Where can I go to become a food monk?

It's at times like these, during weeks like these that I am torn between two worlds. One is the world of the real restaurant worker. Cursing, slinging food, getting the job done as quick as you can, just working for the end of shift. Where there's a whiskey sitting next to it's friend beer and they're babysitting a pack of smokes just for you. I gave most of that up, except for the occasional relapse. It dulls the senses, it slows down my head and generally makes me feel like shit. Feeling like shit is not conducive to fast, efficient, precise work. That is were the other world lies. An idealistic world were I can exist solely in a kitchen; there for nothing more than the execution of perfect food. It's a place without the worry of critics, without the stress of pulling two jobs, stretching myself too thin. Some mystical place where I go to sleep in silence and wake to nothing more than the sun. Where product comes fresh daily and is nothing but ideal. It would be a precious place where one could simply practice and execute technique. Working on precision and end results without the pressure of getting from one job to the next. It wouldn't pay the rent or student loans. It would isolate me even further from my social networks. It would leave me isolated from the real world of food and the restaurant business. Damn that sounds good sometimes. But then again, where is the hurry the stress? Digging your heels and chucking out damn good food. Proving the hyper-critical dining crowd wrong by showing them food they can't find anywhere else. I still need that ideal life. That life of study and intense practice in technique; however that is all lost without the daily slam and grind, the daily trial by fire to validate the skills.

Cooking in the dark

Finally had a reasonable wind storm the other night. We started to lose reservations around 4:30. Nothing like the fear of nature to turn diners indoors. A persistent and adventurous seven top was willing to brave the threat of winter storm. We lost power at Alba a little after 5:00pm. Luckily it was still light and we could finish what prep was going. We were to open at 5:30 but without power, and heat, our dining room would be far from agreeable. Still the seven top persisted and we decided to cook, hoping that the power would return sooner than later. The light dwindled and we began scrounging for candles, oil lamps and flashlights. We opened the windows for a little ventilation and kept cooking. The seven top arrived, a cheery group from a local bank, looking to enjoy themselves with a night out. The candle lit dining room set the tone for a very intimate meal, akin to feasting around a fire. They were appreciative of our efforts and I was more than happy to cook. Then a two top arrived. We had decided to turn any other comers away; the dining room was getting cold, we needed to get perishables on ice, and we were running out of dishes. Apparently the newcomers had been in traffic for an hour and a half, not too mention that this was a birthday dinner. Needless to say they were welcomed in. They ate well. The patrons laughed, they drank wine, they ate and passed plates, needless to say the ice cream was on the house. They had a memorable meal, a once in a lifetime experience. So did I. That is what we forget at times in this business. We push ourselves and bust our ass to stay alive and in business but it's these little times, these unique moments that make this life satisfying.

Noodles

I've been making pasta for 10 months now. Over that course i have began to understand the seemingly simple processes that overpopulate the kitchen. I'm a firm believer in the fact that you never understand a recipe until you've done it at least a hundred times. With certain things, like pasta, or bread, or stocks, it takes years to truly understand the complexity and fickleness of the final product. With pasta it is always about maintaining the right level of hydration. Too wet and the dough is sticky and unmanageable. Too dry and it is difficult to work through the machine and will crack and dry out before one can cut the desired shape. You begin to understand the climate and the touch of the dough. You understand how to manipulate the dough; how to cook the noodles; and how the noodle should be served.
Pasta is easy. It is flour. It is eggs. It is salt. There is no leavening. There is no elaborate folding. It is basically a dumpling. Flour bound together cooked in water. But when it is done correctly it is so much more than that. It becomes toothesome and durable. Flavorful and uniquely capable of holding sauce. It becomes something other than the flour that it is made from. Yet we still see pasta as the vehicle and the sauce being the real attraction. Fresh pasta needs no sauce. A little browned butter maybe? A little parmeggiano? It's final destination is not to be the carrier for a four hour over-reduced tomato sauce. Let a dried pasta do that. Even a quality dried pasta doesn't require the mounds of spaghetti sauce that most American anoint their noodles with.
It is easy to see these things after being so close to it for so long. Pasta was and is intended to be one with itself. It is it's own realization. It isn't Laurel waiting for it's Hardy. It is it's own act. Were it simply meant to be a straight man for the sauce then the Italians never would have been so particular about its production. They never would have cared about the shape of the noodle, the amount of egg yolks, whether it's dried or fresh. They just would have dropped some sauce on a chunk of old bread. See, pasta dishes are really about the noodle. And that's where we lose sight in our culture. We are so excited about the flavours that will shake the mundane off our palate that we miss the true complexity in food. We are so immersed in our rudimentary tastes of salt, sweet and fat that we miss out on the ability of something so simply to be something so grand. We eagerly go after sausage and pepper laden tomato sauces, or cheese and garlic heavy gelatinous cream sauces to cut through the normal routine of filth we feed ourselves on a daily basis. We want bold flavours. Bold flavours that have muted our ability to taste. Try a little olive oil and chili flake on spaghetti topped with parmesan. Let the pasta speak.

