I'd be a fool and a communist to make any sort of connection here

It seems Jellyfish have been playing havoc with fisheries around the world.


Two 'attacks' in a North Ireland salmon farm has decimated the population.

http://www.reuters.com/article/scienceNews/idUSL2241858320071122

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/northern_ireland/7110059.stm

It seems Japanese fisherman off the coast of an island called Oki are experiencing their own jelly traumas. Giant 450 pound monster Jellyfish are getting caught up in mackerel, yellowtail and salmon nets.

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2006/01/0119_060119_jellyfish.html

http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn3126.html

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB119612452419404666.html?mod=yahoo_itp&ru=yahoo

I'm particular fond of this quote from Shinichi Uye, a Jellyfish researcher.

"It's like a harmless living thing has been angered," ... "The reason for its anger might lie with human activity."

I'm pretty sure this was foretold. Our only hope is either Godzilla or Ultraman. I'm pretty sure Gamera would be outmatched by the Nomura jellyfish.

In reality though it's just another symptom. People left amazed at such an outlandish happening; unwilling to look at the connectedness of unnatural practices. I'm not going into some absurd 'butterfly principle' rant; however there is a level of connectedness that is constantle overlooked.

Where are all these Truffles from?

So truffles are expensive right? White truffles, the Piemontese type, are really expensive. THe word on the street about the whites is that they're pushing 3,000 euro a kilo due to this years scarcity. That instantly pushes them out of the reasonable realm for a small restaurant. Even given the scarcity the quality is supposed to be sub par as well. However places are still pimping the fact that they have these Piemontese white truffles. Are they bolstering meager shavings with the chemically enhanced, yet still somehow accepted, 'truffle' oil? are they using Serbian truffles and pimping them as Alba? Will the madness of using Truffles in absurd applications ever stop?
Apparently in addition to the horrible year climatically there is an ever increasing cadre of inexperienced trufolau, truffle hunters, damaging the fragile ecosystem.

The writer who would be cook

I go through phases reading cooking literature. The vast majority is either inaccurate pulp, star chef-centric fantasy, or tired old rehashes of recipes and entertaining. There are some real gems out there though. Writers who get 'it'. Micheal Ruhlman is the one voice I've read that that consistently captures the feel of what goes on. His three books, Making of a Chef, Soul of a Chef, and Reach of a Chef, have been sources of inspiration and comfort. It's compelling stuff. The three should be required reading in most culinary schools.

A little something from the NY Times

School nutrition is always a hot topic. It is also so terribly vital in order to readjust our food values. Not only is nutrition important in a case by case approach to students (healthier more attentive, more energetic students, http://www.actionforhealthykids.org/) but awareness of our foods sources and the true value of food can only reap benefits well into the future. We have grown into a detached society, simply consuming foodstuffs, with little regard to it's production and manufacturing. What we focus on is simply cost. We have homogenized, dulled our palates. We value salt, fat, and sugar above the actual flavor of the natural foods themselves (and in many cases the bland industrial farmed produce and meats have little aesthetic value on their own. They exist as vehicles for processing). By instilling at least a basic awareness of nutrionaly viable food into school aged children one can hope for an expanding base of support for local agriculture.

Here's What's going on in Oregon

If you're unfamiliar with Alice Waters programs then check this out. It's an amazing program that needs to catch on.

Make what you will of it....

