Sugarcoated.

Living to work or work to live?

Despite having a life-long love of technology, I am in love with the rustic. I remember as a kid watching the New Yankee Workshop with my Dad and thinking about building all that neat stuff. I have always been in love with paper. My book of recipes and ideas is a leather-bound journal that looks like something you’d have found in Da Vinci’s workshop. As a kid I had a real thing for those replica’s of the Constitution that were made of faux parchment.

My parent’s have a book called Back to Basics that has all manner of information. Like how to build a log cabin.

My loves when it comes to food are cheesemaking, charcuterie, and old school bread making. I love the idea of having a small farm where I raise some pigs for sausages, cows and goats for milk to make cheeses, and a wood-fired hearth oven where I bake bread. I will also brew beer and such. If it’s ever legal in this country I’ll distil my own spirits as well.

I have no idea why I have this rustic streak in me. I just do. I hope to someday be able to live this way. Maybe it’s the way that things like this can slow down time. Cheese cannot be rushed. You must slow down and allow things to happen in their own time. By slowing down you learn how to stop and look around you. You’re able to actually stop and smell the roses.

I have been told by my peers that I am a patient person. I will place each pecan in the shell for a pecan pie individually. I can stand and stir a roux to dark perfection. I can let mire poix slowly sweat for soups. I understand the power that slow has on food, and perhaps I’m beginning to understand the impact that slow has on the soul. Of course I’ll take their word for it, because I feel like an impulsive person who moves at the speed of light and will make a decision on a whim.

Maybe, truth be told, while I have a passion for food. I’m not a good fit for the restaurant business, because in my soul I’m just slow. Of course isn’t that a good thing? Don’t we hear all the time about the “slow-food movement”?

Of course isn’t that ironic? A slow-food restaurant?

I wonder.

Take 2

I had published a different post just a few minutes before this one. It's probably archieved already some where in cyberspace. It was a letter to chefs I've worked for apologizing for being a freshly minted culinary school grad. Why apologize for that? Well, because new grads, in any field, are really a pain in the ass. They think that they're G-d's gift to their field.

I really tried not to be like that, but well I was. I suppose it's a rite of passage.

In reading over that post I remembered Chef Tom at One saying something to me or another young cook. I can't remember his exact words, but the gist was, "don't be sorry just fix it."

Good advice.

I'm not cooking professionally right now. I do miss it, but I've gotta move on for now. I used to think that I had all the answers. What an amazing feat of arrogance that was. In fact it was the motivation behind my first blog. I needed a place to tell the world how crappy everyone else was compared to me. I really needed to get over myself.

And I think I have. I've no advice to give. I can only pass on the advice that was given to me by others:

1. Don't fuck it up.

2. Don't lose your shit.

3. Own up when you do fuck it up.

4. Keep your eyes open, your mouth shut, and your hands busy.

5. Don't be sorry, just fix it.

6. Remember that you're just filling a vacancy.

I am going to continue this blog. I've got lots of stuff on my mind, and I'm still cooking when I can. I hope someone out there will still continue to read it.

Gari (Pickled Ginger) Ice

It's not that I'm not creative, but sometimes people throw out ideas and they just sound, well wrong.

When the executive chef wanted a ginger sorbet and then wanted me to add pickled ginger (yeah that pink stuff you get the at the sushi restaurant that kinda tastes like Pledge), I was reluctant. Nevertheless I ventured forth, because who knows it might be awesome.

Let me tell you my friends...IT'S AWESOME!

I can't stop eating this stuff and why not? It's refreshing. Clean flavors, and worst (or best of all) it's addictive.

So here ya go. Enjoy. We pair this with a peach triffle (cake, anglaise, and fresh peaches). I think it would rock in a shot glass with some good Vodka (might I suggest Tito's Handmade Vodka), but however you want to enjoy it is up to you.

Gari Ice

Water                 1 qt

Sugar                 400g

Lemon Juice     4 ea (strained)

Lemon Zest       2 ea (I use a vegetable peeler for this)

Fresh Ginger    37g (peeled and roughly chopped)

Pickled Ginger To Taste (I use about the amount you'd get with a sushi plate)

1. Put ginger and lemon zest in cheesecloth and tie to make a sachet.

2. Bring water and sugar to a boil. Remove from heat and add sachet, lemon juice, and pickled ginger.

3. Steep until cool. Remove sachet and freeze. Leave the pickled ginger in the syrup.

4. When completely frozen, place into a blender and process until pickled ginger is completely pureed.

5. Return to freezer and let harden overnight (2 hours at least).

Bittersweetness.

Man I wish this post was about chocolate. I wish I was writing about some amazing chocolate dessert that I've made, but this is about emotional bittersweetness.

I gave my notice today at work.

Why?

Well I wish that I could say that it was something noble. Like I could no longer go on working for a place that put the words "fresh, seasonal, and local" on their menu, but had a freezer full of convenience products from Sysco, but alas...I just am not making enough money.

So detour back to the computer world.

God I hate to even entertain that thought, but here's the cold reality. Despite my best efforts I just can't make ends meet working in restaurants. Culinary school left me with an insane amount of debt. Maybe I could swing it if I were single. I think it would still be a struggle. Perhaps there is a lesson in this.

So I'm falling back on my fall back.

Oddly enough I'll have more money and time to cook the way I want.

Of course I'd be lying if I said that the restaurant I am currently working in was without issues. They do a lot of things I have issues with, but that's another post.

Regardless of how much you dislike a place you're always sad to leave. You make connections with people. You have fun being in the same boat (as it were).

Am I happy to leave? Yes, because it means that my family (and myself) will benefit financially. Am I sad it leave? Yes, because I really like my fellow cooks. It's made even worse knowing that this will be the last restaurant I work at for a while.

