Step Up to the Plate, a newly released documentary, tells the story of Bras with a focus on the tense but unavoidable transition of kitchen control from Michel, the man who built the restaurant from scratch, to Sebastien, his son who has dedicated 15 years to working and learning the Bras kitchen and philosophy inside and out.

The movie has all the drama a food-obsessed person can dream of: an outstanding setting for any cook, a rich culinary history, family tension and father-son mentorship, and well, France. It is a must-see for anyone who is curious about understanding the heart and passion that goes into building an iconic restaurant like Bras.

After reading the daring and pointed article on Eleven Madison Park by Pete Wells in last Monday’s New York Times, this movie seemed even more relevant. Before the beginning of the dining season at Bras (which lasts only April through October), Michel Bras instructs his front-of-the-house staff on how to present dishes – short and sweet, with an ability to answer any further question competently. At Bras, the food is supposed to do the talking, to be the art, to be the center of attention for the diner.

Step Up to the Plate (Entre les Bras) plays in Denver only through Thursday at the indie Chez Artiste movie theater.

In the morning, I told Lulu that we would be going to a farm. I wanted to make sure she understood what we were about to do. I talked to her about all the chicken things she eats- the chicken soup, the roasted chicken, the fried chicken, the chicken salad, the chicken schnitzel, and the chicken wings. I asked her where it comes from — the chicken farm, she answered. I wasn’t convinced she got it so I asked what does the chicken look like — a chicken, she said. This was not exactly helpful either so I asked what noise does the chicken make — cluck, cluck, she replied. Knowing that we were talking about the same thing, I explained how a chicken gets from the bird that goes cluck cluck to the schnitzel she likes so much. And then I told her that it was that process that we would be witnessing at the farm. She was neither thrilled nor scared- but certainly ready to spend the day on the farm. 

This was not the Tyson plant. It was a small, mom-and-pop sort of operation with no fancy industrial gear for this process, no automated dunkers or pluckers. The farm spread over nearly 40 acres of land, filled mostly with vegetables – from swiss chard of all colors, to watermelons red and yellow and apples and onions, corn and pumpkins. There were no animals on this farm aside from 47 chickens that were raised with great care over the last 12 or so weeks on all organic feed. The occasional eggs found in the yard and distinct start of a crow were signs that the birds had matured and were ready for slaughter.

Lulu listened quietly along with the rest of the small group as one of the farmers gave a lengthy explanation of how the chickens arrived to where they are now – where they were bought from, what they were fed, what their daily routine was. He then explained what we would be doing — each person there was to experience the whole process from beginning to end at least once, twice if they so choose which was recommended to truly understand the routine.

We walked into the barn as the two men walking us through this process were about to demonstrate the entire operation. I held Lulu’s hand and she walked along with us. The chickens are captured from their area and held and brought outside around the barn where two metal cones, one on each side of wooden gate, were awaiting. The men talked about the importance of being calm through the process to ease the stress that the birds would sense. They talked about the importance of life, the thanks they give to the animals they raise to ultimately take their lives, the cycle of life. They demonstrated how to get the chicken into the metal cone, head down through the opening at the bottom, wings contained and immobilized inside the cone.

Lulu was in my arms at this point, watching and listening. I am not sure exactly how much of this demonstration and explanation she understood or was able to process but I appreciated her patience with the process.

The cone is a simple device that allows the chicken to be contained enough to avoid a struggle and held in a position conducive to bleeding out fast once a sharp knife is taken to its throat. If the cut is done properly, the chicken is dead within 60 seconds, with a few attempts at flapping out of the cone. Before we knew it, the demonstration was done and we all walked to the processing area – the front of the barn, outside, on large tables covered in large cutting boards.

This was all the Lulu could take. She asked to go for a walk and see the rest of the farm so her dad kindly obliged, bringing along a few snacks for an impromptu mini-picnic in a shaded area.

