eggbeater

the glamorous life of a chef. part one.

no sleep. well, no deep sleep. few dreams. mostly passing out. trying not to fall asleep on the commute  home.

never time to eat. never have time to sit and eat. no utensils to eat with. no plates, just plastic containers. on the fly. on the run. a taste here and a swallow of something substantial almost never. disparate food groups go into the mouth at odd times of the day. example:

6 am: salt cod brandade.
6:04 am: vanilla ice cream base.
6:30 am: just blanched leeks.
7 am: a carrot's stem end.
7:32 am: hot chocolate chip cookie. burn tongue.
9 am: overcooked scrambled eggs, cold {?staff meal}. 7 pm: [yes, that's right---> you eat nothing from 9 am until 7 pm.] a few cilantro leaves and a stolen celery heart.
8:19 pm: one spoon of searingly hot soup. burn tongue again.
10:16 pm: four and a half bites of cold rice, cold mystery meat, soggy limp salad. {yes, another staff meal taken in a deli cup but not eaten when hot.} 
2 am: you get home and realize you have nothing to eat in the house but you're starving so you eat crackers or instant ramen or have a beer or go to sleep hungry.

lonely. spend your days nagging cooks. harp on every last detail of everyone's work. fix the dishwasher on a Saturday night. stay until 5 am pulling apart the ceiling to find a leak. bake all night because one of your bakers is out sick. yell at people for being lazy and get disrespected in evry which way but the eighth day of the week. work the craziest fucking hours anyone sane or even insane enough to hang out with, would. try your luck on the desperate alcoholics at the bar, and everyone is wondering what the mangey dog brought in. go home to a dirty apartment and sit in the dark but for the glow of secret internet meanderings. being a boss means everyone wants to be you, but few want to be with you. and you don't have the time, even if they did. most of your [old] friends have 'normal' 'civilian' lives. and if they don't eat where you work, you never see them either.

nerdy. and not in the ironic sense. your entire life revolves around the kitchen. insular. your humour, your manner, your thoughts, your viewpoints, all revolve around your kitchen, your crew, your menu, your food, your next menu, your bar sales, your craft, your purveyors, your wine rep, your tableware, your shortcomings, your youness as it relates to you. you're so self referential to your own square footage you can barely remember when you thought about anything else. people might meet you out and exclaim, "O! YOU'RE A CHEF?! R E A L L YYYY?!!! WOW. THAT'S SOOOO COOL! What a cool job!!!" And you wish you'd never said anything at all because now, on your one night off in 6 weeks, you could have heard something other than what usually comes out of your mouth, you hear yourself leave your body and talk about your kitchen, your food, your menu, your press, your staff, your you you you and more you, and even though you are watching yourself kill this innocent little Top Chef watching devotee with the real deal, the real chef's life, the real hours, the real scars, the real fucking deal, yo,    from the other side of the room, or worse yet, from the ceiling like a Greek God, you can't help it. it all spills out. you talk about the seeds your favorite farmer collects and the whole lamb you broke down this afternoon and the cook you had to send to the hospital before service because he took off the side of his pinky on a mandolin. YOU CAN'T STOP TALKING ABOUT YOUR OWN LITTLE WORLD. even though now even the out-of-body you is yawning with minutae obsessed nerdiness and morbid cook humor no one but you and your world gets, you kill, you kill dead the person who could have talked TO you about something else. something, anyfuckingthing that might have actually given you THE NIGHT OFF. yeah, that one you're not gonna see until February. It's November.