Thematic week. Depression. I'm not caught in some dark and self absorbed mood, the idea has simply arisen over the last week or so. It seems actually as if it's a fairly common theme in the workplace, which is surprising considering the level of levity that can occupy a restaurant before and after service. I had no idea depression was so rampant amongst people in my industry. I have seen the doubt in my compatriots, I have felt it in myself (it is not an unfamiliar companion). I have doubted myself, questioned my choices. I have gone without sleep, I rarely attend to a regular eating schedule. I have felt as if I could drop to my knees and not go on. I've stood at the line with my head swimming, unconscious of were I was or what I was doing. depression has chased me from time to time during my life. More or less than anyone else? Difficult to say..I am only me. I do know that I have felt true satisfaction and exhilaration as well. For every moment of question and doubt there have been equal sensations of gratitude and freedom. We are a conglomerate, those of us who have found a home in this business. A conglomerate of pains, successes and dysfunctions. There is however a sense of freedom and choice. I have never felt more out of control in my life than in the kitchen. I have never commanded my environment more than when I am in the kitchen. The intensity and focus required to be successful extracts true extremes of emotions (or perhaps those who can truly allow themselves to be extreme can truly find success in the restaurant). Simply because there is a high rate of depression within an industry does not mean the job itself is depressing. I argue that the hospitality industry, the service industry, is a clearing house for the anguished, foul mouthed, misfit geniuses who could find no other home. We are the few, the proud, the broken, the nomadic searchers looking for something more, yet not willing to find it in the mundane. One has to be flexible, dynamic, fearless, and a little bit fucking crazy to put in the hours, the energy, to suffer the machinations of the day to day square. One has to be euphorically manic in order to slap on a smile, make small talk, cater to the whims and bizarre fancies of customers adn do it with actual sincerity. And when it is all over, when the dust has settled, when it is quiet. We are left alone, spent, having given what we can to those who would gladly take it. Some with appreciation, others in blind consumption. We run high, we run low.

The Bail Out (Or, why FOH ain't your bitch)

There are those times. There are always those times. Those times being the spot when shit just breaks down for a second. By breaking down the dominoes fall. The dominoes fall and focuses shift. In the middle of service when one thing goes wrong everything that follows suffers. Tickets are stacked, each requiring a certain window of time, precariously waiting for their own time. It is these stark moments when one needs a particular instinctual sense to take over, as well as a shitload of luck. Food on heat is time sensitive. When one item, in a long chain of items, goes wrong then all items following will potential suffer. It is the biggest fear of the night, particularly for those who strive for pristine consistency.

Tonight it broke. A three top was ready for there entrees; a roasted bird, a trout, and a steak MR. The first two were ready...the steak had slipped over to medium (was it prematurely fired? Was the holding area too hot? Did any of it fucking matter because the fucker was overcooked?) I had been distracted by several tickets that were coming in course by course (it is one thing to see what is coming and plan for it. It is a wholly different thing to be surprised every time a server comes to the window). Regardless, I was sitting with two entrees ready to go, and one that was dead and destined for the garbage. I put the two acceptable entrees in the window and quickly dropped antother, thinner, steak. "I'm draggin the steak Sean. I fucked up". Meanwhile there was a pasta sitting in the window that the 'pasta boy' misfired. Sean, an experienced FOH mensch, quickly suggested taking the two ready entrees and the misfired pasta to his table. "I'll give him the pasta while he waits for his steak". Brilliant! We appease a potentially upset customer and utilize a misfired pasta. All were happy.

Kids, remember, as much as the FOH can drive you nuts they can also save your ass. We all fuck up, but if we cover each others asses then we can make sure the customer is taken care of. And bottom line it's all about the customer.

Only one thing could bring me out of virtual retirement

Ok, it's been awhile. I stepped away from the keyboard and focused on work, of which there was far too much. I have since quit one of the jobs. I now find myself with free time on my hands and deteriorating writing skills. With that in mind I've been considering starting this little exercise in masturbation one more time. I think I have a little more focus now, a reinvigorated view into the politics of food, a taste of Italy in Italy and a recent interest into the slow food movement. However all of this still hasn't been enough to kick my ass and get me to start posting again. Until today that is.


I generally abhor trade magazines. They tend to pander to the lowest common denominator of the food industry. Adds full of frozen breaded jalapeno chicken poppers, IQF avocado slicers, and pre-mashed cheddar bacon tater mashers. For some reason though, today was the last straw. Today I saw something too offensive though. So offensive that I recognized fully why other cultures hate, loathe, laugh at, and mock us. A product that the book of revelation might as well have been written on, for surely it is a sign of the end times. Fucking day-glo colored, soy bean, sushi wrappers! Why?! Was sushi not novelty enough? Was it not eye catching enough? Is this the gateway to fucking brand names on the rolls themselves? Like the nascar car of food? Will it help the customer to distinguish between the individual rolls themselves..."No honey, the chartreuse roll is the 'rocka makki, tuna roll. The banana yellow roll is the Krazy Krab Snacker roll.'" Will it end with just colors? How about fun new flavours as well. Zesty Chipotle, Cool Sour Cream and Bacon, Spicy Habanero and Mango! Mmmmmm.....Dorito flavored fucking sushi! Fuck! Obviously nothing is sacred, I've learned that by now (I mean shit, have you tried to find just regular macaroni shaped Kraft Mac and Cheese?) but damn. Sushi is one of the purest expressions of unadulterated food. Good fish, perfectly cooked and seasoned rice, soy and wasabi. Does this simple, perfectly refined food need the shellacking of filth? Will our dwindling oceanic resources be plundered just for the sake of filling a goddamn electric blue bubble soy wrapper just because we are so sensually dulled that we need bright colors to incite reaction like some fat bellied Florida bass going after a plastic rattling worm? Disheartening stuff indeed. We are smarter than that. Our traditional food is better than that and deserves more. This is not a matter of novelty or tittilation. It is a matter of right or wrong, good or bad. Valuing real food grown and produced by real people with real nutritional value , or validating the continued processing, distancing, and devaluation of what is our most important resource and pleasure.

