Chocolate Banana Fondant with Tonka Bean Icecream
Double Sigh.
Friday, June 17, 2005
Double Sigh.
Backfiring Gestures and Marzipan Bananas.
Today, I went bananas. Literally. Well, maybe not quite so literally. I learnt how to make bananas out of marzipan. That was the high point of my day at work.
A few days ago, I had this short conversation with Erica about how sometimes when people (read: me) try to do special things for her, she always manages to make things go to shit. Her conclusion (which I concur) is that I try too hard and that I should know better - I don't need to go out of my way, break my back and a leg plus my cranium to show her a good time.
It's her birthday today. And for the past 3 hours (whilst I was patiently moulding and painting bananas) I have been scheming how to wish her happy 21st.
First I stole some desserts and garnishes from the hotel. Then I made sure I got back by half eleven so I can make her a birthday cake. Well, not exactly a cake, but a chocolate banana fondant (which is bloody heavenly). Got home on time, and went straight to the kitchen. Made a piping bag out of baking paper, melted some chocolate and wrote "Happy Birthday, Kid" on a plate with milk chocolate buttons arranged to say 21.
That's when the shit hit the microwave. I burnt some of the chocolate, my piping bag was wonky, my hands were trembly and my cigarette was of no help whatsoever. But still I soldiered on. Plate ready, garnished and decorated, I patiently waited the full 14 minutes for the fondant to bake in the oven. Then more shit. The fucking fondant died on me. It literally went *plooop* and turned into a right mess. It actually LOOKED like shit. But still I persevered, feeling now mightly incompetant.
Upwards I went into my room - she's asleep, no doubt because she's not feeling very celebratory at all (Oh god. Why can't I ever take a fucking hint.) I woke her up gently and wished her Happy Birthday - she smiled a half smile, eyes sleepy and aura grumpy.
Oh well. At least she had half a teaspoon full of my fucked up fondant. Doubt she even looked at the plate properly.
I told her I wanted to take her out to dinner and catch a movie - but she's all negative about the whole idea. Cold water slapped right smack on my face. I try not to show my dissapointment, consciously battling the uncomfortable feelings stirring in my being.
Sigh.
Happy Birthday, Kid - from your dear Hah Big.
A few days ago, I had this short conversation with Erica about how sometimes when people (read: me) try to do special things for her, she always manages to make things go to shit. Her conclusion (which I concur) is that I try too hard and that I should know better - I don't need to go out of my way, break my back and a leg plus my cranium to show her a good time.
It's her birthday today. And for the past 3 hours (whilst I was patiently moulding and painting bananas) I have been scheming how to wish her happy 21st.
First I stole some desserts and garnishes from the hotel. Then I made sure I got back by half eleven so I can make her a birthday cake. Well, not exactly a cake, but a chocolate banana fondant (which is bloody heavenly). Got home on time, and went straight to the kitchen. Made a piping bag out of baking paper, melted some chocolate and wrote "Happy Birthday, Kid" on a plate with milk chocolate buttons arranged to say 21.
That's when the shit hit the microwave. I burnt some of the chocolate, my piping bag was wonky, my hands were trembly and my cigarette was of no help whatsoever. But still I soldiered on. Plate ready, garnished and decorated, I patiently waited the full 14 minutes for the fondant to bake in the oven. Then more shit. The fucking fondant died on me. It literally went *plooop* and turned into a right mess. It actually LOOKED like shit. But still I persevered, feeling now mightly incompetant.
Upwards I went into my room - she's asleep, no doubt because she's not feeling very celebratory at all (Oh god. Why can't I ever take a fucking hint.) I woke her up gently and wished her Happy Birthday - she smiled a half smile, eyes sleepy and aura grumpy.
Oh well. At least she had half a teaspoon full of my fucked up fondant. Doubt she even looked at the plate properly.
I told her I wanted to take her out to dinner and catch a movie - but she's all negative about the whole idea. Cold water slapped right smack on my face. I try not to show my dissapointment, consciously battling the uncomfortable feelings stirring in my being.
Sigh.
Happy Birthday, Kid - from your dear Hah Big.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Art?
Anyway... This phallic looking sculpture was actually on display doing a flower show (fuck knows why I was at one). It's actually of a mother and child. Turn your head 90 degrees clockwise.
Flickr Test
I hate how I'm so horribly unphotogenic. And that's understating it. Fucking hell. I'm sounding awfully self-absorbed and vain.
Oh what the fuck. This is a picture of me walking in Auckland. Not that you could actually make out the location, nor my face clearly for that matter.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Angry Square
Yet another truffle day. Ginger and Drambuie in dark chocolate coated with chocolate flakes. 350, 2.5 hours. One very grumpy Square.
