Between 2:00 and 4:00 p.m., things are a little quiet at the griddle station. Restock for the next day, pre-cleaning and sanitizing for the days end, and service for the occasional food order.
'Mason' approached, looking somewhat bewildered as he glanced side-to-side, hoping to find instructions posted or a counselor on hand to guide his search for a hot sandwich.
"How's it going, what can I do for you?" I asked, giving him a generous and welcoming smile. The verbal cues seemed to settle his meal time trepidation and he flashed a broad, beaming smile.
"Oh, sweet! Ummm, I just wanna get a burger and some fries," he stated. I showed him how to fill out the order form and where to place it for future reference.
"Soooo, just meat and cheese?" I asked, scanning his white chit, "No lettuce, pickle, tomato, onions?"
He claimed to have missed that part, feeling that it would be like the advertising pictures with all the accompaniments on it.
"Everything only no onions, hate 'em," was his final word.
Come to find out, after a very short interview with his culinary consultant, Mason didn't like the heat of raw onions. We can fix that, I told him.
"OK, while, the burger is cooking, let's try some things out with onions," I stated, like an instructor prodding a reluctant student, "we're gonna grill some using a few easy-to-do preparations. You folks in the home audience can try this in your own kitchens." My fake, info-mercial voice was on and it caused Mason to break a crease of a grin on one side of his mouth. He strained his neck to watch how I put melted bacon drippings onto the hot griddle and spread thinly sliced onions onto the surface in a low stack.
"Next, I'll use just canola oil in another pile, and finally, cook a third portion in canola then, reduce with Balsamic vinegar. That shit will blow you away, dude!" I was getting excited as the chemistry of applying heat to the carbohydrates in onions was explained. Those carbs converted to simple sugars, then, the simple sugars became 'caramelized' with additional heat, giving grilled onions a sweetness that is antithetical to the pungency we experience in say, a fresh salsa.
"Dude, it smells so friggin' sweet!" he told me as his eyebrows raised while pulling on the bill of his ball cap, leaning further over the grill, "that's amazing..."
With a pair of kitchen tongs, I pinched the onions in bacon fat for him to taste. His face said he had just finished a test. The ones in canola, he gave a neutral nod of agreement. The onions in oil and reduced in Balsamic vinegar, elicited the look of a marathon finisher.
"Oh...My...God...!" he quietly murmured, "I want those on my burger!"
"What did you learn at college today, Mason?! That onions are friggin dee-licious when they're prepared the way you like 'em, right? I chided.
"Yes, sir. Thank you SO much!" he concluded, reaching over the sneeze guard for a fist bump.
Atta Boy...
Thursday, November 30, 2017
Cooking at the Community College...#2...Miss Tina
(This was from June '17, but, forgot to post it)
"Well, hellllll-o, handsome!" It was Tina, my favorite transitioning student at the community college, sidling up to the sneeze guard separating her from me at the fryer station.
"How's your day goin'?" she inquired in a perky, supermarket, check out girl tone of voice. She then leaned one arm on the old tray line, swinging her chin upon her shoulder in a rehearsed pose of classic, Hollywood seduction. Goodness, it's early, I thought, but, we have theater in the cafe' today. With great earnestly, I resolved to remain virtuous to this cooing temptress by shaking a basket of tater tots, grabbing her standing, daily order of gourmet fries and dropping them into the scalding oil.
"Not too shabby," I started, looking away from her and gazing out across the Cougar Cafe' pausing, "but, it just got better."
Looking directly at her, I needed to make eye contact and parry her fledgling advance. A confused, 20 year old queen isn't going to put me on my heels, I thought. Flattering though it may be, attempting to put this middle-aged cook in a dither at my own work space is not an open audition. There will be push back. Gloves off...
"How's your morning going, sweetheart?" I confidently inquired, "love your blouse and jeans shorts outfit...PERfect for our first 90 degree day of the year. And the dark denim of the cut off short-shorts? Nice contrast to the lighter top. I LOVE the puffy, Mexican peasant shoulders, too. They really suit your body type. Oh well, I could go on..."
Her mouth was visibly agape; hazel eyes bulging and stunned behind black rimmed, safety glasses. A blank expression had set into a light, powdery foundation; a few blotches of acne concealer barely visible under a soft pink expertly brushed into her plumped cheeks. The boy from Pendleton that became a girl in Carlton actually blushed. She took a breath and composed herself. Someone finally noticed her.
"It's all I had today. Was running late, slept through my first mid-term, then...," she began making swirling gestures with a hand in the air, rolling her eyes in an attempt to break my fixed and piercing stare. Tina actually looked away and pretended to wave at a friend across the cafe'. She nervously resumed our conversation and peered into the fryer, hoping her gaze would complete the cooking process.