Oh the truffle of it all...

I'm reluctant to post links to NY Times articles due to the fact that if you don't subscribe to Times Select then this link will have a very short shelf life. The article is worth the read however. Not any tremendous investigative journalism just a little insight into what food is (in this case truffle oil). The better living through chemistry thing, and how we don't know what the hell we're eating unless we ask.

Opportunities?

I've just been offered a chance to run my own kitchen again. It's a small cafe. Lunch crowd. Steady dinners, weekend breakfasts. I turned them down. The idea of being the boss is tempting. The whole making 'my food' bullshit. But I don't want to be called a chef because I am the boss. I want to be called chef because I have mastered a cuisine. I don't want to be another substanceless dandy like so many media friendly chefs talking about 'their food', 'their philosophy'. I still have too much to learn. I still am capable of making bad food and bad food decisions. I still don't have an encyclopedic index of recipes in my head. I still don't command all the techniques I want to. Of course I still don't have benefits, I still don't make enough money. A chef position would provide that, to some extent. Yet I have gotten along so far. The other reservation I always have about turning these things down is the fear that opportunities won't arise again. I went through such a horrible streak of restaurant closures, bad scenarios, unemployment etc. that I worry that these things won't come around again. Of course the reality is that this is, hopefully, the tip of the iceberg. That my skills and value in a kitchen are just know becoming evident and that I am a commodity. It's still tough. It's been a long uncertain road, and those promises of stability are definitely alluring.

Wrapping up year six.

Significant weekend. It marked the six year anniversary of my big fucking leap. I walked away from something I never understood and didn't care about into something I hoped would be my life. Now it's cliches. 'Seems like yesterday'. I'm not where I thought I'd be, but...I'm where I should be. I hate to say I've learned lessons, grown, whatever. What I've done is struggled, worried, flailed, failed, moped, evolved, sacrificed. I am no the person I was before. I am now a cook. I don't know when the transition happened but it is more recent than some would recognize. I know now that 1) I can probably spend more time on my feet than you. 2) wash dishes faster than you 3) I can be very alone, and be ok. I am still not sure of my future. I now that there is more out there if I quit cooking. It seems as if I have turned my life into some sort of obstinate mouse in a maze study. I refuse to quit, even though I sometimes think I may be happier doing something else. However, I have known thrills and rushes that most don't achieve on a daily basis. There is satisfaction and discernible accomplishments on a daily basis. It has been six years. I can make good pasta. I can cook it perfectly everytime.

Home cooked Romanian

Seeking inspiration, or more appropriately validation, as a cook is an ongoing process. The pursuit of food as it is intended to be, as it is constructed out of necessity, out of tradition, is where i find it. I believe in traditional cuisines. Tonight I ate Romanian. Romanian cuisine prepared by a tiny 72 year old woman. Romanian cuisine prepared the way she has prepared it for her entire life. Polenta (Marmaliga) with sour cream and traditional Romanian cheese. Cabbage Rolls braised in a tomato sauce (Sarmale). marinated Cabbage. braised chicken with sauce made of nothing more than fresh garlic, oil, and salt. Fresh paprika peppers stuffed with sauerkraut, braised mushrooms, and a red pepper sauce. All of it was perfect. Seek these things out. Pure simple traditional foods, prepared with history and care. something we see too little of.