2 years and counting

There is a transient nature to what I do. Rarely does anyone stay in one place for longer than a year. It seems that I've spent more time looking for steady work than steadily working. I've now been at Alba for two years. This is the longest I've been at a restaurant. I still have the fear. The fear of instability. The fear of not knowing if the next check is going to be enough, if there is even going to be a next check. With the recent success, the steady growing success, these fears are subsiding. Whats replacing them is confidence in my abilities. Finally I've been at one place long enough to actually hone skills. I can focus on improving in stead of wasting energy adapting and tryin to get comfortable in a kitchen. I can actually become a better cook. I now make pasta. I make pasta well. In a year, I will make pasta very well. I have been repeating things. And with this repetition comes competance. I have been at the cafe for a year and a half now. While the food isn't challenging it is another venue that requires me to maximize time, cook quickly, and cook clean. The food is worth respecting; therefore my work must be respectful. I am fast. I can adjust on the fly and I can flip the switch when needed. All I really needed was a place to stay and believe in. Oh, and to screw my head on straight. Timing is vital. Three or four years ago I wouldn't have been in the right place to take advantage of these opportunities. I would've been fine, but I wouldn't have excelled. I needed to be broken. To be forced to make the decision between the life I was leading and the professional goals that I wanted to attain. So many restaurants. So many cuisines. I wanted to believe in them all. Busted dreams, but they were other peoples dreams. Mine are still alive. My dreams are cockroaches. I couldn't kill them if I wanted to.

Long month

It seems as if I post this more than anything else, but 'it's been a damn long month'. Two days off in October. Left little time and even less energy to post. I went to New York in the beginning of September. I ate good food. Saw good music. hung out with good people. It's been a whirlwind of work since getting back. Staffing problems at the Cafe and increased business at Alba has made for all work no play. Regardless I wouldn't be anywhere else. I think I'm approaching the point in the craft of cooking (as in the pursuit of any craft) in which everything I do becomes referential. In that I have developed and honed basic techniques, while learning specific cuisines. When I decide I want to make something it is not some idea I'm pulling from the aether it is derived from the food and techniques I've used in the past. What I make is therefore more grounded. And being grounded there is a greater chance for success. I am getting better at having an idea of what I want to make, making it, and having the end product be very close to the original idea. The guessing game is giving way to craft.

Homeland Security

So you go to the local safeway. For the sake of convenience you grab some pre-cleaned, bagged veggies. Easy resealable pouches, healthy fresh vegetables, couldn't be easier. Bullshit. Agri-business and large scale processing has put our national security in Jeopardy. It is in the best interest of homeland security to decentralize food production and create a series of regional food sourcing centers that can act independently in case of terrorist, and or accidental contamination. From here on out I will refer to these regional food production facilities as Foodstuff Annex for Regional and Metropolitan Support, or F.A.R.M.S. These F.A.R.M.S. will produce food for population centers within quick trucking distance. They can produce a variety of foodstuffs that are indigineous and or specific to the climate of the area providing a hearty, nutritious and diversified yield. Crops that are naturally resistant to pests and disease of the given regions. This decentralization also has great strategic import. It is almost impossible for food flow to be disrupted by contamination when there are so many independent F.A.R.M.S. operating.

product

So I've started to cover the unsavory, unglamorous, stressful aspects of the job. It's easy to do since most of these posts come right after work. I'm usually winding down reglecting on the night. Successes and failures as well as just the desire to wrap it up and go home. To relax and get ready for the next day. If I could post periodically throughtout the day I'm sure the content would be quite different. But the predominant thing would be the product. A joy that comes directly from the raw ingredients, how they smell, how they look, taste, respond to heat, etc. Taking that near perfect item and preparing, framing it and serving it is the true thrill. Like most career changers I got into this because of the romantic notions of food and the craft of cooking itself. Of course the adrenaline and process of line cooking, cooking at speed, has become it's own addiction. The product is still the overwhelming motivater. Seeing the seasons change, the product change, is thrilling.

working angry

You know, when it's 7:30 on a Friday I'm pissed. I've been on my feet for seven or eight hours by that point, and there's three or four more to go. I'm pissed. I'm not itchin' for a fight. I don't even really dislike anyone. I'm just pissed off, and every order that comes in pisses me off more. Not because I hate cooking or I hate the food I'm making (if either where the case I'd be doing something else). Perhaps it is a purely male, testosterone laden perspective, but it's like a competition. The Customers, the tickets, myself more specifically, are my opponents and in order for me to win I have to put out everything perfectly and timely. Now most of the time it's not like I'm seething with anger and cursing the old couple on table 10. I do cook with joy. But when the tickets start coming, you dig in, cook your ass off and fight to stay on top of everything. You focus, stay under control, and let the adrenaline flow. Staying in control is the key to everything. Maintain focus, maintain timing, maintain quality. It is at the most stressful times that the anger comes out. It is a competitive anger not a directed anger. It is an internal anger. One that will kick my own ass if I let down and don't do something right. Sure I'll get pissed if some dumbass comes in looking for ranch dressing, tartar sauce and a well done steak, but that's more just annoyance. Intensity and anger can be inseperable. People talk about professional athletes playing with passion, playing with fire. It looks like there pissed to me. We admire them. We admire their competitiveness. There is no difference. When one pushes oneself to perform at a high level that focus and intesnity easily manifests as anger. Now don't get me wrong there are those misguided dicks online that are just poorly adjusted assholes pissed at the world, unable to seperate their own self loathing from their hatred of humanity. But then again we get all sorts in the kitchen. Regardless everyone in a kitchen gets pissed. The get angry, they get focused and most of the time they do there job.