"Girl did what Girl had to do with what Girl had," I stated matter-or-factly, "And she looks FABULOUS!" I confirmed, pulling the french fries out to hang for a few seconds. Tossing them in a bowl with seasoning salt and into a paper-lined basket, I then loaded them with Tina's favorite toppings: bacon, cheddar cheese, garlic/parm and sour cream. Presenting the dish to her, she commented,
"And you remembered no green onions..."
"Of course I remembered. Enjoy, and have a great rest of your day, sweetheart" I offered.
Daintily selecting, then tasting a few shoestring potatoes, Tina turned, threw her head back and winked,
"It just got better..."
"Well, hellllll-o, handsome!" It was Tina, my favorite transitioning student at the community college, sidling up to the sneeze guard separating her from me at the fryer station.
"How's your day goin'?" she inquired in a perky, supermarket, check out girl tone of voice. She then leaned one arm on the old tray line, swinging her chin upon her shoulder in a rehearsed pose of classic, Hollywood seduction. Goodness, it's early, I thought, but, we have theater in the cafe' today. With great earnestly, I resolved to remain virtuous to this cooing temptress by shaking a basket of tater tots, grabbing her standing, daily order of gourmet fries and dropping them into the scalding oil.
"Not too shabby," I started, looking away from her and gazing out across the Cougar Cafe' pausing, "but, it just got better."
Looking directly at her, I needed to make eye contact and parry her fledgling advance. A confused, 20 year old queen isn't going to put me on my heels, I thought. Flattering though it may be, attempting to put this middle-aged cook in a dither at my own work space is not an open audition. There will be push back. Gloves off...
"How's your morning going, sweetheart?" I confidently inquired, "love your blouse and jeans shorts outfit...PERfect for our first 90 degree day of the year. And the dark denim of the cut off short-shorts? Nice contrast to the lighter top. I LOVE the puffy, Mexican peasant shoulders, too. They really suit your body type. Oh well, I could go on..."
Her mouth was visibly agape; hazel eyes bulging and stunned behind black rimmed, safety glasses. A blank expression had set into a light, powdery foundation; a few blotches of acne concealer barely visible under a soft pink expertly brushed into her plumped cheeks. The boy from Pendleton that became a girl in Carlton actually blushed. She took a breath and composed herself. Someone finally noticed her.
"It's all I had today. Was running late, slept through my first mid-term, then...," she began making swirling gestures with a hand in the air, rolling her eyes in an attempt to break my fixed and piercing stare. Tina actually looked away and pretended to wave at a friend across the cafe'. She nervously resumed our conversation and peered into the fryer, hoping her gaze would complete the cooking process.
"Girl did what Girl had to do with what Girl had," I stated matter-or-factly, "And she looks FABULOUS!" I confirmed, pulling the french fries out to hang for a few seconds. Tossing them in a bowl with seasoning salt and into a paper-lined basket, I then loaded them with Tina's favorite toppings: bacon, cheddar cheese, garlic/parm and sour cream. Presenting the dish to her, she commented,
"And you remembered no green onions..."
"Of course I remembered. Enjoy, and have a great rest of your day, sweetheart" I offered.
Daintily selecting, then tasting a few shoestring potatoes, Tina turned, threw her head back and winked,
"It just got better..."
Sunday, November 5, 2017
Cooking at the Community College, #4, 'Gene'
Probably in his mid-fifties, he strolled through the food court area surveying choices, cold cases with prepared foods, beverage coolers with colorful, trendy products and fountain stations with inverted RC Cola cups, stacked in columns and at the ready. A tray with Rice Krispie Treats in tidy plastic envelopes occupied one shelf, cookies the size of dinner plates sat shingled neatly next to an Italian pottery bowl of apples, oranges and bananas; Devil and Angel. Finally, the ubiquitous 'Bagel with Cream Cheese', a throwback to the '70s, holding steady next to the not yet filled lunch crock pot of 'Soup of the Day.'
None of which impressed Gene, nor do they ever. The man from Boise via Mollala, does like to take in the sights though, just in case there's something to entice his predictable tastes. Invariably, he moseys on over to the griddle station, says hello and fills out a breakfast order ticket for a dish that is familiar, offering great value: two buttermilk pancakes the size of hubcaps, with two strips of bacon, cooked, but, not crisp.
"She wants me to pay for toilet paper, can ya believe that?!" he calmly stated, fully expecting the absurdity of the statement required no voice intonation and my immediate concurrence. His head was cocked slightly backwards, black rimmed glasses resting on the bottom third of his nose with every intent of seeing through them at this acute angle. Unfortunately, being a mouth-breather, it makes him look cross-eyed and detracts from any thought emanating from his mouth. The comb-over haircut doesn't help matters any and putting a vest over yesterdays elk hunting shirt can't hide the fact that you're wearing the same clothes two days in a row...
