![]() ![]() Restaurant cooking gave me the knowledge and skills I needed to pull off family feasts with aplomb. It wasn't until I opened my own restaurant, Salt, that I realized holiday cookery is similar to working in a restaurant kitchen, in that both involve larger quantities, careful timing and a fairly extreme ability to multitask. (This incident is why, when I later became a goose farmer, we gave each bird the postmortem avian equivalent of a Brazilian wax.) ![]() My ex had snuck off to the basement to get stoned. ![]() Four hours later, I was still hunched over that foul fowl with a pair of greasy tweezers. On another memorable holiday, I proudly unwrapped my first goose in preparation for a high-heat roasting, only to find it covered in pinfeathers. I stretched my pasta dough too thin, and the delicious, pricey mixture spurted out into the cooking water. My worst Christmas was the one when I spent hours painstakingly crafting a chestnut, mascarpone and truffle pasta filling from a recipe in The French Laundry Cookbook. ![]()
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