Line Games

Recently, thanks to Anthony Bourdain and others, there has been an idealization of what happens on the line. The shit talk, the towel snapping, things happening to food that customers don't want to know about, drugs, drinking, screwing, all of these things have happened, will happpen, and are happening in kitchens. I don't go for most of that. I work sober, don't shit where I eat, don't chase FOH tail, try not to talk shit, but what I do go for is a little game I like to call 'In your head'. It's easy, it's all about getting a shitty song stuck in someone elses head without it getting stuck in yours. This may sound childish, and simple, but I don't come down to where you work and slap the dick out of your mouth. If you've been on the line for say six hours, are mentally frayed and physically spent simple pursuits elevate to heroic proportions. Just on little phrase can send your coworker into an internal turmoil. "Turn around...bright eyes". That 's the most direct route. Just sing the hook to some really bad tune and hope it catches. Just like "Skyrockets in flight". THe more round about method, and here is where I really love the freedom, is change the lyrics and start singing the new rendition. If you can attach a menu item even better. 'Ropa, Ropa Vieja (to the tune of CopaCabana)'. My favorite is the chorus to that crappy Cranberries tune 'Zombie'. It's mindless, repetetive, insipid, and easily singable, exactly what you want to get caught in someone elses head. If you don't work in a kitchen, try it anyway. Go up to a coworker in the office and start singing "Going to lunch, gonna grab a bite , gonna eat my sandwhich and drink my sprite...Oh oh oh gonna drink a sprite(afternoon delight).

back again

Just wrapped up a hectic month. Two independent catering gigs and a move left me a little drowsy, a little ragged, a little spun. Unfortunately I dig the adrenaline. After putting in 80 hours in the kitchen each of the last two weeks, I feel like I'm slacking by just working one job. It's not unusual for one to put in so many hours in this business. If you're an owner or on salary it's expected. What it does to me is put question in the old noggin'. "Am I doing enough?" I could work more, learn more, get there faster. Of course this is ridiculous, and due to my inherent love of sloth, I am in no threat of picking up a third job. What it does show is what I can do when I need to, when I need to take advantage of opportunities. I can stretch myself thin occasionally and pull it off, if for a good reason.

Schedule

Should be wrapping up a crazy month in the next week. 2 catering jobs in addition to the two restaurant jobs. Pretty hectic, but worth it. While the catering thing can be a hassle it allows me to get back to menu planning. It's a good excercise. Creating a balanced, executable menu, that is reasonable for the customer and fitting for the occasion. It's good to spread the proverbial wings and make my own food. See what I would do with the seasonal ingredients. I couldn't do the catering thing for a living though. I like the planning aspect, but I hate the waiting. You know what you need to do, but can only prepare the food within a day or two of the event. You know you're going to be busy but there is very little you can do to ease that.

Gonna find my baby
Gonna hold her tight
Gonna grab some Afternoon Delight
My motto's always been when it's right it's right
Why wait until the middle of a cold dark night

When everything's a little clearer in the light of day
And we know the night is always gonna be here anyway

Think of you is working up an appetite
Looking forward to a little Afternoon Delight
Rubbing sticks and stones together make the sparks ignite
And the thought of rubbing you is getting so exciting
Skyrockets in flight
Afternoon Delight
Afternoon Delight
Afternoon Delight

Started out this morning feeling so polite
I always thought a fish could not be caught who didn't bite
But you got some bait a'waitin and I think I might
Like nibbling a little Afternoon Delight

Skyrockets in flight
Afternoon Delight
Afternoon Delight
Afternoon Delight

Be waiting for me baby when I come around
We can make a lot of luvin' fore the sun go down

Think of you is working up an appetite
Looking forward to a little Afternoon Delight
Rubbing sticks and stones together makes the sparks ignite
And the thought of rubbing you is getting so exciting
Skyrockets in flight
Afternoon Delight
Afternoon Delight
Afternoon Delight
Afternoon Delight
Afternoon Delight

Intro: / Em C Em C /

See the curtains hanging in the window
In the evening on a Friday night
A little light a-shining through the window
Lets me know every thing's all right

/ Em G / D A E C / :

{Refrain}
Summer breeze, makes me feel fine
Blowing through the jasmine in my mind
Summer breeze, makes me feel fine
Blowing through the jasmine in my mind

/ Am - Bm - / C - G - / :

See the paper laying on the sidewalk
A little music from the house next door
So I walk on up to the door step
Through the screen and across the floor

{Refrain}

Sweet days of summer, the jasmine's in bloom
July is dressed up and playing her tune
When I come home from a hard day's work
And you're waiting there, not a care in the world

/ Em C Em C / / Am - Bm - / /

See the smile a waiting in the kitchen
Food cooking and the plates for two
Feel the arms that reach out to hold me
In the evening when the day is through