"So, whaddya think about that? $425 dollars a month for my room and she wants me to pay for toilet paper. Doesn't seem right, does it? To you, it don't seem right, does it? I mean whadda YOU think about that?"
Gene was laying his case out in the court of common sense as his two pancakes got the flip. It's hard to keep a straight face sometimes. The faint whistles he makes when he speaks nearly kill me. Looks like all his own teeth, but, s-words come out like he's calling a wayward pooch in from a morning shit on the front lawn.
"Ya know, with these hood fans right over my head," I called in an exaggerated manner, "it's hard to hear very well, but, I'll tell you what. If you have a common restroom for multiple tenants, seems to me that the land lord should cover that expense, since you all don't have a private bath. She's just trying to put that cost onto you...ain't right, Gene" I offered.
He nodded and grinned, giving his receding hairline a reassuring swipe with this left hand to confirm his stand and opinion on things. Gene even seemed to bounce a time or two on his feet, giving it a 'Hell Yeah!" while bobbing his head.
"Movin' in with my daughter at the end of the month and gave my notice," he concluded, "so, ta hell with that landlord, anyways."
I assured him that was a sound and prudent move; being with family and closer to the community college was a win-win.
"So, what are you studying, right now? What's your plan after completing your education?" I asked as I draped his frisbee-sized flapjacks on a plate.
"Well, I'm studyin' reading and math. Never read so well and need to be better with numbers," he whispered across the sneeze guard.
"I'm on disability, ya know. Got T-boned by a drunk when I was a cab driver in Portland. Get $947. 32 per month. The new rent will be $300, school is covered, take the bus, so, I got about $500 free money each month. Pretty good, huh?"
"Reading and Math...what am I gonna do with it?" he beamed looking up from his pancakes,
"Enjoy Life more...!"
Thanks, Gene.
None of which impressed Gene, nor do they ever. The man from Boise via Mollala, does like to take in the sights though, just in case there's something to entice his predictable tastes. Invariably, he moseys on over to the griddle station, says hello and fills out a breakfast order ticket for a dish that is familiar, offering great value: two buttermilk pancakes the size of hubcaps, with two strips of bacon, cooked, but, not crisp.
"She wants me to pay for toilet paper, can ya believe that?!" he calmly stated, fully expecting the absurdity of the statement required no voice intonation and my immediate concurrence. His head was cocked slightly backwards, black rimmed glasses resting on the bottom third of his nose with every intent of seeing through them at this acute angle. Unfortunately, being a mouth-breather, it makes him look cross-eyed and detracts from any thought emanating from his mouth. The comb-over haircut doesn't help matters any and putting a vest over yesterdays elk hunting shirt can't hide the fact that you're wearing the same clothes two days in a row...
"So, whaddya think about that? $425 dollars a month for my room and she wants me to pay for toilet paper. Doesn't seem right, does it? To you, it don't seem right, does it? I mean whadda YOU think about that?"
Gene was laying his case out in the court of common sense as his two pancakes got the flip. It's hard to keep a straight face sometimes. The faint whistles he makes when he speaks nearly kill me. Looks like all his own teeth, but, s-words come out like he's calling a wayward pooch in from a morning shit on the front lawn.
"Ya know, with these hood fans right over my head," I called in an exaggerated manner, "it's hard to hear very well, but, I'll tell you what. If you have a common restroom for multiple tenants, seems to me that the land lord should cover that expense, since you all don't have a private bath. She's just trying to put that cost onto you...ain't right, Gene" I offered.
He nodded and grinned, giving his receding hairline a reassuring swipe with this left hand to confirm his stand and opinion on things. Gene even seemed to bounce a time or two on his feet, giving it a 'Hell Yeah!" while bobbing his head.
"Movin' in with my daughter at the end of the month and gave my notice," he concluded, "so, ta hell with that landlord, anyways."
I assured him that was a sound and prudent move; being with family and closer to the community college was a win-win.
"So, what are you studying, right now? What's your plan after completing your education?" I asked as I draped his frisbee-sized flapjacks on a plate.
"Well, I'm studyin' reading and math. Never read so well and need to be better with numbers," he whispered across the sneeze guard.
"I'm on disability, ya know. Got T-boned by a drunk when I was a cab driver in Portland. Get $947. 32 per month. The new rent will be $300, school is covered, take the bus, so, I got about $500 free money each month. Pretty good, huh?"
"Reading and Math...what am I gonna do with it?" he beamed looking up from his pancakes,
"Enjoy Life more...!"
Thanks, Gene.
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