crab meat and very fanciful flower garnishes.  Fresh scallops quickly pan seared or treated like ceviche would be delicious with this as well.  But eating it simply as is with a touch of yogurt is divine.

Ingredients

Gazpacho

1 bunch fresh parsley
1 bunch scallions
1 bunch fresh cilantro
1 bunch fresh chives
1/2 bunch fresh dill
1/2 bunch fresh basil
1 cucumber, peeled
1/4 of a medium sized jalapeno
1 avocado
2 cup fresh, shelled peas (or frozen, defrosted)
1 quart cold, filtered water
Salt to taste


Yogurt garnish

1 cup plain Greek yogurt
1/4 cup whole milk
Salt to taste

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Final garnish

Sliced almonds, toasted
Green grapes, halved
​Fruity olive oil
​Flaked salt

Method

For the gazpacho

​​Bring a pot of salted water to a boil and prepare an ice bath.  Remove the majority of the stems from the herbs and discard the stems.  Blanch each of the herbs for a minute and then transfer to the ice bath.  When they are chilled, remove and let dry on a paper towel-lined sheet tray.

Halve the cucumber and remove the seeds.  Cut each half lengthwise again and blanch for 30 seconds.  Transfer the cucumber to the ice bath.  Drain on a paper towel.

Blanch the peas for two minutes, then let them chill in the ice bath before draining them.  Split the avocado in half, remove the pit and scoop the flesh into a high speed blender.  Add the rest of the ingredients, including the water, to the blender and puree until very smooth.  Season with salt and then pass through a strainer if so desired.

For the garnishes

Thin the Greek yogurt with the milk and whisk until well blended.  Season with salt and set aside.

Divide the gazpacho into bowls and drizzle or dollop the yogurt sauce on top.  Garnish with grape slices, toasted almonds, a drizzle of olive oil and a bit of flaky salt.  
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​Serve cold.