Hello and welcome to Day 16 of Culinary School. Today was lentil shakshuka, which, if you’ve never had it, is basically eggs poached in a spiced tomato and veggie stew. It sounds fancy, tastes incredible, and makes your kitchen smell like Morocco and the Mediterranean got together and had a baby. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure at first. Lentils don’t exactly scream “Excitement.” But once everything started cooking, I knew this one was going to be good. The Chop Parade Started with a chopping marathon, red peppers, poblanos, eggplant, zucchini, onions, garlic, thyme, chives, parsley.Basically, if it grew out of the ground, I chopped it. All those knife skills are starting to pay off, I wasn’t terrified of the onion this time. Progress. Building the Base Got the pan hot, oil in, onions first till they softened.Then in went the peppers, the zucchini, the eggplant.The smell hit right away, that mix of sweetness from the peppers and that earthy kick from the eggplant. Added the garlic till it went aromatic (which is chef-speak for “holy fuckl, that smells amazing”). Then came the fire-roasted tomatoes, the kind that actually taste like someone cared, plus the lentils, cayenne, paprika, salt, pepper, and a ladle or two of stock to loosen it up. Covered it up, let it bubble away till the lentils softened and the sauce thickened. Already looked good. Already smelled better. Eggs, Feta, and a Bit of Lemon Magic For plating, I used a smaller pan, cracked a couple of eggs right into the sauce, threw in a handful of feta, and finished it with lemon juice, zest, and fresh parsley. The feta melted into the sauce, the eggs poached perfectly, and that lemon zest just punched it up to another level. It looked sexy, it tasted spicy, salty, lemony, absolute belter of a dish. The Finished Dish The sauce was rich but not heavy, the lentils gave it that hearty bite, and the egg yolk tied it all together.This was one of those dishes that makes you stop halfway through a bite and just nod.

Hello and welcome to Day 15 of Culinary School. Today was kitchen internship day, which basically means: big pots, big quantities, and zero chance of keeping your apron clean. We were cooking for the homeless and the community in need — a few hundred meals to start, eventually part of the 2,000 they send out every single day. It's organised chaos in the best way possible. Sausages, Peppers, and… a Paddle? I got put on sausage duty, onions, peppers, chicken, the works.I thought, aye, easy enough. Grab a spatula, get it sizzling. Then the chef handed me a paddle. Like, an actual wooden paddle. I looked at him and said, “What is this for? Steering the stew downstream?” He laughed. I didn’t. Until five minutes later when I realised that thing was absolutely necessary. More sausage went in.Then more onions.Then more peppers.Then chicken.Then more sausage again. By the end, I was stirring a pot the size of a small hot tub, sweat dripping, steam everywhere, feeling like the world’s least-coordinated pirate. That paddle wasn’t a joke. Feed the City Once the sausages were cooked down, we loaded everything into hotel trays to chill overnight.Tomorrow, volunteers portion it all out, box it, and send it across Austin. Then we made grits, massive, creamy vats of the stuff. As a Scot, it feels weird calling anything that close to porridge “southern,” but fair play, Texans know what they’re doing with butter. After lunch, we helped package five or six hundred meals, ready to ship out.Seeing tray after tray lined up, ready to feed actual people, was a bit mental. It's a proper operation. Efficient, fast, and full of people who give a damn. What a Day There’s nothing glamorous about stirring sausage with a paddle or scooping grits into trays,— but it’s bloody satisfying.Everyone’s joking, moving, shouting orders, trying not to burn anything. It's chaos, but the good kind. The kind where you end up smiling at the end because it worked. And aye, next time someone hands me a paddle in the kitchen, I’ll say thank you and get to work.

Today was a day I was not looking forward to.Fucking green vegetables.They’ve always been shite, boiled to death, squeaky, flavourless, the sort of thing your mum made you choke down before pudding. But I promised myself I’d keep an open mind.And holy fucking hell… my mind was blown. If you’d told me a few weeks ago that one of my biggest “holy-shit” moments would involve asparagus, I’d have laughed, and called you fucking daft.But here we are. Because, when you blanch asparagus properly, it’s not just good, it’s life changing. The Line-Up Grilled Romaine with Green Goddess Dressing. Blanched and Sautéed Asparagus with Beurre Blanc Two dishes that sounded like punishment for people who hate joy, and turned out to be two of the best things I’ve eaten in weeks. Two dishes. Zero meat. 100% joy. Prep Work Started the day by trimming the asparagus. Chef showed us a neat wee trick, snap one spear where it naturally breaks, then use that as your template. Every one’s perfect after that. No fucking about in this kitchen, snapping each one individually. Halved and quartered the romaine, picked off the tired leaves, diced an onion for the beurre blanc, and got the water roaring for blanching. Asparagus: The Glow-Up It started with blanching.Boiling, heavily-salted water. Drop the asparagus in for exactly one minute. That’s it. One minute to change everything I thought I knew about veg. Here’s the science bit: - The boiling water shocks the chlorophyll alive, locking in that wild, electric green. - The heat disables the enzymes that normally turn it grey and floppy. - The cell walls relax just enough to go tender without turning to mush. Then straight into an ice bath, is like the kitchen version of APD shouting “FREEZE” it stops the cooking cold.The result? Snappy, sweet, vibrant asparagus that actually tastes fresh. Like the difference between instant coffee and a barista-made flat white. I took one bite and muttered, “Well, fuck me… that’s incredible, thats what Asparagus is supposed to taste like?!?.”

