ET Foam Home

When I returned Wednesday following Oliver’s visit (having said goodbye on the steps of the Hotel Maria Christina and driven back through the pitch black streets of San Sebastian to Lasarte by a taxi driver who thought I was criminally insane given all of my tears and quiet blubbering) I discovered that I had been moved from making the canelon and frying oysters to doing the canelon foam (I managed to hold back my tears in this instance). Alessandro, a young Italian who bears an uncanny resemblance to Linguine from Ratatouille—we actually call him Linguine—had been promoted to my space during my Sunday absence. That’s how this kitchen works—you miss one day and someone else is all up, over and in your you-know-what. I can’t say that I wasn’t disappointed. I do the most cooking in our group and I worked hard to get there. I couldn’t help but feel like our chef instructor was punishing me.

Foam might look whimsical and fun on a plate but it’s a downright pain in the you-know-what to get from liquid to airy, perfect, spherical-ness on the plate. The canelon foam is comprised of sauce Americaine, butter, heavy cream, vegetable stock and lecite. Before it can be buzzed with the hand mixer to make the actual bubbles, it must be warmed so that it is extremely hot to the touch—just enough so that you can’t let your finger rest in it for more than a second or two. The medium-sized sauce pot that holds the liquid must be tipped at an angle towards you, the hand-held mixer placed vertically above the mixture. It all looks easy enough—I’ve watched my colleagues make the foam for exactly 61 services now. When I took the hand-held mixture to the liquid for the first time, I sprayed myself everywhere. It was incredibly embarrassing. I mean—you don’t spray things everywhere in this kitchen. Staining your apron and jacket is like wearing a big sign that reads I SUCK.

Luis, from Puerto Rico, immediately jumped to my rescue, trying to minimize the amount of “You are so stupid, what are you doing,” type comments that were flying with astonishing rapidity out of our chef instructor's mouth by taking control of the pot and hand-held mixer. He showed me how to buzz the top of the liquid delicately, incorporating just enough air to create the necessary sized bubbles.

The next hurdle was plating the foam. When you buzz the liquid base, the entire mixture does not turn to foam. The idea is to create slightly more foam than you need—it is entirely dependent on how many plates are going out. This newly created layer ends up floating on top of the liquid base.

We use a special sized sauce spoon to plate. Luis told me to graze the foam with the spoon. I could not grab any liquid whatsoever. This takes a little while to feel out—it’s difficult to initially determine just how deep the layer of foam is. (I thought, for instance, that it was much deeper than it actually was as evidenced by the liquid that dropped from the spoon before the foam even got to the plate. I received the requisite and consequent verbal beating from our chef instructor). The foam must look like two almost perfect spheres that rest on either side of the canelon. Guess what? Spheres my a--. My first attempt looked like elves’ hats. Also, getting the foam to actually slide off the damn spoon is no picnic either. I kept thrusting it downward, willing it to move toward and onto the plate, and ended up violently hitting the plate in the process. Another huge error—I made unnecessary noise while plating. Another verbal beating ensued.

So try this—fill a bowl with liquid detergent and water the next time you are washing dishes and create some serious bubbles. Get out your favorite spoon and give the process a whirl. If you did it in half of a second—you’re a half of a second too slow. (Actually, if you did it in half of a second, call me, I’ve got a job for you and your newfound culinary genius).

Clearly, I got too comfortable working canelon and oyster. I longingly stared at Alessandro all service. I was jealous, envious and frustrated. But I guess this is what it’s all about—our chef instructor knowingly pushed me out of my comfort zone. It was the last thing I had left to learn in primeras. I dare say that she wants me to get it right because any time I looked to Luis for help she told him to back away and demanded that I do it.

And I will do it.