I took my very first cooking class last night.
I’m a self/home/Food Network trained cook. I have absolutely no academic backing to my skillz. And so when a coworker mentioned that many of the higher end cooking supply stores offer technique classes, I was all over it. I silently willed traffic to move faster that night so I could get back to my laptop and sign up. Of course, being the DC area, it didn’t move faster, so I decided my next car will be a tank.
The first available class was called “Coming Out of Your Shell,” a two hour session on shellfish—mussels, clams, scallops and oysters, to be specific. I love seafood, so I knew this would be a kick ass class. $70 later, I was in like Flynn.
I showed up to Sur La Table thirty minutes early. I had no idea what traffic would be like, so I left 45 minutes before class began…and got to cool my heels in the shop. I was so excited for this class—I was little a giddy 5 year old who showed up an hour early to the bus stop and wore super bright colors because she was afraid the bus driver wouldn’t see her and she’d never get to start kindergarten. (Not like I did that, I’m just being descriptive. Yeah. Descriptive.) The cashier told me I couldn’t go into the kitchen before they opened the doors. Every time I saw movement in that corner of the store, I’d do a little internal flip out. Is it time yet?!? No. What about now?! No. Now?!?!? NO.
But finally, it was time. You know I was the first one in that kitchen, too. I found my favorite spot in any room—in the corner, no exits behind me, where I could observe the crowd. I like to people watch.
The kitchen had about 4-5 large tables, each with two cutting boards, knives, and a baking sheet of ingredients for the first recipe on the menu. I liked how it wasn’t super home-y, so you still had that “we’re here to learn” feel, but it wasn’t cold or austere, either. Five other women joined me at my table—Thais, Courtney, Patricia, and Michelle. Not to brag, but we were totally the cool table.
Chef Matt Finarelli, our instructor for the evening, was great. He was personable and definitely knowledgeable—as he walked us through each recipe, he’d explain WHY we used each ingredient to get the tastes we wanted. Instead of staying behind the large work area in the front of the classroom, he would walk around and between the tables while instructing. I loved this—sometimes people are just too damn stuffy in academic environments. It’s good when you can teach and still be a real person. I noticed that his chef’s coat had one of those sleeve pockets for pens. His had two pens…and a meat thermometer. And that’s awesome.
Our first dish of the night was mussels mariniere. “Play with the mussels a bit to see if they’re ok,” Chef Matt urged us. If they close and stay closed, yay! They’re good. If not, throw them out cause they suck. “Alive or dead,” he added. “It’s very Boolean.”
I love it when chefs talk nerdy.
Following a fast steam in dry white wine and garlic, the girls and I added a handful of diced tomatoes, parsley, and capers. A quick toss and voila! Food! Chef Matt showed us how to use an empty mussel shell as tongs the way the Belgians do.
Our next dish, beer-braised little neck clams, was prepped in much the same way. We picked about ¼ cup of corn kernels. While they were swimming around in the drink, the girls and I combined beer, water, peppercorns, coriander seeds, bay leaves, garlic and some lemon juice, brought it to a boil, then dumped those delicious little clams in. While they were steaming, we drained the corn (saving the pickling liquid for a later use—I had no idea you could save that stuff! Yay reusing things!), chopped some tomatoes and cilantro, then gave a quick toss. By the time the clams were done. The instruction packet said to “divide between four plates” before spooning some of the salsa on top…but my table wasn’t that formal. We just dug in. And they were fabulous.
After a quick break, we were on to our third, and in my mind, the most amazing dish of my entire life.
Do you ever have those moments in your life where you know it’s a turning point, and nothing will ever be the same again, ever? This was that moment for me.
I have never in my life been able to make scallops. I don’t even really like them. Whenever I’ve ordered them at restaurants, they’re either rubbery or slimy. I don’t waste money or taste buds on things I repeatedly don’t like, so I stopped buying them.
Turns out, they sucked only because I didn’t know how to cook the damn things!
Scallops are different from other shellfish, Chef Matt explained, because we don’t eat the fleshy part under the shell. We actually eat the fibrous foot that holds to the two shells together. Standing behind the large work station, he motioned for the class to gather around.
In order for a scallop to not be gross, it should have a beautiful, crispy outer layer and a cool, medium rare center. There is A Way To Do This.
First, make sure the scallop is dry, or else the excess water won’t allow a proper sear. If there’s an extra layer of fat on the outside on the scallop, pull this off and save for later. It’s good to eat, but Chef Matt explained that it’s a different density than the rest of the scallop, so it cooks at a different rate. Season with salt and white pepper. Black pepper works too, but the white pepper disappears against the white flesh of the scallop, so it just looks prettier unless you’re going for the polkadot look.
Get the pan rocket hot and add a drizzle of oil to the pan. When it’s sufficiently pre-heated, place the scallop in the center.
There is something magical about hearing a scallop sizzle when it hits a hot skillet. As the edges began to color, I flipped it over and dropped a tablespoon of butter in. quickly, I began basting the scallop with the butter, and a beautiful golden crust appeared.
Hearing that sizzle and smelling the amazing aroma of the melted butter wafting up as I based that little sucker just made me…happy. I’m an annoyingly happy person to begin
As I removed that perfectly done morsel from the pan and nestled it in a spoonful of polenta (with a small drizzle of the browned butter over top, just because), I smiled.
Do you ever have those moments where you just know you’re doing the right thing? I had one, right then. I don’t know if the planets aligned, or the stars, or what. But it just felt…right. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with food in my life, other that cook it and eat it and share it, but I know I’m on the right track. Maybe one day I’ll make the jump to actually go to culinary school. Or open my own restaurant. Or even just make a meal that someone remembers for the rest of their lives. I don’t know. But whatever I’m supposed to do, cooking makes me happy. And I have a feeling I’m going to remember that scallop moment for the rest of my life.
Biting into that scallop was just…heaven. I barely had to chew, it just melted into my taste buds the way ice would melt into hot pavement. I didn’t even want to move on to the next recipe. I just wanted to savor that scallop.
But, we must be culinary warriors. Onward and upward, comrades!
Our final (and most complicated) dish of the night was oysters rockefeller. I’ve never had this before, so I was particularly excited to make it.
Chef Matt, again, brought us up to the front work station, where he showed us the appropriate way to shuck an oyster. (Stick the shucker knife thingy into the joint, wiggle it around and twist it until you hear a pop. Then work it around the edge until the top shell comes free. Loosen the oyster from the bottom shell with a knife, and voila!)
Using the larger shell as a base, slather in a layer of roux (made from butter, flour, milk, anchovy paste, and pernod), then a layer of sautéed spinach, the oyster, another layer of roux, and a light sprinkling of parmesan. After a short stint under the broiler…again, more heaven! I rarely eat oysters due to the price and labor involved, but that will now change. (I also have a yet=unscheduled offer for oysters on the half shell, which I’ve also never had. Expect a blog entry on that, too!)
In the car, I called my mom, and gushed about everything I learned, the food I ate, and the people I met. I’m sure she had flashbacks to my early childhood where she kept herself entertained by counting the “and then”s.
And then we made mussels…and then it was really good and I had some and I liked it…and then we made clams and I liked that too…and then we made scallops and then I was happy…
And then I can’t wait to take another class. But for now, I’m going to bed. Good night world!
