As with others who work in the food business, I—and especially my chef husband—have had new friends express their reservations about cooking for us. (Usually this comes out over a few glasses of wine at our house.) But in truth, the only real differences between a home cook and a food pro are time and tricks. Sadly, most of us have less and less time to wade through an ever-expanding battery of culinary advice and implements, let alone master the tricks that are most helpful.
I’m lucky enough to live with an impatient know-it-all who points out when I am wasting my time. Through him and all my own experiences in commercial kitchens I have learned that there are a few things that can go a long ways toward transforming the way you cook. One is to develop “asbestos fingers” so that you can pluck a piece of chicken from a sauté pan at a moment’s notice to check for doneness. Another is tongs. They are a seamless extension of a good cook’s hands (especially one who hasn’t developed asbestos fingers yet). But the best and most important trick of them all is to master the essential art of mise en place.
Literally translated to “put in place,” the French term mise en place (rhymes with “peas on moss”) is used in kitchens throughout the world. Basically, it refers to the preparation of a dish before one cooks it: Assembling the necessary tools and ingredients, chopping and prepping, and pre-heating the oven all count as mise en place.
I used to think I was pretty slick as a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants cook. If a recipe captured my interest, I’d start cooking. Maybe halfway through the process I’d notice that the butter was supposed to be at room temperature (so I might nuke it, then end up melting it), or that I needed cream but only had skim milk (no one would know, right?), or that the dish required three hours in the oven (and guests were expected in one). Consider what a restaurant kitchen has to accomplish. Even if only a hundred people come for dinner, that’s probably about three hundred plates that come off the line. Can you imagine throwing a dinner party and assembling three hundred plates as a seat-of-the-pants cook? Bombs away.
That’s why one of the keys to success for a pro is mise en place. Everything in its place. While you’re driving to work in the morning, pondering where you might go for dinner, cooks all over town are chopping tomatoes, cleaning squid, and making stock—all so that when you place your order that evening, your line cook has his world at his fingertips. In order to be prepared for whatever the chef commands, the good line cook must have a near-blind faith that minced onions will be on his left and finely grated parmigiano reggiano in the cooler by his knees. That is what ensures that the chaos of a restaurant kitchen can be finely orchestrated, instead of evolving into disaster. Obviously, this is crucial for speedy cooks turning out food in high volumes, but who among us throws dinner parties for three hundred?
The real secret is that mise en place, more than a trick, is practically a way of life. It’s a concept that demands you show up with your head in the game. It means full attention and focus, respect for yourself as a cook, for your time spent making something that is well crafted, and for those who will eat it. Realizing the mise en place ideal means envisioning the entire production of a dish (or menu) with each element necessary for a beautiful, delicious result.
In my pre-mise en place days, I thought creativity meant spontaneity, that improvisation had a higher value than skill and technique. I could blame the media for glamorizing chefs as artists and producing cooking shows that promise perfection in thirty minutes, but I think it was probably more a combination of ego and laziness. Mise en place taught me to balance creativity with production.
Sundays are my favorite cooking day. Older kids are mired in homework, critical husband is mired in the couch, toddler is content to roll tomatoes across the counter. I am free to work on dinner, all day. My mise en place begins with looking out the window: Is it a soup day? A roast day? With a dish selected, a survey of the fridge and pantry usually means a quick shopping trip. Once I have all my ingredients, I begin prepping them. This has become my favorite task. While chopping an onion, I focus on how I hold my knife, how the angle of the blade yields a cleaner slice, how uniformly I can make each piece. The meditative nature of this simple task has helped me understand not only why technique is important, but how food yields to different techniques. Which has led me to a better understanding of food.
After prepping, my kitchen is populated with small dishes heaped with brightly colored, fragrant ingredients. By the time people show up for Sunday supper and I begin assembling and throwing things into the flame, what may seem like the beginning of a dish is actually the end. What I serve forth, be it success or failure, has undoubtedly taught me something. I’m still working on the asbestos fingers, though.
Chorizo Tapas
2 T. olive oil
1 c. chopped yellow onion
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
2 tsp. paprika
1 c. hard cider
2 bay leaves, broken in half
1 lb. Spanish chorizo, cut diagonally,
into 3⁄4 -inch pieces
1⁄4 c. sun-dried tomatoes, coarsely chopped
1⁄4 c. chopped fresh parsley
Heat oil in a sauté pan over medium-high heat. Add onions and garlic; sauté about 5 minutes, add paprika and cook about 1 minute more. Add cider and bay leaves; bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for a few minutes. Add chorizo and sun-dried tomatoes; let simmer for 3 minutes. Remove bay leaves, toss in parsley. Serve in shallow bowl with crusty bread for dipping.
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