I have been in a serious bad mood the last two days. You know how Pig Pen walks around with his little stinky cloud, that's me with my little stinky mood. Just fuck me. I swear the world is out to get me. It's so bad that my kids commented on it. 'Mom, you haven't been in a real bad mood for a long time.' No, shit Sherlock! I haven't been and you know what? I just don't give a shit! Be warned, this post is going to be laced with bad language and ranting. It will return to normal programming tomorrow.
I emailed Lennie from eat write create asking if I could change up her calzone recipe because I wanted to pay a little homage to Katie, who is moving back to her dad, Matt's house for the next six months. Don't worry about Katie, she'll still be blogging and getting into our hair. I'll see her almost everyday. Though this is probably why I'm in a bad mood. I like having her around...shh, just don't tell her.
My little homage to Katie was to make bbq chicken calzones, because one of my favorite dishes she makes for me is a bbq chicken grilled cheese sandwich. I thought I'd return the favor. Big mistake.
Ruhlman describes a mise en place as....
Mise en place: Literally “put in place,” mise en place is the kitchen term for your set up, the gathering and preparation of all the tools and food you need to complete the task at hand; mise en place can refer to a cook’s organization on the line before the evening’s service (line cooks often refer to it simply as “meez” and can be extremely territorial about their own); mise en place can refer to the wooden spoon, wine, stock, rice, and salt you gather before starting a risotto. Because it’s such an important part of the chef’s life, so critical to efficiency of action and the use of time, the term often carries broader connotations of being ready. Excellent mise represents the ultimate state of preparedness, whether the physical mise en place of food and tools or the mental mise en place of having thought a task through to the end and being ready for each step of it.
The key words are ultimate state of preparedness.
Somewhere I remember my secret husband, that's Mr. Bourdain to you, saying your mise is having your shit together. If your mise is bad or messy that's what the inside of your head looks like.
Oh well I'm fucked. I was screwed from the beginning.
It started with the dough. I made it but it was sticky, real sticky. I should have stopped and made a new batch, but oooooh no, not me. I had to grit my teeth and fin-ish. I covered my dough and let it rise. Then I prepped and cooked my filling, red and yellow bell peppers, and a yellow onion. I sliced the chicken and added the cheese and covered it so I could roll out the dough. The dough. The dough. Arg, the flipping dough.
Here's where it started to go FUBAR. First of all since it was sticky, I knew I need to use something, like I don't know... parchment paper, perhaps to keep it from sicking on the cutting board. I reach down to pull out the box and there's just a 12 inch square and an empty box.
...and it would not lay flat.
(this part is even censored from me)
And did I mention the flies. Fuckity, fuck, fuck! I lay down a piece of rock to hold the parchment paper in place and start rolling. I get a piece of dough that wants to be in a shape of a heart. WTF?! ARGGGGGGG! There is a point in every persons bad mood that something, like this, either makes or breaks you. I'm sure you can guess where I was in this point of cooking. I took a picture while sounding like Popeye, mumbling bad bad things. See that black speck in the bottom left hand corner, that's Jeff Goldblum making an appearance. If you don't get that reference, leave now and come back another day.
Where was I in my rant to end all rants? Now the bbq part... It wasn't hot enough to cook the calzones. Since I have hit my limit of bad words, that's all I'm going to say about that.
So after another profanity laced tirade. I heated up the oven to 550 degrees and cooked the calzone for about 8 minutes. Here's the kicker after all that...
Another recipe that kicked ass! This recipe turned out good with all my mistakes. Isn't that called, foolproof? Damn right it is!
Here's the kicker... when Rich got home from work he had a little true store to tell me. One of his co-workers went to a birthday party last weekend. It was an Indian couple and they were celebrating their son's first birthday. Their son's first name is Mahdenuhsa. Well, the co-worker wanted to know what the name stood for and he asked around someone told him to look at the cake. He did, the name on the cake was...
Oh fuck me! I left and took a bike ride to calm down.
Where's the name police when you need them?