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.