I stayed and my turn came. I was nervous. Inside the barn, in the midst of some 20+ chickens, I wondered how would I do this. I had to catch a male chicken not a female one – the females would be kept for eggs. The males were somewhat easy to recognize by their comb. I feared a struggle, feathers flying, crows of despair echoing around. I caught a bird without any of that happening. I held it close to my body, restraining its wings and walked outside of the barn as calmly as I could.

As I approached the metal cone, I found myself stroking its feathers to calm it down or perhaps to calm myself down. In front of the metal cone, I was worried that I would not be able to get the bird in properly, that it would fly away, that I would have to chase it all over the yard. Before I knew, the chicken was head down in the cone and I was holding a small and very sharp knife with a red handle, ready to do the deed. I worked my way through the feathers, pulled them to the side and cut as deeply as I could. It was not deep enough and fast enough and I was prompted to keep going. The skin was much tougher than I expected but I managed a good cut on my second try – the chicken began to bleed out. It took some strength to keep it in the cone, pushing down on its now flapping body, but I held it together and in the end felt like I complete my task with respect and dignity for the life of the bird.

He stopped moving all together and I waited one more minute to allow the blood to drain out. From here, another learning process began. I laid the bird down on a table and cut its head and wings off – its body was so warm. Holding it by its legs, I dunked it in the hot water, heated at 140 degrees, just like I was instructed — three times, each time for eight seconds, wiggling it around to get hot water all over the feathers and particularly over the tail. I started plucking its feathers -against the grain- my hands full of soft fluffy feathers with each move-  a rather easy and relaxing endeavor. From here the bird was washed, gutted by hand, washed again then placed in a bag in a large ice bath. And there was my chicken.

As Lulu returned from her walk and mini-picnic, she started was observing what was happening around the chicken processing tables. I asked her to put some of the chicken feet in a bin where they were collected. She was happy to help. She showed her father which cooler to put the chicken into when he was ready to do so with his chicken. We did not return Lulu to watching the process again, the actual slaughter – watching it once done by the organizers of this small class seemed more than enough. But we involved her, minimally, in the processing — just as she likes to help in the kitchen with small cooking tasks, she enjoyed assisting in the process here.

We had lunch at the farm – chicken tacos. Then we picked some greens, some tomatoes, some peppers, and a watermelon and went home. That afternoon, on a playdate, she told her 3 year old buddy that she can’t stay for dinner because we were cooking our chicken.

So why did I take Lulu to the chicken slaughter? Because I want her to respect her food, to understand where it comes from, to be aware that of animal life and its cycle.

Is age 4 appropriate for this lesson? In the right context, I say yes. What do you think?

That said, one year I had a zucchini plant. It not only survived but produced zucchini at a rate that was worrisome particularly since there is only that much one can do with zucchini. Zucchini grows like a weed to the most talentless gardener and there is always a lot of it. I no longer have a zucchini plant, but recently I got a few giant zucchini specimens from friends. I called on my inner zucchini lover to find a few ways to use the bounty and came up with two that bring me back to my Romanian roots – zucchini with tomato sauce and stuffed zucchini. I managed to shoot a few pictures of the zucchini with sauce –  here is the recipe.

Romanian Zucchini with Sauce

Ingredients: 1 large zucchini (or two medium ones), cubed into 1/2 to 1 inch pieces; 2 tablespoons butter; 1/2 onion, finely chopped; 1 teaspoon flour; 1/2 pint tomato sauce; freshly chopped dill to taste; salt and pepper to taste.

Melt 1 tablespoon of the butter on a low flame. Add the zucchini and a sprinkle of salt, stir, and cover the pot to allow the zucchini to steam for 5-7 minutes.

In a separate pot,  melt the rest of the butter on medium-low and add the onion. Stir for about 2 minutes until the onion becomes translucent. Add the flour and stir well to avoid any clumping. Add the tomato sauce (I took half a pint of canned Roma tomatoes and whizzed them in the blender to get my sauce). The result should be a saucy mixture. If it isn’t, add either water or homemade vegetable stock.

Cook for a couple of minutes stirring a couple of times and add dill then the zucchini. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Serve as a side dish with your preferred protein – I like mine with chicken.

