believe me sweetie, i got enough to feed the needy
i came this close to becoming a chef. (pointer and thumb held together at a 1/8 inch distance.)
when i was in high school, my mom was a sous-chef for a local restaurant. it was weird coming home from practice and finding dinner on the table. i was just as likely to be beans and sopapillas as it was to be blackened fillet of shark (or whatever else might have been left over from the restaurant.) as i was down at the restaurant alot, i got to see a bit of the workings of a restaurant. i should tell you that i started working in restaurants at the age of 14. my first was la tuna. it was a crappy mexican place on the square; but, as i got a free dinner every night, it was great. like most, i started at the bottom - dish washer. you know that feeling your hands get when you've been in the water all day? mine felt like that all day long. even on days off. the best day on that job was the day the cook came yelling through the restaurant, drunk. and waving around a hand gun as he threatened to kill marilyn the owner. this should have provided a type of foreshadowing to my young eyes.
the more restaurants i worked in , the more i began to recognize that the people behind the scenes seem to fit a certain profile. except for mom, of course. the people i knew were alcoholics, drug addicts, degenerate gamblers, sexual deviants and those who didn't have anywhere else to go. not everyone in a kitchen is like this, but they sure do cast an overwhelming shadow over the rest. obviously this type of behavior wasn't what dissuaded me from culinary school (hair dressers make cooks seem positively mainstream.) when i was contemplating this decision, i was newly married. a chef worth a darn is working exactly when i didn't want to be- nights, weekends, holidays. i wanted to be with my wife and potential family as much as possible , and this schedule didn't seem to fit my ideas. so, we ditched our plans to move to belgium, and i started thinking again.
i still love to cook. i love to find a great new recipe and see what i can do with it. even better, i like to take that recipe and change it to make it somewhat more personal. i think i do pretty well. it is unusual for me to be too displeased, and others are kind enough to stroke my ego. at the very least, i know the donner party would be sure to eat up. the main thing about a fine meal is the presentation. of course the ingredients are more expensive than what i typically buy; but, it is all in the show. what gets me excited about great food are the sight and smell. those are the first impressions. those are the things one would learn in culinary school or after a lifetime of cooking in a restaurant.
i am just finishing a book called "kitchen confidential." it is authored by anthony bourdain, and it confirms my decision not to choose that career. he describes his progression from overwhelmed line cook to world-traveling three-star chef. the hours he keeps are ridiculous. his days are typically 17 hours. while i'm writing this retrospective, he is up to his eyes in truffles, butter, and the ramones. but , he loves it and that's what matters. i guess i'll be content with what might have been, and feel placated by my mediocre offerings from the kitchen. fortunately for me my wife is always hungry and happy with my meager talents.
when i was in high school, my mom was a sous-chef for a local restaurant. it was weird coming home from practice and finding dinner on the table. i was just as likely to be beans and sopapillas as it was to be blackened fillet of shark (or whatever else might have been left over from the restaurant.) as i was down at the restaurant alot, i got to see a bit of the workings of a restaurant. i should tell you that i started working in restaurants at the age of 14. my first was la tuna. it was a crappy mexican place on the square; but, as i got a free dinner every night, it was great. like most, i started at the bottom - dish washer. you know that feeling your hands get when you've been in the water all day? mine felt like that all day long. even on days off. the best day on that job was the day the cook came yelling through the restaurant, drunk. and waving around a hand gun as he threatened to kill marilyn the owner. this should have provided a type of foreshadowing to my young eyes.
the more restaurants i worked in , the more i began to recognize that the people behind the scenes seem to fit a certain profile. except for mom, of course. the people i knew were alcoholics, drug addicts, degenerate gamblers, sexual deviants and those who didn't have anywhere else to go. not everyone in a kitchen is like this, but they sure do cast an overwhelming shadow over the rest. obviously this type of behavior wasn't what dissuaded me from culinary school (hair dressers make cooks seem positively mainstream.) when i was contemplating this decision, i was newly married. a chef worth a darn is working exactly when i didn't want to be- nights, weekends, holidays. i wanted to be with my wife and potential family as much as possible , and this schedule didn't seem to fit my ideas. so, we ditched our plans to move to belgium, and i started thinking again.
i still love to cook. i love to find a great new recipe and see what i can do with it. even better, i like to take that recipe and change it to make it somewhat more personal. i think i do pretty well. it is unusual for me to be too displeased, and others are kind enough to stroke my ego. at the very least, i know the donner party would be sure to eat up. the main thing about a fine meal is the presentation. of course the ingredients are more expensive than what i typically buy; but, it is all in the show. what gets me excited about great food are the sight and smell. those are the first impressions. those are the things one would learn in culinary school or after a lifetime of cooking in a restaurant.
i am just finishing a book called "kitchen confidential." it is authored by anthony bourdain, and it confirms my decision not to choose that career. he describes his progression from overwhelmed line cook to world-traveling three-star chef. the hours he keeps are ridiculous. his days are typically 17 hours. while i'm writing this retrospective, he is up to his eyes in truffles, butter, and the ramones. but , he loves it and that's what matters. i guess i'll be content with what might have been, and feel placated by my mediocre offerings from the kitchen. fortunately for me my wife is always hungry and happy with my meager talents.
posted by cm at 10/11/2005
<< Home