How Rick Stein Saved My Life

It's all over bar the shouting, two more diploma lunches, and Hervé and Chris cooking lunch for us all on Friday.

Yesterday Was Liviy's diploma lunch, and I was one of her two helpers. Liviy (yes that's how she spells it I have discovered) was the one who disappeared for two weeks under the strain, only returning just over a week ago. It wasn't just the course though, she told me. She is a lovely girl, very quiet (a big bonus in my opinion!), so I'm really pleased for her. Mummy and Daddy flew over from Hong Kong for the occasion. This was clearly a trip they didn't have to think twice about, such is their obvious wealth. Being on front of house duty I got to talk quite a bit to both of them, particularly Mummy, who am I now madly in love with, but I'm guessing its not going to go anywhere.

Photo above: the path round the cliffs to the harbour at Dunbar. I went to Dunbar because one of the few family holidays I had a a child was a few days in a hotel in the town. The purpose of the holiday (as far as I was concerned) was to go to the Commonwealth Games which were in Edinburgh that year (1970 it would be), but having got there my Dad decided he didn't want to go to them after all. I'm still recovering from that blow. Oh yes, and I didn't manage to find the hotel.

At least I have crossed one career option off my list. Front of house. I must have lost about 3 stones yesterday trekking in and around the dining room, up and down the stairs, serving and clearing, pouring drinks, as well as helping prepare some of the food. 8 til 5.30 without a break. I will never again criticise a waiter. It would have been slightly easier had my (only worn once before) black trousers not been quite so tight, and my all black outfit not been quite so keen to absorb all the heat of the kitchen, but I guess that's just an occupational hazzard.

It was a beautiful day yesterday, bright sunshine all day, so I strolled into town to meet Ian, the school owner, for a beer wearing just a shirt. As we came out of the pub an ice-cold chainmail curtain was being dragged across the city - the haar which, my taxi driver informed me, often compensates for a few days of warm weather in these parts. Its still sitting on top of the city this morning as I write.

Photos above and below: Dunbar. Whe I was telling Stef about my day out in the pub on Sunday night, the bloke at the bar in front of us turned round, stared at me, and said "You're pronouncing it wrong - its f&%%ing Dunbar", then turned back again. Seemed like quite a nice place to me.

So, portfolio done, business presentation done, business plan handed in, that's about it. It will be a few weeks before I get my overall grade. I think most people will have passed - probably Kate and maybe Alex being the exceptions, so the distinguishing feature will be whether we each get a Pass, Merit or Distinction. I will let you know.

Photo left: Pain Perdu with caramelised apples and cinnamon sugar, courtesy of Mr Stein, photographed in the kitchen at Blackford Road

Where does Rick Stein come into it? I had bought, or been given his book Fruits of the Sea quite a few years ago, but cooked almost nothing from it because all the dishes seemed far too difficult. Over the last few weeks I've gone back to the book, and the recipes now seen quite straightforward, as well as being very tasty and beautifully presented. I cooked two dishes from the book for my fish assessment, and have just completed my portfolio by cooking two desserts from the same book. And no, they don't feature fish. It has made me realise what a long way I've come, at least in a culinary sense.

What else have I learned over the last 6 months? A lot of things. Have I achieved what I set out to? Yes. You're not going to bore us with all the details are you? No, hopefully you've picked them up along the way. However I do have a new life motto, which will replace my previous "Be True To Yourself", and it's this:

Just Get On With It.

Diploma Lunch Update...

We are now well into the second week of diploma lunches, with every one to date going well. For those people still to go this may be seen as reassuring, or if it were me, putting extra pressure on! Today is Stepan's turn. We was fairly relaxed about it on Monday when we met up for our Monday night pint, but having helped out Butcher yesterday (behind a little on time, but a sensational looking lunch) I think he's now starting to get a little bit concerned. The major triumphs were Alex, on Tuesday, who apparently delivered the full monty, and Kate the day before, who managed to keep reasonably calm and even made her big brother the airline pilot cry: "I'm so proud of my little sister". And yes, as is traditional, he brought his very attractive stewardess partner with him.

Today I have my 'creative fish' assessment. There is a bit of a row going on because when everyone else did it they were given at least 3 hours, so I planned my menu accordingly, only to be told yesterday we were to be given 2 hours. Mind you, it only took me 2 hours when I practiced it at home last week, so I should be fine. Watch this space...

Later The Same Day...