I left Bucharest 11 years ago and returned to visit each year with great pleasure. This year it was more than great pleasure – I did not want to leave.  Bucharest is where I grew up, where I learned to play, to read, to kiss, to drive, to cook. There, I learned to walk on cobble stone in high heels, to hail a cab, to ride the metro, and to parallel park in impossible conditions.

In the last two or three years, the city has changed – I felt revived magic, spectacular additions, great changes. I cannot wait to go back so to cure my blues I wanted to share some of my favorites. This is by no means comprehensive – it is a teaser of sorts, an insider’s short tip list to be added to an itinerary that celebrates and recognizes the culture, architecture, and art that Bucharest has to offer.

Historic Center. Recently revitalized, the historic center of Bucharest is buzzing every night of the week. About 6 square blocks of wavy cobblestone streets are lined with bars and terraces, cafes and restaurants – all full of locals and tourists enjoying themselves. Walk around and sit just about anywhere for a glass of wine or a cocktail and some spectacular people watching. My personal favorite: Van Gogh, which includes a small boutique hotel on the upper floors.

Dance Clubs. I am not a dance club person – at all. But I have had my fair share of dance club experiences over the years. I can say without a doubt that Bucharest has some of the best clubs in the world. Dig around for yourself or save yourself the time and try BOA (Beat of Angels) – it is an outrageous and worthwhile experience.

The timeless and my all time favorite: Salsa. Some places have fairy dust sprinkled all over them and Salsa is one of them. The original location dates back into the 90‘s and the space it is in now is the 5th iteration of the same concept – a bar and salsa dancing club with understated charm and comfort and a familiarity that is hard to explain. Salsa is like your best friend- reliable, lovable, annoying at times, ready to please you, forgiving to you and demanding of your forgiveness at the same time. There is no fuss here – just great music and a playful atmosphere that breeds good times.

The food, of course. There is no haute cuisine going on here but there is a lot of very good food. I would stick with traditional Romanian food at Hanul lui Manuc, Caru cu Bere, La Mama, but would also give a few other small items a shot – the best street food in Bucharest – the shwarma, the timeless and omnipresent covrig, and the sweetsand pastries that can appease your sweet tooth.

Built in 1808, Hanul lui Manuc has been recently restored and reopened after being returned to descendants of the original owners not long ago. The inn and restaurant is stunning in architecture and the food produced in the kitchen never fails to impress. The hotel (the Dacia) remains closed for the moment but the plan is to have it reopen soon.

For a beer, coffee, a bite to eat or an entire traditional meal head for Caru cu Bere, a beer hall and restaurant dating from 1875. This beerhouse from Stavropoleos Street is a traditional place that beams with life and buzzes with happy customers each day of the week. The interior is beautiful- mural paintings, stained glass and carved cross-beams are distinctive elements of the beerhouse. Go, eat, drink and be merry.

La Mama is a cheaper and reliable alternative to traditional Romanian food in Bucharest. Many locations have popped all over town and each and every one maintains a high standard for food. I always go back there for a bite with friends.

I don’t know how shwarma became such a hit in Bucharest but I know that this is where it is at as far as street food here. The Bucharest version has a traditional side- the meat is cooked on a stand up spit and shavings are cut off the block  for serving with the The shavings are placed in a pita wrap with a variety of non-traditional accoutrements – tomatoes, onions, cucumbers, fried (yes, fries), pickles and garlic sauce. Tip: skip the ketchup.  Many places are great for shwarma now particularly downtown and in the historic center but Dristor Kebap remains my go-to spot.

At nearly every corner in central Bucharest, you will see a small and likely colorful shop baking up Covrigi. A Romanian staple the Covrig is basically the cultural equivalent of a well-celebrated Romanian variation of a pretzel.  Crunchy on the outside and still soft on the inside,  the covrig is best when it is still warm. My favorite kind is the classic salt and poppyseed variety.