Fast forward two hours and I'm kinda craving for some potato rosti and croquettes. Hungrily I opened the freezer and whaddaya know - some fucker housemate has stolen ALL of it. Plus half a pack of croquant truffles (not that I was in the mood for any) and a caramel chocolate square. One very very grumpy and pissed off Square.
Looking around the kitchen, I realise that my pots and pans, some crockery and utensils are still missing-in-action - only one place it can be. Room 1. By now, my temper was far from being good.
In storms me into Room 1 and fucking hell, the place is like a dumpster turned inside out, food, cups, pans, pots, utensils, cutlery, crockery all strewn over the floor. Half of it mine.
The chap who is squatting in Room 1 (which belongs to Sachin, a quite alright friend) is half asleep and wondering why I am cursing like a madhatter. I pick up my kitchenware, grumbling that he should have fucking washed my shit and return it where he took it (it's been taken for quite a few days). There's leftover food still in my stuff. The clincher: my 12" deep saucepan has mold growing on the rotten leftovers in it.
I snapped. I looked at him and said what the fuck is this, there's fucking mold in my fucking pan and unceremoniously threw it on the floor, collected the rest of my things and stormed out wondering how the fuck he can live in a fucking dump like that - very very loudly.
Erica's already aware that I'm in a bad bad mood and is quiet as a mouse, knowing full well that I can and will snap at any breathing thing that is in my face. The kitchen is once more in a dirty mess - unwashed crockery, dirty sinks. I collect whatever that's mine and set it aside and then got rid of everything else - including spoons, forks, a pot, glasses and lots more - in the fucking backyard. I've never seen a pot fly so far and high quicker.
I'm upset and I can see visibly that Erica is too. She doesn't like people venting anger the way I do, nor does she like seeing me upset. I take a deep breath and try calming down.
Sigh. Shouldn't have gone off like that. But then again, it's nice to know that the fury is still somewhere within me, ready to manifest anytime. It's been a while since I lost my temper. Hopefully, it'll be a long time till I erupt again, if ever again.
Hehe. Who am I kidding ey?
I'm a walking pressure cooker with a faulty lid.
Fast forward two hours and I'm kinda craving for some potato rosti and croquettes. Hungrily I opened the freezer and whaddaya know - some fucker housemate has stolen ALL of it. Plus half a pack of croquant truffles (not that I was in the mood for any) and a caramel chocolate square. One very very grumpy and pissed off Square.
Looking around the kitchen, I realise that my pots and pans, some crockery and utensils are still missing-in-action - only one place it can be. Room 1. By now, my temper was far from being good.
In storms me into Room 1 and fucking hell, the place is like a dumpster turned inside out, food, cups, pans, pots, utensils, cutlery, crockery all strewn over the floor. Half of it mine.
The chap who is squatting in Room 1 (which belongs to Sachin, a quite alright friend) is half asleep and wondering why I am cursing like a madhatter. I pick up my kitchenware, grumbling that he should have fucking washed my shit and return it where he took it (it's been taken for quite a few days). There's leftover food still in my stuff. The clincher: my 12" deep saucepan has mold growing on the rotten leftovers in it.
I snapped. I looked at him and said what the fuck is this, there's fucking mold in my fucking pan and unceremoniously threw it on the floor, collected the rest of my things and stormed out wondering how the fuck he can live in a fucking dump like that - very very loudly.
Erica's already aware that I'm in a bad bad mood and is quiet as a mouse, knowing full well that I can and will snap at any breathing thing that is in my face. The kitchen is once more in a dirty mess - unwashed crockery, dirty sinks. I collect whatever that's mine and set it aside and then got rid of everything else - including spoons, forks, a pot, glasses and lots more - in the fucking backyard. I've never seen a pot fly so far and high quicker.
I'm upset and I can see visibly that Erica is too. She doesn't like people venting anger the way I do, nor does she like seeing me upset. I take a deep breath and try calming down.
Sigh. Shouldn't have gone off like that. But then again, it's nice to know that the fury is still somewhere within me, ready to manifest anytime. It's been a while since I lost my temper. Hopefully, it'll be a long time till I erupt again, if ever again.
Hehe. Who am I kidding ey?
I'm a walking pressure cooker with a faulty lid.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Truffles. Fucking Truffles.
Life's moving along as usual, same old shit - different day. Life hasn't exactly taken on a new meaning for me, post LL.B, but I suppose you can say that my passion for chefing is getting just a tad more significant with every 12 hour shift.
Life as a Pastry Chef is Sweet. Pun intended. Working with chocolate, sugar, custards, cream, pies, cakes, jellies, fruits, etc... What's there not to love?