Hello and welcome to Day 13 of Culinary School. This week’s all about vegetables, which, to be honest, sounded like a bit of a comedown after smoking hogs and tasting sausages at Banger’s yesterday. But turns out, vegetables can be just as bold and beautiful, which is a big statement coming from me, since I fucking hate veggies… unless they are root vegtables and crispy, or mashed. Today, I made something I’d never even heard of before: a Vegetable Napoleon.And before you ask, no, it’s not a tiny French bloke made out of aubergine or eggplant for the Americans. It’s a beautiful, layered tower of grilled vegetables, basil, mozzarella, and tomato, simple, elegant, and packed with flavor when you give it the care it deserves. The Process I started by slicing eggplant, zucchini, squash, and tomatoes.Salted the eggplant to draw out the bitterness, then brushed everything with olive oil until they glistened like they were ready for a photoshoot. Onto the grill they went, that’s where the magic happened. The hiss of the oil, the smell of the smoke, those char marks forming slowly, there’s something grounding about standing over a grill, just watching nature transform under fire. Then came the layering, eggplant at the bottom, a slice of tomato, a bit of fresh mozzarella, a leaf or two of basil, and then zucchini and squash on top.Three layers high, like a wee edible skyscraper of color and love. Into the oven for ten minutes, just long enough for the mozzarella to melt and everything to settle together into one perfect bite. The Chef’s Reaction Chef tasted it and smiled. Said the flavour was great, seasoning spot-on, garlic a touch bold (fair, I’m Scottish, we don’t do subtle or a whole lot of flavour so ill take both as a win).He said it looked beautiful, tender, and easy to cut. I’ll take that any day. Ended up scoring 100 % for taste, execution, and appearance. But honestly, that number wasn’t what mattered. But honestly, that wasn’t the best part. The best part was realising how far I’ve come, from the guy who used to serve unwashed potatoes back in the day, to standing in a kitchen crafting something beautiful and balanced out of a handful of vegetables and a bit of patience and these veggies were absolutely beautiful.

Today wasnae a normal day at culinary school, no chopping onions or sweating over a hot line. No, today we piled into Banger’s Sausage House & Beer Garden on Rainey Street in downtown Austin. What a fuckin’ place. The Arrival We met Chef Albert, the head honcho at Banger’s, cool, calm, knowledgeable as fuck, confident, and clearly running a world-class operation without any of the pretentious chef nonsense. The man’s got that authority that tells you everything’s under control, even with 350 seats, 200 taps, and a smokehouse full of pork behind him. The first thing you notice walking in is the sheer scale of the place. It’s a bloody cathedral of sausages and beer. The tap walls stretch like a runway, lined with over 200 craft beers on draft. Turns out, they’re one of the biggest draft beer programs in the entire United States, and honestly, I believe it. Behind the Scenes Chef Albert took us through every bit of it, the taproom, the prep kitchens, the smokehouse, the sausage room, even the hanging room where they had a whole hog waiting for the weekend roast. A full pig, head to tail, ready to hit the smoker on Saturday. Absolute art. They do this once a week, plus racks of ribs, chickens, prime rib, sausages, you name it. And it’s not some fancy gimmick; it’s old-school craftsmanship. They’ve even built the smokehouse themselves, right there on site. Then there’s the production setup, three full kitchens, each one spotless and humming even before service. You can tell the team actually gives a shit. And get this, 95 percent of everything they serve is made from scratch. None of that half-arsed “locally sourced” marketing spin. We watched the team making sausages by hand, grinding, mixing, stuffing, just pure graft and pride in what they do. The Food We got the full tasting treatment at the end.And holy fuck. Jalapeño cheddar sausages with just the right kick, smoky, spicy, and bloody perfect.Fries cooked twice for that proper crunch, the kind that’d make you question every chip you’ve ever eaten.Poutine that honestly… might be the best I’ve had, full stop. Canada included. Tri-tip sandwiches dripping with juice, messy, glorious, and worth every napkin.And those andouille balls, aye, the name got a laugh, but once you bite in, you’re too busy chewing to joke.