The Sweets. Bucharest has a long-standing tradition of pastries, patisserie and other sweet confections. Although many of the older “cofetarie” shops have closed in recent years, some remain around making a variety of traditional sweets in house. To get the Romanian experience, try the Savarina and Amandina. Eclairs and fruit tarts are always good choices as well. Three places come to mind for good sweets- Imperial, Cofetaria Maria, Chocolat (more French-leaning – still great).

Enjoy and report back if you make it back to my motherland.

One Saturday morning, I came home with 40 pounds of Colorado peaches.  I was ultra excited about canning these beauties in perfect halves in the lightest syrup to have when the short Colorado harvest season ends. By 2 a.m., as I was still filling jars and boiling them, my excitement subsided and reached a bottom low as I looked at the remaining 15 pounds of peaches. But those are now distant memories and I love the results so much that I would do it again tomorrow.

You mustn’t be as greedy as I was with quantities –  you can do this with any amount of fruit. It is labor-intensive but really easy and very rewarding. And at the end of it all, it is magic to seal up a bit of summer in a jar.Canned Peaches in Light Syrup

Prepare your peach canning parapharnelia (steamer and large pot for boiling jars for sealing) and make a light syrup. I use 2 cups organic sugar for each 7 cups water – bring to a simmer until the sugar melts completely.

Choose peaches are ripe but not overly softened. Wash them and lay them on a cloth in preparation for steaming.

Steam the peaches on batches for 15-20 seconds without overcrowding them. Remove them into an ice bath and peel the skin off (it should come off very easily; if it doesn’t, either the peaches aren’t ready or you need to add a few seconds to the steaming process).

Cut the peaches up into halves keeping the pieces as clean and intact as you can. Trim up the frayed edges and any additional pieces and save them for peach butter.

Carefully place the peach pieces into sterilized canning jars with the skin side facing outside – you can fit more peaches in this way. Pack as many pieces as you can in a jar without pushing or crushing the pieces and leave about 1/2 inch at the top.

Pour warm light syrup over the peaches to the top of the jar, leaving the room at the mouth of the jar empty.  Seal it and can it as you wish — I submerge my sealed jars with in gently boiling water with at least 3 inches of water over the top. I boil for 40 minutes, remove and allow the jars to cool with at least 2 inches of space around each jar.

Peach Butter

With all the bits and pieces that did not fit into the perfect halves I was trying to fit into my jars, I made a peach butter. I added sugar just like I did in the Apricot Jam recipe and contrary to my anti-pectin beliefs, I added pectin — these peaches were much too juicy and had zero chance of having enough natural pectin to hold together without some help.

I blended the mixture with the immersion circulator until it was smooth, simmered it until it held together nicely, then strained it through a sieve for a smoother texture. I put it all into sterilized canning jars and sealed it just as I did the canned peaches. I wasn’t quite sure of how it was going to turn out and I am not happy with the picture I took but I assure you it was spectacular and a great way to use the trimming from the canned peaches.

With summer in full swing, I’ve made many whole meals on the grill. Of course, we’ll still use real flatware and plates, but those are easy enought to put in the dishwasher with a quick rinse.

I start by soaking a cedar plank in water in a Pyrex dish (to prevent it from burning on the grill) for at least one hour. My 11-year-old daughter helps me by preparing the potato packets. She lines up large squares of aluminum foil and places a pile of diced red potatoes in the middle. I let her choose her own spice concoction to add, along with a few pats of butter, and salt and pepper. I roll up the packets and tighten the edges and put them on the grill first, so they can get browned and crisp (this usually takes 30 minutes or so).

After I drain the cedar plank, I place a fillet of salmon on top. For a flavor boost, I make a spice rub with lemon zest, fresh thyme, sugar, salt and pepper, and I let my 5-year-old son rub that into the fish with his fingers. That goes on the grill next, over indirect heat if possible to avoid excessive charring. Make sure the sides of the fish get crispy and browned — that’s truly the best part.

Finally, we cut the ends off a big bunch of asparagus and douse them with some good olive oil, salt and pepper, and a sprinkling of Herbs de Provence. I place those horizontally on the grill, remembering to move them around a bit with some long tongs so that they all get evenly charred on all sides. A splash of fresh-squeezed lemon juice when these come off the grill will brighten up the flavors even more.