Well, I'll tell you what. Truffles. Fucking Truffles. Fucking handmade, handrolled, handcoated chocolate truffles. In my brief almost 2 month tenure as a Pastry Commie Chef, I must have made, painstakingly, at least 3,000 truffles. I did about 400 today. Coffee ganache coated with dark chocolate rolled in milk chocolate flakes. Took me nearly 3 hours.
Don't get me wrong, I love the fact that I can actually make virtually ANY chocolate I feel like, on my own, in any kitchen. But oh boy. After the learning curve, it's Shitsville all the way, mate.
Oh, while I'm on this ranting mood, I hate spreading fucking tuiles too (though I'm quite good at it now, able to nail down 120 in 15 minutes, about 4 minutes slower than my head Pastry Chef).
Nevertheless, it feels mighty cool that I am actually serving customers desserts in an AA restaurant of a five star hotel, without any sort of formal training.
Back to work at 9 in the AM. I'm so excited. *yawn*
Life as a Pastry Chef is Sweet. Pun intended. Working with chocolate, sugar, custards, cream, pies, cakes, jellies, fruits, etc... What's there not to love?
Well, I'll tell you what. Truffles. Fucking Truffles. Fucking handmade, handrolled, handcoated chocolate truffles. In my brief almost 2 month tenure as a Pastry Commie Chef, I must have made, painstakingly, at least 3,000 truffles. I did about 400 today. Coffee ganache coated with dark chocolate rolled in milk chocolate flakes. Took me nearly 3 hours.
Don't get me wrong, I love the fact that I can actually make virtually ANY chocolate I feel like, on my own, in any kitchen. But oh boy. After the learning curve, it's Shitsville all the way, mate.
Oh, while I'm on this ranting mood, I hate spreading fucking tuiles too (though I'm quite good at it now, able to nail down 120 in 15 minutes, about 4 minutes slower than my head Pastry Chef).
Nevertheless, it feels mighty cool that I am actually serving customers desserts in an AA restaurant of a five star hotel, without any sort of formal training.
Back to work at 9 in the AM. I'm so excited. *yawn*
Saturday, June 11, 2005
The Ups and Downs of the past Four months
Dear Blogger,
Forgive me for my procrastinations. It's been four months since my last blog-post.
Square
+++++++++++++
Okay! Here's a quick summary of the past four months of my life. In bullet point, no less. We'll start with the negatives.
Square, Theatre Producer: From upstart to total Twat.
I've gone from being an okay theatre producer who started training under one of the best in Malaysia, to being a total twat of a producer who can't even manage employees and my upstart company. In April, Victorian Theatre Company was officially put on sabbatical, which in other words, means that I've lost so much investments this year that I have been forced to shut it down.
Things I did wrong (so many I'll just name three):
- Start programs and plans over the summer of '04 knowing full well that I was going to be away for 9-12 months and leaving it to people who are great individuals in their own right, but lacking the right attitudes and experience in the business.
- Be so overtly optimistic that I thought I could take the world, not one step at a time, but thinking that all negatives were positives waiting to be realised.
- Let down a whole great bunch of young talents with the closure of my most ambitious plan till date - youth.arm.
Result?
I am a twat who should get back down to basics and make coffee for people who know what they are doing, whilst starting to learn old and new things again. Maybe do their fucking laundry too.
Credit: Debit without the 'i'
I've lost so much capital and investments this year, that I have been in the shits for the past four months and will need another 5 to get back into the black. But I'm making amends. Lifestyle changes, prudent spendings; no savings yet, can't afford to.
Result?
What twat of an arsehole can't 'afford to save'? Me. I'm 22, and I still can't save a fucking penny for my own good, not to mention fucking rainy days. It's literally been raining shitstorms. And it's all my own crap.
Working three jobs?
Stupid stupid stupid. I let down 2 out of three employers, one being my ownself. The other, laid me off, nicely, which I am thankful for. I was becoming too much of a liability.
Result?
Don't fucking run when you can't even stand. One step at a time? One job at a time. Just make sure I do it fucking well.
--------
Now to the positives:
LL.B (Hons.?)
Good news is that I finally drudged through my Law Degree. Now hopefully I will past, with honours. Then at least I know I'm not a 100% good-for-nothing fuckup.
Chefing
I started chefing at the hotel last October with NO relevant experience nor skill nor aptitude. Now, I can gladly say that I'm slightly better than when I started. 4 months of Breakfast shifts and staff food preparations laid down some good basics - timing, basic skills, kitchen etiquette etc. Then I got shifted to Room Service, which was not as challenging, but no less difficult. Then Night Shifts taught me that I can be a total slacker if working alone - procrastination being the word - and how important it is to work in a team.