Wine maker

We had a wine maker dinner last evening. It's always nice having the Italians in house. It supports the idea of what we do. It reaffirms that we are doing it well. What we do Is the food and wine of Piemonte. With the food there is some room for interpretation and ingredient substitution, but it is always done conscientiously with regard to Northern Italian cuisine. The wines are beautiful, austere, drinkable, acidic, recognizable, and terribly food friendly. There is something to be said about a point of reference. When you bring these two things together, things that evolved together, one can start to see the vast difference in the way we as Americans eat and how th erest of the world eats. These food cultures growing and developing regionally for thousands of years, integrating products, developing styles and approaches, adapting to outside influences, are a tremendous source of inspiration. It is real, it is not the product of someones supposed 'artistry' or 'creativity'. It is yielded by craftsmanship, and devotion. That is not to say that some practitioners of traditional cuisines are not artistic or creative, those qualities are needed to drive cuisine forward, to continue to evolve the cuisine; however they work within a frame of reference. They understand the historical perspective of the cuisine and have proven technical skills developed within that cuisine. As do the winemakers. The wines of Piemonte have changed over the past 50 years; however this change has come through the refining of processes, not compromising the wine. The wines are still traditional, although the mechanics is not.

Eating at home

I cook simply. I eat sandwiches, and salads. When i cook, I try to cook clean. By clean I mean food that is uncluttered, rarely sauced, not overly handled, or overly seasoned. I am easily amused.

Somewhere along the way people have become disconnected with basic simple cooking techniques. Techniques that render satisfying and healthy results consistently. Quality ingredients is key in this. Unfortunately we have forgotten the beauty and flavor of good simple ingredients. We seek to cover food up, intensely season and spice it to the point of tasting more of piquancy than food.

One month later

Little new. More cosmetic than anything else now. Soon it will fade away. I guess I'll have to do it again, to maintain my cook cred.

FUCKING BURN DUDE!

Ok, so there are cooks who like to wear their scars like proud battle wounds. In reality it's more like a seven year old running to mommy for a band aid. The shock drives one towards comfort and consolation, towards attention. So these badges of labor are sported as big red fucking signs screaming out for 'mommy kisses'. That being said. I burned the shit out of myself. It's significant in that it's the largest burn I've received, not the most acute. Really not any worse than a bad sunburn, but still impressive in surface area. Regardless i am still open to any sympathy, coddling and or 'mommy kisses'. (Note that 'mommy kisses' is in quotes. Actual mommies are not required, it is simply the spirit of the action that is important.)

Paranoia( Who are these bloggers and why are they talking about ME!)

Ok , so no one is talking about me personally; however when buzz is generated about the place I work it tends to get personal. It's hard not to scour food blogs looking for mention of your work. This is wholly irrational. We know what we're doing. We've developed a strong and knowledgeable clientele. We continue to grow the business. But more importantly one understands that Not everyone can be pleased with what your doing. On a daily basis one occasionally hears compliments come through the window, or servers passing along tables affections. And so we go, in our insular work. However things have changed. The magnifying glass has been raised. The expression of dissatisfaction and disagreement online has become de rigueur. This is not the issue. What it has done, for those who allow themselves to become caught up in it, is given those providing the food a point of fixation, is the issue. For those who are perfectionists, attention hounds, or simply paranoid now get almost immediate response to the performance on any given evening. Like a Sunday football analyst, few have actually done, but all are experts. It is a difficult thing to step back from. While very few are actually represented by the blogging nation their impact is wide. They're opinions are available to millions, including to those who are being critiqued. I have no problem with this. It is just damn hard sometime to not pay attention. To just focus on what you're doing and do it, the right way. The way you've been doing it all along. The way that got you where your at. You can't please all the people all the time. But damn if it isn't tempting to try.

Cabin Fever

I got my two days of, in a row, back to back. Now I'm going nuts! And of course I find myself cooking. Mother Nature dumped a whopping 2 inches of snow on us and of course P-town shuts down. That gave me a surprise second day off, which I have successfully frittered away. I've meant to post, but what is there to say? Without work I some to a stand still. Quite the opposite of the life I used to live. A life that work always interfered with. I'm also how amazed at how unprepared I am for time off. I have no food in the house. I had to strap the chains on or starve. It's a testament to the life I live. I eat at work. I work alot. Therefore I don't need that much food. My meals at home are largely salads, soups, and sandwiches. Virtually no breakfast items save for some instant oatmeal, and some shitty cereal bars. It's funny how I went from a foodie to a 'bachelor' cook. If I've got sardines mustard and rye bread I'm happy. A nice piece of cheese and an apple are the most I may eat at home in a day. I am becoming malnourished and my veins are surely plaqued with the by products of my industry. Here I am, a cook, a provider of food and sustenance, yet I am wholly incapable of feeding myself anything other than tortilla chips and hummus at home. That's fucked up. Time for a little dietary realignment.