Fine dining as agent of change

I have always had generally blue color leanings politically. It always seemed easy for the right to say you need to pick yourself up by the bootstraps when they generally aren't the ones needing the picking up. I have always been aware of class, have and have nots. The nobility of the worker and work. In kind I still prefer real food, food with an origin, with history. Food that has developed over centuries by out of necessity and context. Peasant food, rustic, call it what you will. I tend to see it as 'real' food. There in I have linked food and politics. Food and my view of the world. Food as substance instead of consumption. Food can represent the work of a culture, the mana of the everyman. So here I am working fine dining. Granted, I work within a traditional cuisine, yet I make food that my parents or family, for most of there lives, couldn't afford. It's a common cooks conundrum. I make food that I myself cannot afford to eat. Hee-larious. It is that sort of reinforcing of the servant class, that so many chefs today bristle against. This desire to be legitimized, to be seen as professionals. It is hard enough for chefs, for cooks it is impossible. So were do I stand as a cook. Am I simply a servant to those who can afford my skills. Paid labor. Or is there something more to this avenue of cuisine? Should I say screw it all and go back to my roots and immerse myself in middle/working class cuisine. What can be had in Fine Dining.
First and foremost it is a pursuit of ego/passion. It is the pursuit, as a craftsman, to put out the best product one can. As well as to hone ones skill as sharply as one can. The best way to do this, as far as I've found, is to produce food that has the highest expectations. The monetary tag associated with a fine dining dish requires skills of the highest order, executed as consistently as possible. While there are certainly skills that cross over several genres of restaurant cookery, fine dining requires the most care overall. There are many restaurants that can produce tasty nutritious food, and don't charge an exorbitant amount, yet they also don't require the same collection of skills. Fine Dining requires the full use of the cooks toolbox. Vegetable cookery, butchery, Charcuterie, Knife skills, etc...While later I may look to apply some of these in more humble settings later, this is the only way for me to use all of them all of the time.
The other aspect of Fine Dining that I have always been attracted to is the ability to educate. Diners respect the source of a fine dining establishments ingredients. It is understood that an upper end restaurant should be using the best possible ingredients at all times, so what are the best possible ingredients and why are they (the fine dining establishment) using them? While the celebrity chef has taken food into the realm of entertainment, local restaurants can still educate and influence diners. Emeril, and Bobby may spout generalities about 'good' cooking, but local restaurant can actually educate diners about good ingredients. They can actually experience why they are good. I'm lucky to be working at a restaurant where almost 80% of raw product comes from within 100 miles from the restaurant. I'm also lucky to be working in a city where that is the norm, not the exception. However there is still so far to go. When diners realize that local products, directly reflecting a seasonal diet, are superior to mass produced products we can start re-thinking the way we buy and sell food. The awareness of organic produce and beef has already begun a consumer swing. People are thinking about what they consume. I believe this is in part due to fine dining. Fine dining restaurants in an attempt to provide it's customers with the best product have realized that by going local they are receiving fresher, riper, diverse product at a relatively reasonable price. The whole process of a diner discovering something delicious and wondering why the same thing at the store sucks, is an indirect education. "That tomato was amazing. Where did it come from, and where can I buy them?". Sure it isn't answering the big questions of feeding and housing the homeless, but it is eliciting thought. Providing an alternative way to look at food. Or at least a point of discussion. Why do these Chefs choose this food, and why can't I have access to the same? Why is the produce at my grocery store dominated by shipped in, unripe, tasteless vegetables? Fine dining won't supply solutions either, that needs to be determined by the consumers ability to create a demand.

I am an impatient Sort

This whole process of learning to cook, learning about food is ceaseless. Just when you master a skill, or feel at least competent, then the door to something else is opened. This trip can only be truly measured by looking back at what I've done. Where I started, and where I am. Am I content? No. Do I regret, or believe I have let myself down? No. I am anxious. Anxious to know everything I can, yet become frustrated when I do something that doesn't involve moving forward. Watching a movie, playing a video game, taking a nap. Knowing there is so much ahead fills me with anticipation and guilt when I am not fully applied to food. This is also what keeps me going. There is more. There is no room to be lazy, or content. I am not competent enough, yet. There are more challenges. There will always be challenges. I am still impatient. I am still not content, yet I am still so damn excited. I think I really do enjoy knowing that food will always be a slightly elusive mistress. I will never get bored with it. I will becom more familiar yet there will still be surprises.
This is why, I think, I've chosen the fine dining route. There is always a higher standard that one can hold themselves to. The product can always be a step closer to perfection. Things can always be more consistent. Of course, I expect, this will temper with experience. Once I'm done trying and testing myself I will settle in. I will find my particular voice within food. Maybe a pub. Maybe a tiny bistro, or a B&B. Maybe it'll be some shrimp shack in the Keys. That's the beauty of it all. It still hasn't played out. The food still hasn't given up all it's secrets, and what I can do with the knowledge is still unfolding.

Tired: Or I'm a whiny teacup

Once again I'm tired. It seems as if this is a perpetual state. Everyone is tired. I don't think there is anyother way to be in the restaurant industry. If you get enough sleep then you aren't working hard enough. It's a strange world to live in. It's nice when someone else validates it. "Thank God it's not just me". I get worried that I can't hack it. That if I'm this tired what will it be like when I have my own place. It's easy to assume that those who are successful have it easy. In reality they are just as beat as the rest of us. There are no breaks, no lunches, no weekends, no vacations. It seems I write mostly about how hard this business is. In part it's venting. But mostly it's a necessary rationalization. I should be tired. This is a hard business. I do work alot. It's easy to forget about when you are surrounded by those who do the same thing. You assume that since you are feeling the effects that you are somehow not as capable, or doing something wrong, or not cut out for it. There is a necessary understanding that it's just the way it is. If you want to succeed, you're just going to be tired (of course this applies to any pursuit). Cooking on the line is most likely the most stressful job, where someones life isn't immediately on the line (of course someones livelihood is). During service you are pummeled with orders for hours. During that time you are forced to focus on several components, all of which have different cooking times, and techniques. All of these things have to come up together just to put out one plate, and that plate must be perfect. Perfect, like the one before it and the one after it. You do that hundreds of times a night. When it's all over, you clean up, take stock of what's been used and get ready to do it all over the next day. The exhileration of sevice lingers for hours. Slowly the adrenaline, caffeine and nicotine that has kept you going for the last eight, ten, twelve hours, begins to fade. The next day you wake up and head to the shop to find the same sense of urgency that go you rolling the day before. Over time you become uncomfortable having only one or two things to do. Days off become midless shutdown days. 'What the hell am I supposed to do outside the kitchen?' 'Shouldn't I be working?'. It's really bad when you wish you were working and it's your day off. You understand the necessity of not working. One must take time off or one becomes a little batty, a little scattered, and a littel pissy. Yet on that day off you just can't get comfortable. Where's the rhythm? Wheres's the commotion? Where's the adrenaline? Where's my damn prep list?!

