Cooking For A Fifteen Year Old - Part Three

     Page Ninety-Nine.
     Well, the kid, Shem, has begun to warm up to me. Yesterday when I was over cooking, he started out by mostly ignoring me. But by the time dinner was ready and he was eating, he was really quite talkative.We carried on about this and that, computer games and other incredibly important matters for, perhaps, half an hour. Turns out the kid's a champion gamer. He's won tournaments and so forth. While talking, he was very animated; he smiled and laughed occasionally. It was really a very nice chat. He's quite personable and warm after all. Who knew?
     He was also particularly nice to his guardian, my friend Deb, last evening. He asked her how her day was. He hasn't done that in months; she was shocked. So, she subsequently phoned me this morning and asked me to add another day per week. I'll add Fridays. At this rate, I won't be surprised if we somehow figure out a way to keep me on board after the kid gets back from summer camp and moves in with his brother. In a situation like this, when you find a puzzle piece which apparently works, you don''t remove it. That's just my gut feeling. We'll see.
     This Friday, I'll make him Beef Stroganoff  for dinner and a turkey, lettuce and tomato for Saturday lunch. I really hope he makes it in life.   

On Learning to Make Beef Stroganoff

     Page Forty-Six.
     My very first restaurant job was in 1978. It was at Subconscious.The Subconscious Sandwich Shop was on Taylor Road, here in Cleveland Heights. It was a few years old when I entered the scene and was already on its second owners. I was sixteen and in the eleventh grade at Cleveland Heights High School. It's just as well that I missed out on the fun of the first owner.
     If  I remember the gossip correctly, under the first owner you could buy many things besides submarines. Pot, Quaaludes, acid, coke... all for sale, depending upon who was working that day. When I was hired though, it was owned by two middle-aged French ladies. Mrs C. and Mrs Y (that's really what we called them) were Cleveland Heights matrons who needed something to do during the day so they bought the place (and ran it into the ground, but that's another blog). It was a great job for a high school kid: lots of food, lots of other high school kids (as co-workers and patrons) and not stressful. It was also six blocks from my house so I always walked. I did quit the job once, but they took me back. I consider it my primary high school job, 
     In the twelfth grade, I really got into Stouffer's frozen foods. My favorites were: Chicken Paprikash with Noodles, Spaghetti and Meatballs, Swedish Meatballs with Noodles and Beef Stroganoff with Noodles. One day I was talking to Mrs C. and mentioned, just in passing, my fondness for Stouffer's. She was aghast that I would pay good money for things which I could make at home, which would taste better, be healthier, and ultimately be less expensive. She set out to teach me to make Stroganoff. In retrospect I realize that I had a great teacher in her as she was probably an average-talent French cook. That means by American standards she was a GREAT cook.(One of the secrets to our sub sandwiches was that we sprinkled oregano over the entire thing. This was standard.)
     So a real live French cook taught me how to make Beef Stroganoff when I was seventeen years old. What are the keys to a good product? Always cut against the grain whenever cutting beef chunks for any stew and add the sour cream at the very end. Don't let the sour cream cook, unless of course, you're reheating it the next day. Then it's okay, in fact Stroganoff is better the next day..

Beef Stroganoff? Child's Play.

     Page Sixteen.
     I do have some kind of nerve. I'm this little pipsqueak hired to be the help and suddenly I'm destroying the party food. But I do know what I'm doing in the kitchen. Don't ask me to evaluate the food if you don't want me to answer with actions not words.
     Winter: early '83. A wonderful Salon: Alpha-Omega client who I was particularly fond of hired me to be the party help at her mother's birthday party. Jenny's husband picked me up at 5PM and they acquainted me with their beautiful Shaker Heights kitchen. (Sidebar: that home is right around the corner from where I've nannied and cooked the three little princes since February, 2011.) The Beef Stroganoff was simmering upon my arrival. I was introduced to Mom, the guest of honor, and then I was told of my duties. The party got started and I washed cups and prepared salad plates. It was a modest sit-down dinner, 20-25 or so.
     Prior to serving time is tasting time. So long about 8, the guests start filing into the kitchen to sample the Stroganoff. Everyone needs to make sure that it's just so. Everyone tastes. Everyone hems. Everyone haws. 
     "Hmm. It's good but... It just needs something. Do you know what it needs?"
     "No. I don't know what it needs. Maybe she knows what it needs."
     "No, I don't know what it needs. Could it need more of this?"
     "No. I don't think it needs more of this. I think it needs more of that."
     I'm sure that NASA didn't put as much thought into the Apollo flights as was going on in this Shaker Heights home over that Stroganoff. Finally, Jenny said "Jeremy, you know food. Will you sample this and tell us what it needs?"
     I sauntered over and tasted. You could have heard a pin drop. Didn't say a word; just took a couple of steps to my right and picked up a full but opened bottle of Robert Mandavi from the gleaming countertop. I proceeded to pour most of the bottle into the Stroganoff. I then tasted again. "It's done." I declared. Jenny was white as a ghost. She tasted again and said, "That's just what it needed. Thanks, Jeremy."
     The party proceeded, all the guests were well fed and Mom had a good time. I did a fine job and Jenny gave me a large tip. She'd hire me again and recommend me to others. I was a little pipsqueak, but I do know food.