Well, it went pretty well. At least it did for me. Meanwhile Stepan was cooking his fantastic diploma lunch, and Boston Kate was having her third major crisis of the week. She was also doing her fish assessment, having missed it the same as I did (but very probably for different reasons). I have mentioned to her once or twice that she needs to prioritise better, but when I saw her slowly sharpening her knives 10 minutes after kick-off on our non-negotiable 2 hour time limit, I realised my advice had not been taken. Anyway, we both managed to produce dishes, and scored reasonably good marks (or, in my case, ahem, very good marks).

Photo above: cod on saffron mash, with an orange and chilli sauce, black olive tapenade and a tomato garnish

I also learned whilst giving Kate a much needed lift home that Alex's lunch, whilst going well, had an interesting dessert of toasted Morrison's Brioche topped with tinned Morrison's peaches. The only authentic element was a fresh blackberry on the top which he had deigned to cover with a little melted honey. When asked by one of the "food experts" who had been invited to Alex's lunch (he has no relatives in the country so reservists had to be drafted in) whether the brioche had been cooked in the Aga, Kate managed to keep a straight face whilst saying "No, actually it was cooked in a commercial oven". The scandal of it all.

Sophie's sister turned up today, for the weekend. She looks about 12. You might think this is perfectly acceptable, but she is with her "partner", who also looks about 12, and they are all staying in Sophie's room (Kylie is still away on holiday). I'm too old for this...

Arthur Wets His Pants, and Other Stories

In a slight departure from my usual reports, and as I'm nearing the end of what has been a varied, interesting, stimulating, entertaining and eye-opening time in Edinburgh, I thought I'd just record any interesting incidents over the course of a weekend to prove to myself (and you) that stuff just happens in Edinburgh.

Photo: the pier at Kilgreggan, near Glasgow, looking across towards the Gouroch to Dunoon ferry

It happened to be the weekend that my good mate and former boss (so he thought) Pete was up to visit. I'll stick to my principle of not writing in detail about anyone who is likely to read the blog, but here are a few anecdotes from the weekend (and a chance to get in a few really bad puns).

Stretching Credulity

Walking across the Meadows into town to meet Pete off the train I was approached by a guy riding what looked like a tandem with just him on it. As it passed me I realised it was a normal single-seater bike, with an extended chassis. It took me a few moment to process this, but I then realised I'd just seen the first example of a stretch bicycle.

Sporran Peace

I stopped off for a quick snifter at Sandy Bell's on the way to the station. There was the usual collection of hairy folkies, suits and students in there, and a guy leaning against the bar wearing a kilt (which is quite a common sight in Edinburgh). A few minutes later there was an almightly clang, and everyone spun round to see the kilted gent apologetically picking his sporran off the floor. I have no idea what there is in a sporran that could make so much noise, and I guess I never will, but it must weigh heavily on him.

Turkish Delight

We had our evening meal at a Turkish restaurant off George Street. It was, to say the least, very average. Edible, but dull. The manageress came over to clear our starter plates and asked us whether we'd enjoyed the food. I answered honestly (should I say frankly), saying it was ok, but I'd expected more herbs and spice (aka flavour) in the meze. She was slightly taken aback, but thanked me for expressing my opinion. "The chefs are all Turkish," she said, slightly defensively. "Well," I said, also slightly defensively "You asked my opinion and I gave it, but I'm not complaining." "Thank you. I'll pass that onto my husband," she replied, slightly frostily. Gulp. Her husband, predictably, was the head chef, who appeared later in the evening, but fortunately seemed to take it all in good spirits, and we were even given directions to Jools Holland's club around the corner, which enabled us to listen to some live music into the early hours.

Well Stuffed Taxi Door Me

We made our way home from the club around 1.30. I wandered up to George Street and quickly hailed a cab, which pulled up beside me. However, when I opened the door the cabbie said he was already stopping for the two gents behind me. Fine. I'll wait for another. I held the door open for the first guy, who walked straight past me into the cab without so much as a word. "Thank you very much," I said, addressing myself quite loudly, "That's no problem, have a good night!" I continued. "F*** off, you f****** t***" replied the guy. His mate also piled past me muttering "F****** t***" in my direction as I held the door for him. Lovely. I smiled sweetly at them and walked off, my soul and conscience clean.

Arthur Wets His Pants

Saturday morning started off with brilliant sunshine falling on the city. I donned my Eric Morecambe reject shorts and set off to meet Pete at the Scottish Parliament building. Our mission was to climb to the top of Arthur's Seat. We took the path round Salisbury Crag, taking in the spectacular views of the city, and noticing as we did the rain clouds heading our way from beyond the airport to the west. It looked at one stage as though we were going to escape with a light sprinkling as they veered off to the south, but at the exact moment we reached the summit and touched the cairn, the heavens opened and we, along with the other 20 or so people there at the time, were utterly soaked to the skin. So much so that Pete had to go shopping to buy some dry clothes to wear in the evening. As he pointed out, there are two rules when shopping at H&M: 1) don't shop at H&M and 2) if you do, buy clothes 2 sizes larger than you think you need.