It's catching up.

Over the course of a typical Sunday I think I go through two to three hundred drastic emotional swings. There is the shear pain of getting out of bed at 6:00 in the morning after working dinner. There's the euphoria of the first dose of caffeine (which after not drinking coffee for a decade I've come to rely upon again). At least once in a morning I think about just giving it all up, just too damn tired. There's occasionally frustration, boredom, adrenaline, joy, resolve, etc. All these swings from breakfast through till dinner. I've noticed focus lapsing. Dropping things more often. Making mistakes on orders. It's been almost two years working two jobs. Over the last six months I've been averaging a day off every nine days, that includes a week trip to New York. All of this adds up and it shows on the longest day of the week, Sunday. It's the third double in a row, I've usually only had ten to fifteen hours of sleep in the previous 48, and it starts to show. I know this falls into my 'whiny little teacup' category but it does add up. Fatigue sucks. Learning to deal with it and maintain focus/professionalism/consistency is a real chore. When things start to get busy, tickets are rolling in, you start to think about the short cuts that could make things go quicker, the short cuts that could just get shit done. Unfortunately those short cuts also compromise the potential quality of the final product. You have to constantly remind yourself to be patient and do things right. But the fatigue is still there weighing you down, slowing you mentally, and physically. Impairing your ability to deal with stress, reducing you to reptile responses. Anyone bringing more work is the enemy. Customers requiring modifications are life threatening. Anything that unsettles the delicate balance is danger. Lately though things have changed. I've finally been broken. Broken and resolved to simply working. The fatigue in some ways has won. I no longer rail against it. I accept it. I have learned to trust myself more. I'm competent enough. I know I can get the job done and the fatigue caused stress is simply that, manufactured stress. I have no choice but to simply be tired and get the job done.

Ok, so where to now?

New year. Finally getting some much needed schedule relief. I'll actually be getting two days off a week. Granted they aren't going to be next to each other, but I ain't complaining, yet. It'll be a little hit to the pocketbook, but that's familiar territory. I'm pretty streamlined and will still be working enough to curb any extracurricular spending. Tentatively going to Piedmont at the end of the summer. Will need to save for that, but will be well worth it. First trip to Europe. First real exposure to the Old World. Hopefully make the necessary arrangements for an apprenticeship in 2008. Despite all of those short term goals there is still the big question for the future. Exactly what the fuck am I doing? Will I be an Italian chef for the rest of my life? Will I be an owner? Small properties? Will I get sick of it all and start selling wine? Still not sure. I know I'm on a path. A path I enjoy, doing something I enjoy. I am myself, and I'm pretty sure that I'm pretty good at what I do. I've still only been at this for five years and the results I expect from myself are higher than my experience level. Regardless I still get hit with the fear sometime. Is this just a youthful pursuit? Am I going to be were I want to be when I'm forty? When my knees and back start to go, am I still going to be working on the line? What happens if I get sick? I have chosen a path that is fully enjoyable now, could be highly rewarding in the future, but is strewn with financial and logistical obstacles. Which always leads to the question "Why does anyone in their right mind do this?" Are we all crazy? Are we all egotists that think we are the ones that will survive? At this point it is a point of pride. A challenge. I don't want to give up. If I quit this I am giving up on my ability to do anything unique, or special. It is an ego driven pursuit. Powered by pride and competitiveness. And it's all spawned from the fact that I love food, real food. I believe in food and the philosophy that true food comes from. There is a sick sort of righteousness, a belief, a religion to what I see myself doing. Killer, now I'm harboring messianic delusions. It is simply that I believe that food should be good. Food should be created by those who believe in making good food end of story. Not those who are looking to trademark, or brand, or those passing themselves off as 'artists' or 'rock-stars'. Just food. I just want to make food.