BackBurner | You Scrape The Bowl Like a Housewife
May 22nd, 2009 by Marilyn
Hello, dear reader! Back Burner is a rotating gallery of posts you may have missed or might enjoy reading again. All comments prior to April, 2008 were lost in the tragic blog move – so if it’s new to you or you’re deeply stirred, comment away. Thanks for stopping by.
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You Scrape The Bowl Like a Housewife
From November 20, 2009. Original post and comments found here.
Josie was supposed to be scooping blondie batter out of a glass bowl and into a waiting pan. She handled my blue spatula like a lazy rake, pushing batter forward, up and out one glop at a time. I clasped hands and tried patience, but the spatula dripped and she moved on to licking her hand. “I hate to tell you this,” I said, “but you scrape the bowl like a housewife.”
“Oh come on, what does that even mean?” she said. “Doesn’t a housewife, like, know how to cook? So isn’t that good?”
You scrape the bowl like a housewife. In the culinary school bakery, that’s what you heard from Chef – my Chef, a mentor known for good brioche and painfully dirty French puns – what you heard if you worked slowly, or if you left batter lining the bowl, or if you moved like the cake was for next Christmas. And if that was you, pushing batter at an aimless pace (only me once, Miss Speedy after that) then it would be your back Chef would immediately appear behind. “YOU,” he would announce in loud Franglish, “you scrape the bowl like a HOWZE-WIFE.”
He aimed at both male and female and never explained, just moved to the next unfortunate scraper. But it was clearly an insult, this wifey business, calling you sluggish and semi-pro. You were not quick enough, not efficient enough, your arm might have been reaching for bonbons, you might drop baking altogether and go shopping, you scraped the bowl like a housewife.
I filed that phrase and would hear his words in every working kitchen, chopping fast, prepping hard and scraping every ounce of cookie dough from stainless 12-quart bowls. I would clean all the cake batter from the 20-quarts, and lose my hat peering into 60-quarts to hand-scrape the day’s baguette. Years later I too would have underlings, and if I caught a whiff of whatever or saw idle utensils, I got my chance: Look at you. The way you scrape that bowl, it’s like a housewife.
Most rankled at the scorn, worked faster and got better. Once, after watching a new girl swirl pumpkin bread batter like moisturizer, I said it and she yelled “God I HOPE I do.” This I did not see coming.
“Are you kidding?” She placed the filled bread pans on the oven rack, one by one, letting out all the heat. “Have babies and make brownies and not open a freaking shop at five in the morning? Yes, thanks. Scraping the bowl like a housewife sounds pretty good.”
I told her to shut the oven door and mix muffins.
A few businesses and a thousand bowls later I’m in my home kitchen, the kitchen we carefully planned, every knob and drawer and foot of useful space. The kitchen’s cook, she no longer opens at five; I left restaurants to get some peace but still, I move like the lunch rush. The difference now is that a door needs answering, the dog requires feeding, a daughter needs talking. Sometimes batter waits on the counter. Some days I put the bowl in the fridge and bake later, and at some point I began leaving batter in the bowl, just a few chocolate stripes up the side. I might call loudly to the other room, “I think there’s some batter left,” and Josie will run in and grab it, jump on the counter, swipe it like finger food.
Then I think about Chef, and how he’d unfurl wallet pictures of five kids, and how often he mentioned his wife. He told us stories of his family’s bakery in Provence, how he had learned baguettes from his uncles and croissants from his father. He told us about the cake his mother baked at home, an ugly chocolate affair with a sunken middle and crusty sides. She wrapped him a piece every morning, and when his uncles gave him a break from kneading, he sat on flour sacks in the back and ate cake with his hands.
I imagine they were proud to see him succeed, to work as a great chef and teacher, speeding through perfection and showing us the same. As his student I thought of him that way, wholly efficient, but now I consider his drive home, and remember that we were surprised to hear his wife was the dinner cook, roasting chicken and mashing potatoes, simple things he liked. I think of him pouring a glass of wine and hugging five small children, some at his leg, some in his arms, all hunting for the little cakes and treats I knew he toted home in white bags. And now I think at the end of the day he loved the housewife, and messy hours, and the sly disorder of long, lazy strokes.