Long week

Of course the downside of small restaurants is the lack of labor. Each component is integral to function and when a component goes down things don't work quite as well. There isn't a large part time labor pool always looking for more shifts. Somebody, or somebodies, has to pick up the slack. It puts a strain on operations. No big deal in a pinch but real gaps can be hell on consistency and morale.

Accentuate the positive: Why working in a small restauran kicks ass

Despite the bleak pictuire I've painted, I have rarely, in my life, felt more reward. There are victories on a daily basis, both personal and oragnizationally. Seeing people enjoying your work and the vision of the establishment is far more gratifying than any other industry I've been involved in. There is a level of commraderie that is only superceded by those in life and death situations. There is also a great personal satisfaction at the end of the shift. You've done your job well (to the satisfaction of the customer, the chef and yourself) and there is little left. You think about the things to do tomorrow, what prep you need, the number of potential customers etc. but outside of that there is nothing else. There is no take home job. What you take home is satisfaction in completion. Granted you'll do the more or less the same thing tomorrow, but today you've clearly won the battle. Of course there will be the bad days, but instead of impacting the future, the bad day, when done, is done. You learn from whatever made it a bad day. By having a bad day you become a better cook and hopefully decrease the chance of having another bad day. Of course there are going to be gripes, but gripes in a restaurant are not like inter-office politics. You either blow your stack and resolve it or you get over it. We work too closely under too much stress for there not to be exposed nerves, but as long as you realize that, then it ain't no thing. It is one great dysfunctional family reveling in disfunction. One great dysfuntional family grinding out good food, doing a job others don't understand and doing it at a consistently high level. So when the place succeeds (something I have far too little experience with) everyone takes pride everyday. And everyday we strap in again, slam an espresso, and enjoy the adrenaline of a long night of making people, including ourselves, happy.

Will I make it: or, so you think you can be a chef, huh?

A little Obsessive Compulive, a little paranoid, a little anal retentive, a little insecure, a little competative, a little bit of a control freak, a little bit of arrogance. It's odd that traits the rest of the world vilifies, traits that most wouldn't confess to, traits that have spawned an entire pharmacopia, are the traits that can make someone a successful chef. Cooks are on an Island. When they send a plate out there is noone else responsible for the quality of that plate but themselves. Hypothetically it's the Chef who is ultimately responsible, (they hired the cook, they trained the cook, their name is on the menu), but in the real world things get busy, and trust becomes paramount. The chef needs to trust a cook to execute properly. In order to execute properly every time, without fail, a cook needs to be aware, excrutiatingly aware. This awareness, this intimacy, magnifies even the most minute flaw or deviation. No matter wether you're flipping burgers or searing foie gras, ultimately your actions, your work, determines wether the food is received well or not. Of course there are always the cranks that couldn't tell cardboard from Cotes de Bouef, they don't count. The vast majority of customers, however, can and do count. And they are the true measure of your success. It's this relentless awareness, driven by paranoia, insecurity, and plain old fear that fuel the fires. What about passion? What about love of food? I suppose that's the positive spin. Almost no one in their right mind would consider a career cooking if they weren't passionate about food. Being in love has some serious baggage that comes with it though. Insecurity, and scrutiny eventually give way to confidence and understanding. With food and cooking this process of synthesis is a long journey. To truly understand technique (moreover food itself) you have to struggle. Struggle to master the techniques and understand the medium, not only of cooking, but of the industry as well. It is this struggle that takes the toll on so many. Those who thought it would be easier. Many realize that for them, it's just not worth it. Everyday I ask myself if it's worth it. Everyday I answer myself, 'it makes me happy. It's worth it'. I'm tired. I ache. I question my abilities everyday. Always wondering. Am I quick enough? Am I accurate enough? Are my senses polished? Am I learning enough? Am I pushing myself hard enough? Am I too old for this shit? If I wasn't questioning these things I believe I'd be too comfortable. When one is comfortable it's too easy to take shortcuts, forget the details. I suppose settling is my fear. What these insecurities really add up to. Settling. Many will settle. I'm looking forward to the day when my insecurities and fears become confidence and understanding. It won't be settling but resolution, fully understanding what I have learned and what I have yet to learn.