Egged On

For Saturday night's meal Pete chose a Japanese restaurant he'd passed in the taxi, and which I'd been past several times on the bus. We went for the Teppanyaki option, which means sitting round a large communal table with the chef performing theatrics in the middle, cooking the food on a large steel plate in front of the guests,and generally fooling around with 6 foot flames, frightening looking blades, and raw eggs. At one point during the meal he asked us if we wanted to play a game. The game involved putting on a plastic jacket and a chef's hat, then standing in the middle of the table and flipping an egg into the hat, preferably without it descending down the back of your neck in a slow trickle. Good fun, I'd highly recommend it. Oh, and the food was delicious as well.

What's the Point?

We were bombarded throughout the weekend with menus featuring vegetarian haggis. Pete couldn't get his head around this, and I can see his point. There is nothing less vegetarian than haggis, so why would a vegetarian want to eat something that looked, felt and tasted like it? There is no answer to this question.


So this was my last chance to sample the delights of the city for a while, and we made the most of it. I wish I'd discovered the Jools Holland club much earlier in my stay. I did finally get to visit the Jazz Bar, climb Arthur's Seat, and do the Mary King's Close tourist thing. I also, for good measure, cracked the back of my business plan, and found the rightful owner of the turquoise cardigan that had appeared in my washing basket, and which I had wrongly assumed belonged to Margaret, but when it came to it and I offered it back to her, didn't (a slightly awkward moment). It was Sophie's ("Oh My God!!! Frank!!!").

And for good measure, with Click being away following her diploma lunch on Thursday (no, I don't know yet how she or anyone else has done, but you will be informed once I do), I confirmed my suspicions that the missing glassware has once again magically and mysteriously migrated into the drawer in her bedroom, despite her being (when I asked her just the other day) completely unaware of it being there!

Onwards and upwards we go (I used to work with someone called Anne Upwards - seriously).

Diploma Lunch - Done!

I was up at 6.30 in the morning picking flowers from the garden. That's the sort of day it was. I did, however, feel moderately in control throughout. I'm not sure whether that was a good thing or just a complete inability to grasp reality.

Arriving at school at 7.35, I sat around until nearly 8 before Lizzie ("I'll be there at 7.30 Frank") turned up. James, my kitchen assistant, arrived at 8.20, by which time we were already behind schedule. Things continued to lag until by 11.00 we were about an hour behind where we should have been on the time plan. I wasn't too worried, as I had built in plenty of contingency, but we did have to shuffle round a few things to make sure the canapés were ready by 1, which was the time the guests arrived (on pain of death at being a second late).

I'm pleased to say we delivered every course on time, didn't miss out any vital ingredients, and the guests seemed very happy with what they ate. One or two minor complaints (by the time we'd got the main course plated up the plates had gone cold, and Simon didn't receive any parsnip and pear purée - not that he ever eats either parsnips or pears anyway, but I suppose that's beside the point), but generally everyone was very complimentary.

After the meal there was a guided tour of the kitchens (including saying hello to those people who were still around, mainly Sam, and Kate (who had of course just arrived), a stroll round the grounds, and eventually everyone dispersed whence they came. I am incredibly grateful to everyone who came up - your support means the world to me - and to everyone else who couldn't make it but who has supported me through the last 6 months. Also to James and Graham, who both did a fantastic job on the day. I'm think I'm about to do a Kate Winslet...

So here's the menu:

Menu

Refreshing Southern States Mint Lemonade

Canapés

Courgette Candles
Courgette Strips Filled with a smooth artichoke and tomato purée

Shrimp Pastry
with a cannelini bean, pepper and chive spread

Lamb Kofta
with a mint, coriander and yoghurt dip

Starter

Twice-baked Goat's Cheese Soufflé
with blue cheese and cream topping, served with roasted baby tomatoes, salad leaves and caraway seed rolls

Main Course

Duo of Duck Breast and Confit of Duck, with a Cherry and Pomegranate Sauce

or

Chargrilled Marinated Vegetables, with Romanesco Sauce
(a rich tomato, chilli, garlic and almond sauce)

both dishes served on a bed of shredded cabbage, with marinated sweet potato chips, and a parsnip and pear purée