bad friend. bad father. bad uncle. bad girlfriend. bad son. bad community lover. bad husband. bad mother. bad dog owner. bad roommate. bad citizen. have you ever dated a chef? we fucking suck. we're tired all the time. we stink. we never write, we never call, we never go to weddings or funerals or births. we don't have days off and we don't dare try and take them. we don't go to the doctor when we're sick. we don't take the best care of ourselves. we pay our bills late and we have trouble keeping up with our laundry. we do not respond to jury duty notices. we never see the light of day and we like to sleep on any days off we weasel out of our kitchens. we think and talk kitchen food staffing issues lists menus produce protein production ceaselessly. we don't show up on time. we don't know how to eat with utensils. we don't get holidays off, we work them, so don't ask. we're defensive, on edge, drunk a lot of the time, and we flirt with waiters. it's as bad as a dog liking a cat, but we do it. we cheat on our partners and we don't get home in time to tuck our kids in. we don't answer emails and we don't write full sentences if we manage to write at all. we don't answer the phone and if we call we wake you up because in our world the clock stops when we enter our little kitchen world. years can go by and we have no idea what's happening in the world outside our world. we are like jailed narcissists. mirrors on all sides.

sticky, stinky, bruised and burned. you often look like garbage the bridge and tunnel tourists of your town leave in your gutters as they make their way back to their pristine suburban fake lives. people avoid  you walking down the street even if they've begged your host to let them eat your food just minutes before. you've been wearing the same clothes for the last 17 hours and you smell of smoke, blood, oil and onions. you get home to find chocolate and beet juice on your forehead and you wonder why no one thought to tell you to wipe it off while they cooked alongside you for the last 15 hours. your scars tell their own bar stool stories. you caught the biggest fish, fucked the prettiest girl and reached into the oven a hundred times that night with a wet towel because the kitchen ran out of linens in the middle of service. you're burned and bloody and barely patched with band aids that aren't built for hard labor.

 

cook interview preparation

you see an ad on Craigslist. 
it says, Line Cooks Needed for Busy Uptown Restaurant. or Pastry Chef Wanted for Three Star Resort. or ___________ [your favorite restaurant here] Needs _________ [exactly what you're qualified as.]
you promptly send in a resume.
then you...

what?

what do you do next?
when do you change your outgoing message on your cell phone to sound professional?
when do you get your clothes pressed?
when do you start doing research on the chef/pastry chef/restaurant/company you're about to interview with?
when do you start asking around about that chef/pastry chef/restaurant/company to see what your peers say?
when do you change your email address from [email protected] to [email protected]?
when do you research what restaurants are paying for that position in that city?
when do you work on your negotiating skills?
when do you take out a calculator and do the math? on a piece of paper?

when do you do YOUR fucking homework?

because, you know what?

if YOU don't do YOUR homework, why should I hire you? why are you wasting my time?
I have to do MY homework.
I can't sit on my ass waiting for my education to come to me.
if you don't do your homework, you look and sound like an asshole.
you are a shoemaker even before you cut your fingertips off or walk into someone carrying a pot of hot stock or get asked to leave the kitchen/restaurant/your station in the middle of service.
if you don't do your homework, what the fuck are you doing between the time of sending your resume and sitting down in front of the chef for the interview?
what are you thinking?
how are you preparing?

do me a favor? do all chefs everywhere a favor?

learn how to interview.
learn this before you learn how to tie an apron and hold a ladle.
learn how to negotiate your rate of pay. 
learn how to type into Google, "Paul Canales," or "Rachel Leising" or "Dan Lepard"+London.
this is how you learn about the people you're about to meet. know a little something about what they cook/stand for. think HARD about if that's the kind of kitchen you want to work in.*
especially if their name is in the Craigslist ad, you really have no excuse.

if you want to do extra curricular homework, check out ChefDB.com this is an incredible resource, especially if you want to see who worked where when and with whom. in fact, while I'm speaking on it, feel free to put your name within ChefDB {DB stands for Database} because then I can find you. what's great about ChefDB.com is that when sending a resume electronically, you can merely say, "for the rest of my resume see it online at ChefDB.com" and link to it. it's so easy. do it now. stop fucking around on Twitter and do something for your career.

you do NOT need to go to culinary school to get a job cooking/baking professionally. you can follow these instructions and get just as far, and possibly farther. and you won't be burdened trying to pay off a private loan with a minimum wage job. 

it's important to look at your resume before you hit send. are there spelling errors? are you applying for a cook position and it says on your resume that you are already a chef?

if you have absolutely no relevant cooking experience on your resume, say why you're applying for a baker/cook position. if you send a resume from another career, I, like other chefs, erase it because we don't know why, if you're a lawyer or an advertising exec or a professor of biology, you're applying for a prep or chef de cuisine or a butcher job.

