Finished cleaning up around 1:30 tonight. Pretty rough day, but I brought home some treats aside from the usual leftover staff meal: several pounds of fishheads to make a nice fumet with, and the remnants of a bottle of Chartreuse liqueur from a co-worker. As far as sweet liqueurs go, it's rather nice (and smooth for 55% alcohol!).

Oh, and I cooked for Al Franken tonight. You know one of those, "Hey, Al Franken's on the books tonight," nights. I suppose it's a nice thing about this industry: occasionally you feed your heroes.

Yesterday, while I had a rack of shortribs braising on the stove of my studio, I headed downtown to wander around, something I hadn't done in awhile (plus, Dunkin' Donuts is a guilty pleasure). At the Barnes and Noble, I bought a copy of the Escoffier Cook Book--something that, considering my classical French training at the culinary institute, should have been my bible long ago. An excerpt:

Filets de Soles Victoria

Fold the fillets, and poach them in fish fumet.
Arrange them in an oval on a dish, and garnish the centre with three oz. of the meat from the tail of the spiny or Rock lobster, and one oz. of truffle in dice per every four fillets.
Coat the fillets and the garnish with sauce Victoria, and set to glaze quickly.

Heavy shit. Maybe my mother is right in saying that I'm a purist, but I love all the French stuff, the right and only way to do something authentically, a standard in exactness for cuisine to be followed, to be expanded and built upon further only when mastered.

Shortribs, during braising.

Liberty Avenue close to sundown.

Anonymous cooking student.

Somewhere around tenth street.

Shortribs with rosemary demi-glace, broccoli beurre noisette, cremini mushroom ragout with shallot and chive.