Hollandaise Me Don't

Hollandaise sauce: do you know what it is?

According to the ever-useful Wikipedia, hollandaise sauce is an emulsion of egg yolk and butter, seasoned with lemon juice, salt, and cayenne pepper. 

Last weekend, we served fresh haddock on a bed of creamed spinach, with a side of hollandaise sauce.  Only I didn’t know what hollandaise sauce was.  That in itself isn’t such a crime—apparently it is mostly consumed in eggs Benedict. 

However, after delivering several meals to customers who waved wildly at the sauce in question, I decided that I had better ask someone what the opaque-looking-cream-sauce-with-the-fish (or white poopy stuff, as one six year old told me) was. 

     See the white poopy stuff for yourself below: 

               http://www.foodsubs.com/Photos/hollandaisesauce.jpg

The problem with asking questions in a restaurant is that everyone is too busy to stop, the cooks get cranky with the wait staff easily, and no one wants to explain things to the newbie. 

After considering all of that, I chose a relatively friendly looking waitress to ask.  She responded.  Yup, she sure did—even told me what the sauce was called.  But the kitchen was so loud and chaotic that I thought she said “holiday sauce.”

Oof . . . how embarrassing.  I spent the next hour and a half telling every single customer I spoke to about the wonderful ‘holiday sauce’ that accompanied the haddock.  

For the most part, it didn’t seem to be bad of a mistake.  I even had a table of over-grown fraternity brothers who looked up at me and barked out an “alright, girl, cool” when I explained what the ‘holiday sauce’ was. 

It wasn’t until I got home that I told my dad (who used to be a cook for a living) about the ‘holiday sauce’ and he hunched forward, trying to contain his laughter (totally at my expense, mind you).  After the gasps for air subsided, he tried his best to gently explain my misunderstanding.  Lord, do I feel misinformed.

Lesson learned:  I think what I learned this week is that sometimes my mistakes aren’t so bad.  One cook certainly thinks my mishaps are cute enough to ask me out.