So where does that leave this blog? Well, it's going to change obviously. I won't be able to continue to post as a "professional". I think it will evolve into a place where I post dish I'm working on, and thoughts I have about this business.

We'll just see.

It might actually get better

(Losing) Intensity

You walk into the restaurant. Make a quick visit to the time clock and then head to your station.

You're mind starts to race.

What's new on the menu?

What got demolished last night? At lunch?

Is my favorite bowl in the dish?

All of this stuff starts in your brain. Then the adrenaline starts, and before you know it you're moving like a cheetah after a pack of wildebeest.

You're in the zone, and you'll stay there until after service.

After service you start to lose the intensity. You try to hang on to it, but it's slipping.

Clean, clean, clean.

A quick visit to the time clock, and then you're on you way home.

It's the same routine everyday, but one day you'll see it: you've lost a step. It's harder to keep your intensity level up. It freaks you out!

Am I getting old? Am I old?

You chill a little bit, because this time; this time, it's just because you had a long night last night. Of course you are getting old. It will be harder and harder to keep the intensity.

This is the thing that we fear as cooks. Age. Age is the enemy. Sure you can workout daily, take vitamins, and on and on, but eventually you'll have to face facts: you're not 20 anymore.

But. Not today.

Don't Fuck It Up.

For cooks the phrase, "Don't fuck it up" (or any variation there of ) is well known. It's a chef's warning that the plates coming out should be perfect.

It is such a loaded phase. It means so much.

At my last gig the chef used this phrase a lot. Drilling it into our heads. Okay drilling it into my head.

The problem was...I have thick head.

There are two types of culinary students: the crap ones and the good ones. In school there's a huge difference between the crap student and the good student. When we graduate, however, that gap becomes a thin line, because if you're working in a good restaurant, then the cooks you're working with are good as well. If you are the spaz on the line, if you're the guy who gets in the weeds more times than anyone else, you become a crap cook.

The problem for good culinary students who are recent grads, we are still in the world of school, meanwhile our coworkers are (generally) a long time removed from school. We're the new guy. New to the business, new to the life, new to the rules of real kitchens, and whether we like it or not it shows.

Coming into work even just 5 minutes late makes you stick out, when everyone else arrives early for their shift. Being in a bad mood about getting called into work shows. Taking shortcuts shows.

They're just little things. Small little infractions, but it's death by 1,000 stings. Guess who goes to the top of the cut-list when it comes time to tighten up? The chef may like you. You may be a great cook, but in the end what you need to be is a good employee. The good news is that if you're a great cook and a great guy, the chef will likely give you a good recommendation as you get another job.

So I had 4 months to think about what I did wrong. I've been able to land a great job, and now I'm using my previous experience to make sure that I don't fuck it up this time around.

A Cook's Life.

Here's the most succinct description of life as a cook. Courtesy of "Cage The Elephant":

"There ain't no rest for the wicked.

Money don't grow on trees.

We got bills to pay.

We got mouths to feed.

Ain't nothin' in this world for free.

We can't slow down.

We can't hold back. Lord you know we wish we could.

But there ain't no rest for the wicked, until we close our eyes for good"

And there you have it.

Nailing the dining experience.

The old saying goes, "I don't know art, but I know what I like". This is how I feel when I eat out. I may not know how to actually run a restaurant, but I know what I like when it comes to food and service.

When I go out to eat, whether I'm going to Del Posto or Applebee's I'm going to base that experience on two things: the service and the way the food relates to the money I pay. Sure you can't expect the food at Applebee's to be mind blowing at Applebee's. I mean you're only paying $25 for two people to have dinner. The service, however, should really not vary between fine dining and casual. It should be friendly and efficient. You should be greeted promptly after being seated. A server should be available, but shouldn't hover. Drinks should be refilled without asking. This is just based on how I like to be taken care of when I go out. I certainly appreciate the finer touches at high-end places like the napkin in the lap, chairs being pushed in / pulled out, and removing crumbs from the table, but honestly if the basics aren't there, then the details don't really mean anything.

While us cooks would like to think that we don't need the servers, we really do. I will not return to a restaurant with bad service, regardless of the food. My money is hard earned, so I'm picky about who I give it to. Conversely, servers would like to think that they don't need the back of the house, but again they do. If the food is crap or costs too much, then it doesn't matter how great the service is.

The formula is simple: great service + great food + appropriately priced food = a great dining experience.

The crazy things cooks think.

Every cook, whether they dream of having their own place or not, at least thinks about their ideal restaurant in their head. We seem to be raging perfectionists (at least when it comes to food). We see things that we would change.

There are those of us who are just touched enough in the head to actually want to open their own place. Most of the time it's never a huge restaurant. It's usually no more than 40 seats, with the chef usually behind the line working a station. The food varies. Sometimes it's experimental, totally off the wall stuff. It's Alinea to the n-th degree. Other times it's simple food. Focus on flavor, prix fixe maybe, small market driven, and (say it with me now) fresh, local, and seasonal.

We have answers to all the questions. Decor? We have intricate plans right down to the plates. Menu? We've got it mapped out including what kind of paper we're going to print it on. There's just one detail that a lot of cooks do seem to have nailed down: when will we open this restaurant to end all restaurants?

I've been thinking about this question lately. There is something in me that says, despite a complete lack of financial resources, that this might be the right time. Then five minutes pass and I'm back to thinking I'm crazy.

So what do you all think? When is the right time? Do you have to work in restaurants for 10 years before you consider opening your own place? Is it a matter of money? What is it? Or is it like having children? There really never is a "right" time, it's just something that you have to jump into feet first.

Feed problems.

Just a quick message. Apparently there was an issue with the RSS Feed. This has been corrected. Thanks to those of you who pointed out the issue.

Aaron

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