But now, the Head Pastry chef has taken me under his wing, and although I'm still the 'ruddy kitchen chef', I'm making amends, unlearning all the bad habits I picked up as a kitchen chef and mastering new skills and better basics. Here's what I know to be unequivocally important in any kitchen:
- No fucking Blaring Radio.
- You work in shit, you cook shit.
- Mise-en-place is the holy grail of any kitchen.
- Always taste what you cook and season accordingly.
- Focus, dedication and passion are the ingredients for a good chef.
- Tardiness is not.
- Respect begets respects.
Much more stuff as well.
I'm glad to say that I'm loving being a pastry chef - though I do miss the heat and chaos of the main kitchen. But I think it's for the better, this way I learn how to be better organised, how to work well as an individual and a team, as well as understand that cooking really is as much science as it is passion and art.
That's all for now. Just watched Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares and feel very inspired as a chef. Will this be a career? I don't know. What I do know is that if it is, I will make damn sure that I be one of the very best.
Ciao.
Forgive me for my procrastinations. It's been four months since my last blog-post.
Square
+++++++++++++
Okay! Here's a quick summary of the past four months of my life. In bullet point, no less. We'll start with the negatives.
Square, Theatre Producer: From upstart to total Twat.
I've gone from being an okay theatre producer who started training under one of the best in Malaysia, to being a total twat of a producer who can't even manage employees and my upstart company. In April, Victorian Theatre Company was officially put on sabbatical, which in other words, means that I've lost so much investments this year that I have been forced to shut it down.
Things I did wrong (so many I'll just name three):
- Start programs and plans over the summer of '04 knowing full well that I was going to be away for 9-12 months and leaving it to people who are great individuals in their own right, but lacking the right attitudes and experience in the business.
- Be so overtly optimistic that I thought I could take the world, not one step at a time, but thinking that all negatives were positives waiting to be realised.
- Let down a whole great bunch of young talents with the closure of my most ambitious plan till date - youth.arm.
Result?
I am a twat who should get back down to basics and make coffee for people who know what they are doing, whilst starting to learn old and new things again. Maybe do their fucking laundry too.
Credit: Debit without the 'i'
I've lost so much capital and investments this year, that I have been in the shits for the past four months and will need another 5 to get back into the black. But I'm making amends. Lifestyle changes, prudent spendings; no savings yet, can't afford to.
Result?
What twat of an arsehole can't 'afford to save'? Me. I'm 22, and I still can't save a fucking penny for my own good, not to mention fucking rainy days. It's literally been raining shitstorms. And it's all my own crap.
Working three jobs?
Stupid stupid stupid. I let down 2 out of three employers, one being my ownself. The other, laid me off, nicely, which I am thankful for. I was becoming too much of a liability.
Result?
Don't fucking run when you can't even stand. One step at a time? One job at a time. Just make sure I do it fucking well.
--------
Now to the positives:
LL.B (Hons.?)
Good news is that I finally drudged through my Law Degree. Now hopefully I will past, with honours. Then at least I know I'm not a 100% good-for-nothing fuckup.
Chefing
I started chefing at the hotel last October with NO relevant experience nor skill nor aptitude. Now, I can gladly say that I'm slightly better than when I started. 4 months of Breakfast shifts and staff food preparations laid down some good basics - timing, basic skills, kitchen etiquette etc. Then I got shifted to Room Service, which was not as challenging, but no less difficult. Then Night Shifts taught me that I can be a total slacker if working alone - procrastination being the word - and how important it is to work in a team.
But now, the Head Pastry chef has taken me under his wing, and although I'm still the 'ruddy kitchen chef', I'm making amends, unlearning all the bad habits I picked up as a kitchen chef and mastering new skills and better basics. Here's what I know to be unequivocally important in any kitchen:
- No fucking Blaring Radio.
- You work in shit, you cook shit.
- Mise-en-place is the holy grail of any kitchen.
- Always taste what you cook and season accordingly.
- Focus, dedication and passion are the ingredients for a good chef.
- Tardiness is not.
- Respect begets respects.
Much more stuff as well.
I'm glad to say that I'm loving being a pastry chef - though I do miss the heat and chaos of the main kitchen. But I think it's for the better, this way I learn how to be better organised, how to work well as an individual and a team, as well as understand that cooking really is as much science as it is passion and art.
That's all for now. Just watched Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares and feel very inspired as a chef. Will this be a career? I don't know. What I do know is that if it is, I will make damn sure that I be one of the very best.
Ciao.