Dicks, bitches, fucking assholes: Or 'There is no Island of Misfit Cooks' pt2

Cooks are often romanticized as nomadic characters, running on the boundary of society, living hard, playing hard, just as likely to be in jail as at work. When it comes to upper end dining, That's pretty much a load of bullshit. While the industry does allows flexibility in the character of it's employees, some core qualities are still required. You have to give a damn. You have to show up. You have to do drugs on your own time (preferably not on your own time right before work, that's a bad idea). You don't drink until your shift is mostly over, but generally follow the lead of management. You can't be a fucking dick. This last statement needs some qulaifying. There are a lot of dicks in the kitchen. I'm one. However there is a major difference between a dick and a fucking dick or a fucking asshole. A dick can be compulsive, moody, mildly confrontational (overly confrontational and your a fucking dick), a smart ass, and sophmoric. Sometimes the dick rubs you the wrong way, most of the time you tolerate them because, well, your probably a dick to. But under that all, a dick just really wants good food to go out the window. When that ceases to be the focus, when things become unstable, when pettiness becomes paramount, the dick can become a bitch. Being a bitch can be tolerable as long as the job gets done and not too many people are getting pissed off. When the bitch becomes a fucking asshole, it's all over. A fucking asshole, or fucking dick, can rip the gentle fabric of kitchen cohesiveness as if it were so many yards of charmin. Why is this even an issue? In most businesses people follow rules of conduct that try and prevent coworkers from aggravating other coworkers. You know like acting professional, being a grown up blah blah blah. (Yeah, well other businesses don't have employees slumped over a stove for six to ten hours straight. Of course, there are a lot of dicks, bitches, and fucking assholes in the real world. They're just harder to spot initially due to the superficial curtiousness.) You see cooks don't make a lot of money. Since there is little financial motivation to cook, pay in this market is pretty much capped at ten bucks an hour for a line cook, you aren't necessarily attracting the best and brightest. (There is a resurgence in cooking over the last fifteen years or so. More people are going to cooking school, more college age students are going into the kitchen instead of getting Philosophy, or Art History degrees. Being a Chef has become more fashionable; few realizing the actual effort it takes to become succesful though.) Hiring some kid with no experience because he seems like a good kid. Hiring a potentially burned out seasoned pro with too much experience, because talent is needed at an untalented price (big red flag, potential fucking dick). All in all though, it is hard, stressful work that requires skills, cooking and otherwise, that few truly possess. So here we are, the kitchen is populated by potential malcontents, why? In order to work under these conditions, for this pay you have to be a little bent. You care about food, you really believe you can be successful at it, you like the lifestyle, and/or you don't know how to do anything else.

What is a foodie?

I honestly don't know. I sort of assume that a foodie is one who has chosen food in all of it's facets as a hobby. I have a friend in town. We were talking about where to eat that night. Being from the south, he likes to get as much varied ethnic cuisine in him while he's in town. This is right up my ally. When I do go out I like to eat simple, clean, purposeful food. Food that has history. Not that I don't also enjoy more elaborate dining, but working in that environment all the time has jaded me a bit. I love dropping a franklin on myself for dinner and drinks, but I'm also a bitch. I feel as if I'm in analysis mode when I should be relaxing. So my friend and I are talking about were to eat, which leads to a discussion on restaurants with another friend who was present. He made reference to the fact that I tend to go to out of the way ethnic restaurants and he likes good food but also likes to be seen. He used the term 'purist foodie' and 'scenester foodie'. Which I thought was funny. 1) I don't consider myself a foodie, though I love food, since I do this for a living 2) I didn't really think about classifying foodies. Once the wheels were in motion though I realized that there are several strains of the contemporary foodie.

1)Purist Foodie: seeks out traditional, authentic cuisine regardless of where, and really thinks they now what the cuisine is about (and are usually wrong).

2)Scenster foodie: Really likes good food, but thinks it tastes better when served somewhere by pretty people for pretty people.

3) Wannabe foodie: The foodie that wishes they actually had the balls to cook professionally. They fancy themselves chef material but have no real idea what a chef is. Really enjoys being called chef by friends. A disturbing psuedo-erotic worship of Emeril, Bobby Flay, Tyler Whats his name or any other TV Chef.

4) Wine Geek: I lump this in because of the natural connection between food and wine. Of course there are serious classifications within the broad spectrum of wine geek; from California oak chomping ingrate to serious Barolo quaffing oenophile.

5) Home Cook: Someone who just really likes to cook, has no real desire to do it professionally. May enjoy entertaining, likes to casually learn about food, beut generally just likes to eat well. The true home cook is a credit to the foodie world.

6) Scoop: The foodie that really wants to find the next great place to eat. Forst to post on the message boards, first to give their two cents. A fickle bird. It's not known what is more important to Scoop, good food, or finding a new restaurant.

This is just an 'off the top of my head' list. I'll be updating this list now and again as new strains are verified.

Food as craft (pt1 of many)

There is a desire, by both layman and professionals, to lump Chefs with artists. It can be understandable. The layman is presented with food they themselves are incapable of creating, and potentially elicites any number of emotions. Some Chefs also enjoy propigating this concept for what reason I don't know, I can only speculate. My guess is ego. The real procedure, skill and techniques, however, are shrouded in a hidden kitchen by years of training. It is this training of skills that elevates the understanding and manipulation of food. Just as a Scientist can be viewed as Wizard by a primitive culture, so is the Chef seen as artist. The abilities of the true Chef are so superiorly honed that their creations may seem to be that of pure inspiration. Not to discredit the creativity of top chefs; however they have achieved a level of artistry through mastery of a craft, not necessarily some amorphous muse. Only by mastering technique can one truly master their medium. Only through mastering ones medium can one truly express their ideas fluidly. So many young chefs are lauded for their creativity without truly mastering there chosen craft. Too often creativity is emphasized rather than skill and consistency. It is this lack of mastery that often clouds the food of young chefs. This creative process requires the manifesting of idea into tangible form. The only way for that to translate fluidly is for there to be no resistance in the flow of idea. If one does not master ones medium then ideas do not flow smoothly. Just as I struggle with translating my ideas to words, as writing is not my profession, so does the young chef or aspiring cook struggle with turning vision into truly edible food. That is where the true Chef shines. It is through a thorough understanding of the manipulation of product that they visualize and predict the eventual outcome. Not to say that even the most experienced Chef does not experiment or guess at times; however the window of error is far smaller and most likely only perceivable by the Chef themselves. Where as misjudgement or poor 'editing' by an aspiring chef can be noticeable to all.