My kids love a simple salad. We throw some baby arugula in a big bowl and my 10-year-old son makes a dressing with olive oil, fresh lemon juice, a dash of Dijon mustard, some minced shallots, and salt and pepper. We all take turns tasting his creation by dipping a small piece of arugula into the dressing and then popping it into our mouth — I don’t know why this always tastes so good, but we love this tradition. A handful of pine nuts tossed in at the end and it is the perfect complement to our rustic grill dinner.

Sometimes we’ll make grilled bread to go with our dinner. I slice Italian country bread and let the kids lightly brush both sides with olive oil and a sprinkle of kosher salt (I honestly think my silicon brush is the favorite utensil in our kitchen). We grill the slices a minute of two so that there are charred grill marks on both sides and they are crusty (but the inside is still soft in the middle).

Far be it from me to tell you exactly how to make a dinner on the grill – the fact is, this dinner can be made in endless combinations. The gist is that this is an almost effortless dinner and clean-up is a breeze. Sometimes on these evenings, if there’s enough time and daylight, our family can even partake in a twilight stroll or bike ride around our neighborhood. That’s much more fun than doing dishes.

I grew up seeing apricot jam being made in a ritualistic but very matter-of-fact way each year. I remember vividly one year when my grandmother left it on the stove too long. So long that the bottom of her giant dark orange Le Creuset pot had a thick deep layer of black burnt apricot stuck to it that took some serious determination to remove. Of course, my grandma removed it.

I made apricot jam many times and not one time have I used a recipe or managed to make my one jam taste the same. I like that. I like that there is chance and unexpected and that I know what to do and how to fix it whichever way it happens to swing one year. Right after I had my daughter, I made a couple of batches of apricot jam, one of which I managed to burn ever so mildly, in a way that infused a burnt apricot flavor into the entire pot. It was outstanding. I jarred it and called it, fittingly, burned apricot jam. The only catch was that I pretended to have meant the burnt part. Everyone loved its richness and caramel-like notes and I have never been able to replicate it.

So here is what I do. I pick very ripe apricots that are fragrant and full of flavor. I take the pits out and set them in layers open-pitted-side up. On each layer of apricots, I sprinkle sugar liberally. When I am done pitting and layering sugar, I stir around to get the juices flowing, the sugar melting and the apricots breaking down.

Then I leave it alone. For a few hours, stirring occasionally. When macerated and softened, stick your very clean hands in and give those babies a nice massage. The purpose is to break the pulp and skin as much as possible. It will break down more through cooking but this is a nice start. Put everything in a heavy bottomed pot over medium-high heat, stirring for a few minutes to raise the temperature. Reduce the heat to medium and stir every 10-15 minutes to break down the fruit further and prevent it from sticking to the pot. After one hour, taste it for sweetness. Depending on the apricots and your taste, it may need more sugar. If that is the case, add it. Continue cooking over medium heat for at least one more hour. Adjust the texture as you please – you can make it smoother or very smooth with an immersion blender.

Check if it is ready every 30 minutes to an hour. You know it is ready when you can drip jam onto a plate without it running and spreading. Take a spoon, fill it halfway, then drip onto a clean flat plate. Now look, did it spread everywhere? If it didn’t, tilt the plate a tad and see if it runs fast or slowly slides down due to a thicker consistency. If the latter, you are done.

Pour it into sterilized jars, seal it and can it as you wish — I submerge my sealed jars with in gently boiling water with at least 3 inches of water over the top. I boil for 40 minutes, remove and allow the jars to cool with at least 2 inches of space around each jar. Be sure to save some for eating immediately.

I found an outstanding duck dish tonight at Bittersweet: the Duck Tasso. An appetizer, the Duck Tasso is a play on the Tasso ham, a Louisiana specialty made of pork shoulder. Traditionally, the pork cured in salt briefly then rubbed with a spice mixture that includes cayenne pepper and smokey paprika. The duck version at Bittersweet takes duck breast cured in salt then rubbed with a variety of spices that make it just slightly tingly hot on the tongue. 