Dessert

Sticky Toffee Pudding
with Creme Anglaise

Tea or Coffee, with Chocolate Ganache Petit Fours

And a few photos of the day (courtesy of Butcher Graham and Margaret):

Chef at work

Chef's assistant, James

The goat's cheese soufflé could have made a bit more of an effort to get it's act together

Plating up the main course

Guests enjoying the meal in the Bell Tower Room

It was Barbara's birthday the following day, her present was a little chocolate box holding a tasteful bagpipe pincushion

Ian tells me how I should have done it

Judgement Day

It is the eve of my diploma lunch. An impressive line-up of family members are coming up from all parts of England for the event. Kick off is at 1300. Like they alway say before a big match, I'll be fine once the whistle goes. I've made extensive (some would say anal) preparations), and have the two best helpers I could possibly have got hold of in James and Hunter (Graham), who I know will do me proud.

Yesterday I went into school and prepared the duck for the main course. It took me 2 hours! One of the elements we have to demonstrate as part of the lunch is butchery skills, so I bought in 6 ducks, and because my recipe calls for marinating the legs overnight, I was allowed to fillet and section the ducks in advance. I had a sneaking suspicion it would take me some time to do this, so finding a recipe that required marinating aforehand was not as daft as it sounds.

Lizzie came in on Saturday morning as well, and we went through my ingredients list. nearly all there, apart from a few things I've said I'll bring in myself, and the tomatoes which she had forgotten. Things could have been quite different: on Friday morning we had our WSET wine and spirits exam (which I have passed, top of the class!), but before it started Kate took it upon herself to use my ingredients out of the fridge to make exactly the same thing I was going to make with them. As you can imagine I was not best pleased, and let her know it. It's just as well Lizzie had spotted what was going on. After a suitable time period to let Kate stew a bit, we kissed and made up (metaphorically speaking).

The other Exocet on Friday was that despite us being very specific about ordering 1 kilo ducks, and the supplier assuring us that would be no problem, when they arrived they weighed in at a hefty 2 kilos each. This blew my budget right out of the water, but fortunately I was able to negotiate with Jacqui, whose lunch is on Tuesday, and who is also cooking duck, to offload 6 duck breasts onto her. Phew.

Temper, Temper

We have just had the two best days ever on the course! Chris, our resident chocolatier, has been passing on his secrets to us, and we have been in constant amazement, not just at his skills, ideas and proficiency, but at the fact that we can actually reproduce some of these stunning objects ourselves. We have tempered chocolate, made marbled sheets, bows, boxes, hand-made chocolates, you name it. It's a fascinating area, and right now the majority of us want to do nothing but play with chocolate mainly because we know we can impress everyone we meet for ever more. The secret to all this is the word "tempered". This means treating the chocolate in a certain way so that beta crystals form, which when the chocolate sets, guarantee it is smooth and brittle, and not soft and dull.

Photo above: this is a stage in the production of marbled chocolate bows. The white chocolate has been dribbled onto an overhead transparency closely followed by a coat of dark chocolate which is spread over the transparency using a palette knife to create the marbled effect. Once semi-dried, the chocolate is cut in strips, then the transparency folded over as shown, and the two "ends" stuck together. Once fully dry the chocolate separates itself and the bows can be easily parted.

You will have noticed the wordplay in the title. One or two people are losing theirs, including - you've guessed it - Boston Kate, and to match that, the rest of us, and the staff, with her. Now that we are rapidly approaching the start of the diploma lunch marathon (with yours truly heading up the pack - and I have to say I am very grateful to be going first)), we can't afford disruption, and there are currently ripples aplenty (she should have been a James Bond heroine). So much so that Ian, the school owner, has had to get personally involved, which should never be the case. I can't say too much, but I think things are getting out of hand on some fronts.

Stepan and I seem to head out for a drink most Mondays these days. Now Monday is not my favourite night for a drink or two, being the first day of the week n'all, but it is one of only two nights Stef doesn't work (the other being Sunday). This week we met at the Café Royal, then headed off to the Oxford Bar (some of you will undoubtedly realise without me telling you that these are both nominated by the editor of the Good Beer Guide as 2 of the best 25 pubs in the UK), and finished up at the Thistle Street Bar, just a few yards along, which didn't have any real ales, but did have a great atmosphere, and Leffe to soften that particular blow. Having solved most of the problems of the world, we got onto the subject of how the course is changing rapidly from what it was, mainly due to the school being sold to Ian at the end of last year, and this therefore being his first year in full charge in which he can start to ring the changes, or as Stef succinctly put it "We are like some sort of bloody testing rabbits".