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday

Another Sunday in the books. Generally at this time (it's 11:00 pm) on a Sunday I'm asking myself 'why the hell am I still cooking?'. It takes two jobs to pay my student loans, house bills, and save a little for an eventual trip abroad. Hey, no big deal right? Plenty of cash coming in to cover what I want to do. Damn though if it don't add up. Up at 6:00 am, cook breakfast until 2:00 for the chronologically challenged. Off to the pm place for a little dinner service, home by 10:00, or so. It's a numbing day filled with caffeine highs and lows, lulls and rushes, and an unavoidable afternoon crash. Breakfast really is a brutal shift. Not only does the shift start too early for one to be thinking clearly, but despite it's seemingly straightforward appearance (Eggs, potatoes, toast, right?) it can be one of the most mentally taxing. No one likes to wait for breakfast and the general simplicity of the food makes for quick preperation. Also, EVERYONE has their own breakfast quirk, which shows up as modifications to orders. (A brief aside. A modification is any alteration to an order that is not on the menu. Say, the standard breakfast comes with, 2 eggs, potatoes, toast, and meat of your choice. Easy enough. Now Customer A has that standard breakfast, but wants toast dark. Easy enough, I can forget about toast. That's generally how it get's dark. Customer B would like the standard breakfast without potatoes. No problem, one less thing to worry about. Customer C would like the standard breakfast with no potatoes, no toast, and fruit on the side. OK, now I'm getting pissed. I have to stop my flow and grab fruit for the plate. Customer D would like the standard Breakfast with eggs basted, one piece wheat toast, one piece sourdough, bacon crispy, potatoes fried instead of hashbrowned. Fine dammit, toast no problem, I'll ruin the bacon, drop potatoes in the deep fryer, and throw some eggs in a pan on the back burner with a lid. Anyway you get the picture.) Instead of falling back on instinct and muscle memory at 8:00 on a Sunday morning, I HAVE TO THINK. And there's nothing, as a cook, that I hate more than having to think about an order. Oh yeah, and the shift is six hours long. No breaks. Needless to say by hour four I'm starting to fade. Hour five hits, and everyone is my enemy. The customers are like wolves tracking the smell of blood; waiting for the first sign of visible weakness to pounce. Hour six and I am a crushed broken man. Uncurling myself from my fetal postion on the floor I collect my knives, bid everyone adieu and propel myself home. Shell shocked, I head to the pm joint, swearing that I will not work breakfast past memorial day. Of course I've told myself the same lie over and over. 'I won't work another Easter'. 'This is my last Mothers day'. 'I'm no breakfast cook'. Of course, like Sysiphus, I keep coming back. But really I'm no breakfast cook, I can quit at anytime. Just doing this to make a little extra cash. I can quit anytime.

There is no Island of misfit cooks

I've worked my share of jobs. Canneries, car lots, messenger, high tech, stage hand, etc. etc. I graduated from college believing that I would somehow be instantly legitimate. I would grow up and join my peers as fledgling economic contributors. My degree would begin to pay for itself. I would now reap the benefits of 16 years of cumpolsory and chosen education. It would be easy. Find myself a good company to work for. Prove to be both amicable and smarter than most, then sit back and collect the rewards. Easy money. Along the way I would accumulate wealth that was unimaginable to me during my undergraduate years. Oh, the life I would lead. Apparently when one enters into the professional workforce one should to be polite, listen to their boss, and follow the rules. I was a miserable failure at all of the above. I honestly didn't try to offend anyone, dissappoint anyone or upset the general balance of things. It's just that I have a distinct ability to rub people the wrong way sometimes. I didn't understand the unwritten rules that everyone else was following, and why they where following them. Why do I care about this leviathian that barely recognizes me? Why do I bust my ass, or at least try to, for something that I never see, and for someone I'll never meet. It's almost as if it becomes a faith of it's own. One has to buy into the concept of the corporation as provider, which it can quite successfully be. Of course I've never been one for belief in the unseen. I've only ever trusted the tangible, the tactile, the immediate. I left the square world behind for the kitchen.

I would make my home there. There, in a wonderful place were the lack of pay, insane stress, and ever present instability was forgotten in a shift drink. Where "Eat a dick Potsie" is a term of endearment. Where 3:00pm is a reasonable start to the day. I found my people. It is one of the finest collections of freaks, flakes, slackers, sociopaths, addicts, malcontents and anal retentive assholes anywhere. Anyone can find a job in a restuarant. Cooks come and go, servers just stop coming in, people are transient. Resumes are doctored, references go unchecked, or a warm body is just needed to fill a shift. Some are in it for the long haul. The professionals that love food, love the job, and are crazy and OCD enough to be good at it. Most are looking for something better. Getting an education, looking for a 'career', looking for better pay, maybe benefits. Regardless, they have all found a home in the lifestyle. It's a club, a secret society for those that have the common bond of being professional servants. You see these misfits have found pride in doing a job that few others want, and fewer still can do well, and outsiders don't understand. We can take the shit of the average joe; slap a smile on our face, curse your guts under our breath and still make you happy. As long as you can do your job, and show up for work you are welcome. You can find a home. We are not like Pirates, as Anthony Bourdain waxes. We are misfits, the collected detritus of all social and economic backgrounds. We are the three legged dog, the two dollar bill, and Charlie in the box.

What do we do?