On Cake Pancake
That sounds like a wonderful snackette to be nibbling on. I’m going to be so tempted to do the same with muffins now though!
On Turkey-Ricotta Meatballs: Love at First Bite
Great snack for us vampires here in Forks, Washington. When the Cullens invite us over for a bite, they really mean it. Yes, I live in the location where the Cullen residence is geographicaly located. “5 miles east of Forks off of Highway 101″ Look forward to making a batch of the meatballs soon. On a diet and turkey is very much allowed.
Best regards
On The Last Time I Saw Paris
From 1986 to 1989 my husband and I lived in a small apartment in the Champ de Mars neighborhood, right off of Rue Ste. Dominique in Paris. It was heaven! I still miss it every day. Thank you for bringing it all back! Everyone should live in Paris sometime, even for just a few little whiles.
On Noodle Kugel: Four Sisters, One Card
Have you made a Yerushalmi Noodle Kugel. That is a whole new world and a really good one. There is an easy way to do it other than browning the sugar but then I think you must be an expert at browning sugar, after your caramel experience.
Thanks again for sharing. I love this blog.
on Turkey-Ricotta Meatballs: Love at First Bite
I have a 14 YO daughter who has fallen in and out of love w/ the Twilight series, but went on to find other vampire/teen love books. Ah to be 14 again! Can’t wait to try the meatballs – they look lovely. I’m so glad to have found your blog. Keep writing!
on Turkey-Ricotta Meatballs: Love at First Bite
Apparently, Stephanie Meyer lives in our neck of the woods and I never heard of Twilight until the movie came out recently. Could be because I don’t have a teenage daughter. But now I have a recipe for scrumptious turkey meatballs! Thanks!
on The Gingerbread Jinx
Let that be a lesson, Ms. Marilyn… no more gingerbread, pie-in-the-sky ideas. Although, I have to say that particular work of art, is beautiful, and it would be a shame if you didn’t construct another work. You are so talented, both with dough and the pen.
On Noodle Kugel: Four Sisters, One Card
That is a fine, fine kugel. My boys now know what a kugel is and what it should taste like, thanks to Aunt Rose. Ruth. Heck, thanks to you.
On Noodle Kugel: Four Sisters, One Card
That recipe card is just priceless!!! And the kugel sounds very similar to what my grandmother used to make, and she never shared the recipe. Not because she didn’t want to. But because I didn’t have enough time to ask. Once I started cooking in my own kitchen, she was long gone. It is so magical how recipes and recipes cards go down through generations. Now you have just given me inspiration to try this recipe, which I am sure will taste just like hers. Thank you M!
On Noodle Kugel: Four Sisters, One Card
What a wonderful story about the “author” of the kugel. And the photo of the typed recipe is precious. Thank you for sharing the story, recipe and lovely photos. Since Hanukkah is around the corner, I’m adding your Aunt’s kugel to our menu.
On The Baker’s Alphabet
H has always been, and always will be the better for being in hamantaschen. Yum.
On The Baker’s Alphabet
Completely darling, as always. Culinerapy II coming soon?
dahlila
On The Baker’s Alphabet
So, when’s the book coming out?
On Ginger Peach Pandowdy
I love peach. I love ginger. What not to like them together? Wish I was there when you take the pie out of the oven!
I loved this post when it first came out and didn’t comment, but now that it’s getting cycled to the front again – absolutely. I really do relish my amateur status and the indulgences it allows. My knife skills just have to not cut me, but they don’t have to be the most efficient ever. If I make 1 muffin fewer just because I think batter tastes better than the actual muffins, that’s all me. I don’t have to watch my profit margins or my consistency. I can make the same dish 20 times and deliberately make it differently every single time.
I am glad that television shows and books and blogs have given me more of a view to what being a professional chef entails, not least because it means I can be grateful for the joys of sticking my finger in the batter bowl.
Thanks.