The dish is served with watermelon, firm and juicy and cut into razor-like straight slices, adding brightness and just a touch of juiciness to the cured duck meat. Cucumber gives it an edge of freshness and hazelnut powder provides the right crunchy texture. Cherries add a tart sweetness and micro greens serve as a tasty garnish. The combination is memorable – with great depth of salt in the cured duck meat and surprisingly complementary flavors and textures. I loved every bite and will soon go back for more.

The Duck Tasso is part of Bittersweet‘s summer menu.

I don’t pretend to know everything about Thomas Keller and the French Laundry but I know some stuff. I have devoured the cookbook and made nearly every recipe in it  more than once. I hosted maddening New Year’s parties featuring 10 course French Laundry-recipes for the last three years. I went to book signings, talks, and the likes just to hear and meet Thomas Keller and have loved the Bouchon and AdHoc cookbooks just as much since they came out.

I was ready for the French Laundry experience because I understood that this is the golden standard – this is where the bar is set for the fine dining industry. Innovative yet classic and restrained in its cuisine, the Laundry marries farm-to-table with modern cooking seamlessly, wrapped in a magical setting, outfitted with the absolute highest quality service, and complete with a superb wine list that can rival the phonebook in size. This is it – the peak of it all where precise execution, unwavering consistency, mastery of each craft that makes the experience complete are the rule.

Making a reservation was far from easy, but we were spoiled- we had a friend help with the process (thank you Bobby!). One afternoon, my cell rang and I saw a Yountville number –  my heart skipped a beat. It was Lawrence Nadeau, the maitre d’ who has reigned at the iconic Thomas Keller restaurant for over 15 years. We were in- four of us on the Tuesday July 3, two months away from that phone conversation.

The day came and I found myself taking a second in the car to breathe in the fact that this was happening. What woke me from my daze as we arrived was that we had no idea where the front door was. The place is unassuming to say the least – modest, pristine, understated in a classy fashion. We were on time and got seated immediately, in a somewhat dim-light semi-open room where two other small parties were dining.

The staff was pleasant – sharp, personable, professional- the highest quality service experience possible. These guys are not just well-trained, they are very well-practiced. Experience is what makes them different than any other high-end dining restaurant staff. The service here is more than a well-rehearsed play, it is like the second half of the season where each line is smooth and natural, each step can be taken blind-folded and no matter what curve-balls an odd patron may throw, chances are they have seen it and know exactly how to handle it. The icing on the service cake was a visit from a staff member, not responsible for our table, who heard we are from Colorado and wanted to say hello. Hello welcoming thoughtful attitude to you too!

The four of us divided and conquered the chef’s tasting menu in a way that allowed our table to get at least one of each of the dishes listed, with all the extra supplements and “serves two” dishes. It would be unfair to explain these dishes in a few words and you are probably not up for the short story I can unleash for each of them. The grand prix best dish: oysters and pearls. The best overall touch in almost every dish: the tenderest possible baby vegetables – turnips sweeter and smaller than I have ever seen, infant baby carrots more tender than my imagination could have created, petite onions so petite they make pearl onions seem like mammoths. The not-so-grand regret: foie gras ban began July 1 in California- we got there three days too late.  The cherry on the cake to end our dinner: a passion fruit truffle that came as I was gushing over our experience and my dwindling glass of Tokaji.

The pink elephant in the room: it was a thousand dollars for two people, and that was with two bottles of wine we brought (and paid the corkage fee for). This is not how we roll for dinner on a regular basis. That bill, however, was not for the meal we had- it was much more than a meal. This dinner gave me the ability to process what the French Laundry is.  There is no way to truly understand how the place that leads the fine dining industry works except to be there and see it, feel it, taste it, live it. It was precisely spectacular in every way I expected it to be and it forever improved my vision of standards for the food world.

Go if you have the smallest of inklings to do so. There is a way to make something like this happen and it is worth finding that way for this experience.