I came home from work the other night. Typical Saturday; up at 8:00, off to the cafe for a little prep/backup shift. Done around 2:00 and then off to the PM place to bust out some prep and get ready for service. Usually finish anywhere between 9:30 and 11:00. My roommate, a 'wine guy' ,more will be discussed on what 'wine guy' means later, asks me if I want to come work for him. "Better hours, better pay", both attractive ideas. "You'd be able to enjoy cooking again", what? What the fuck? If I didn't enjoy cooking for a living, then why the fuck would I be cooking for a living. Nobody in there right mind would; 1)get paid shit, 2)wallow in stress about wether total know nothing strangers approve of their work, and 3)have little or no job stability, unless there was joy coming from it. See there is this general disconnect between what people think cooks are and what we really are. I do love to cook at home, though I don't do it very often. It's the old 'a Mechanic never works on his own car' addage. It's what really got me into this whole trip, but make no mistake the two things are completely different. You see it isn't about a love affair with food, though that's important if you don't want to get burned out and actually want to be more than a line cook. It's not about entertaining friends, though it is satisfying when customers pass on kudos throught the window and you develope friendly regulars. What it really isn't about is some sort of bullshit misconception involving creativity. There are no artists in the kitchen when the doors open. It's about people ordering a shit load of food, and being prepared enough and capable enough to bust it out perfectly every single time. It's about adrenaline, it's about speed, it's about getting your ass kicked and liking it. Knowing that the customers are lining up to kick your ass confirms that what your doing is good. And the faster you can do it and still be good even better. It's about transforming your self into a machine for six hours straight and doing nothing but reacting to what customers want. No home cooking is not like this. You are comparing some fat assed house wife jumping on a treadmill to El Guerrouj running the 1500. (A little aside, El Guerrouj is a world class miler, and has dominated middle distances for the past 5+ years. I guess for sake of clarity I just should have said "Some really fast olympic mother fucker" instead of actually naming someone. But you know, I'm here to educate). It's stressfull, it's potentially chaotic, it's underappreciated, but damn it can be fun. There is no finer feeling, (let me qualify. Anytime I use superlatives, or comparisons where the only thing that could be better would be sex, fell free to imply it. Consider it a sophisticated literary tool. It also saves time. I could write 'There is no finer feeling' or I could write the more cumbersome line: 'There is no finer feeling...other than having Scarlett Johansson tickling my balls oh so gently after hours of viagra and coke induced porn sex.' That would also be presumptuous. I have never taken viagra). Sometimes it feels like the restaurant is about to burn down around you, crumbling, smoldering pile of brick and glass, yet all you can do is calmly go about your job as efficiently as possible. Like some sort of lame matrix shit, all you see is people moving in slow motion while your chucking out perfect plate after perfect plate.

More food plucked from the headlines

You'll take my salami when you pry it from my cold, dead nitrate bloated hands

The funny thing is, is that sometimes this isn't that far from the truth

Ahhh, thank god I'm not a server.

Hist'ry

I've been busting chops on line for quite sometime now, often times working two jobs. I've worked in seven restaurants. Four of which are closed, hopefully in no part to my contribution or lack there of. I'm getting a pretty good Idea why restaurants fail. Why restaurants succeed is a far more elusive set of criteria. I've worked all stations on the line. I was running a line solo for a small misguided suburban bistro. Make no mistake I was no prodigy, it was out of necessity. The place was that slow. The Chef worked the floor and I ran the line. My first restaurant experience was a study in everything that could be done wrong. Wrong to the point that after only a year and a half in a professional kitchen I was running the bistro and planning the menu for their new bar. Once again I need to stipulate that this was not due to any prodigeous talent (I am by no means stupid, nor am I a savant in the kitchen) it was due to the owners inability to trust anyone. More importantly their proclivity to firing chefs when things weren't quite working out, they had no concept of consistency and more importantly they had no firm concept. I am proud however to say that I lasted as long as the previous chefs (about six months) who had legitimate skills. Of course when your a rat on a sinking ship one doesn't necessarily need the skills to pilot the ship, you just gotta now when to get the fuck off. Knowing that I needed to work with real chefs again I gave notice, and was subsequently fired. Good riddance. Since that first experience I have worked under many chefs, all of which I respect. I resolved never to compromise myself by producing food I wasn't proud of and work for someone I didn't respect. So continues the journey. It's been pretty brutal at times, on and off unemployment, working multiple jobs, never knowing if the paycheck is going to clear, or if suddenly hours are going to start evaporating. Of course this is the price you pay for working in small restaurants and, for now, I wouldn't want it any other way. I know where the food is coming from, literally and metaphysically. I know what success of a small restaurant will mean: an individuals dream and vision becomes realized (an excedingly rare thing) as well as the cultural contribution a small restaurant can bring to an area. I know what it's failure means: jobs lost, a dream lost, financial disarray. It is real life played out on a very small personal stage where you really know and care about the actors. Instead of being lost in a corporate environment attached to artificial goals, working solely for those two weeks off and that sweet retirment condo waiting for you in Scottsdale, where success or failure are quickly consumed within the beast and rarely noticed.n So this is the world I exist in and some of where I came from. More will be posited, and expounded upon in the future, but then again noones paying any attention.
XOXO

Back at it

Yeah, It's been six months since I've done anything with this. I'm sure no one is paying attention now, but what the fuck. The idea was more to get me writing than to amuse people. In order for this to work and maintain some cohesion I'll focus on food, primarily cooking professionally. It's the thing I do everyday, have the most opinions on and generally have a solid bullshit meter with. So enjoy, or not, I don't really care.