*on the subject of thinking about if you really want to work for/with chef/pastry chef/restaurant/company you're about to interview with, you may want to think about your trajectory. you may want to ask for feedback about your resume-- about the path your on, from a chef who's been cooking twice or three times as long as you have.

the reasons for this are too many to describe here, but your career is a series of steps you take to reach a goal. or goals.

I've seen a lot of resumes (at least 6 dozen) in the past few weeks, and some resumes are so haphazard I just want to ask, "Why?" I realize that the economy only worsens matters what with lay-offs and restaurants closing left and right. but think about your path. because you should have one.

I didn't "have a path" initially, but I was given some great advice at the very beginning, 

and I listened to it.

and I'm glad I did, because, even without a culinary school degree I've seen and cooked and baked inside of most of my favorite restaurants and for/with amazingly talented chefs & pastry chefs.

I am always honest in my interviews. but I don't disparage any chefs/restaurants I've worked for before. I give notice professionally and finish as strong as chefs/owners will allow me the opportunity. I do my math/salary/chef/owner/company homework and when I show up for interviews I secretly "interview" all the staff I come into contact with. I sit at the bar and ask the bartenders how long they've worked there. I talk to waiters and ask if the restaurant is busy. I have questions ready for the owners/chef and I present my strengths and weaknesses honestly. I know myself and I only apply for jobs I want, and want to dedicate myself to, and want to stay at.

because we don't just sit down and talk-interview for professional cooking jobs.
because we also "trail" for said positions.
it's utterly important that you do not bullshit or lie on your resume or in your interview.
chefs, like cops and lawyers and the mob, have channels.
we talk.
we kibbutz.
quietly.
we cohort,
and we 'ask around' after a person.
YOU can do the same thing.
find out about the not-so-public persona of the chef/pastry chef/restaurant/company you're about to interview with.
go to the restaurant under cover and even if you can't afford to eat there, watch the dining room at 8 pm on a Saturday night.

because we "trail" or 'present a tasting' before we get the job, it's important that you don't bullshit during the interview. because kitchens are X-Rays. especially we the insane pastry chefs. we will see through you.

if we're paying attention.

and if we're not paying attention to the fact that you know nothing and were too lazy to do your homework and did nothing besides hit send on a machine to get a job

then you shouldn't be working for that chef anyhow.

because you don't have time to waste.
because you have an education you need to grab by the cojones, that you then need to learn how to butcher properly.

Chef Advice. on what it means to be a worker among workers.

A fine line is walked in kitchens.
Sharp as a knife wet against stone.

We are to stand book straight but hope it is only quiet discipline we exude. Never to be mistaken with vapid cockiness.

The line we walk is as fine as cable pulled taut between two towering buildings, and we are to stay alive by balancing between:

confident & humble
knowing & clueless
teachable & skilled
frightened & brave
deferential & friendly
macho & passive
one-of-the-guys & on-the-outside
aggressive & patient
smart & base
experienced & young
cocky & stupid

always.

Sound easy?

It's not. In fact, one might say, in the whirl of confusion these colluding and colliding directives create, one achieves it, merely by spinning out of control in an attempt to be all things to all chefs in all kitchens everywhere.

And while it can be said that all kitchens speak the same language, it's impossible to know which costume to don from one kitchen to the next.

So what I say to you is this:

walk in to a kitchen like it is someone else's home. walk in to their home like they are colleagues of your parents or your grandparent's friends. do not walk in like it's  frat house. do not stroll into the small dog park if you're a rottweiler. do not take up a lot of space with your voice or your person or your neediness or your fright. be professional and courteous and pay close attention to the customs so you can follow them with as much ease as you can muster. walk into the kitchen on time. {"if you're on time you're late," as a friend of mine says.} walk in groomed. walk in with two sharpies in your pocket & a notebook beside it. one sharpie is thin for taking notes, the other is bold for masking tape labels. ask what the chef wants to be called. pay attention to the tone, the volume, the attitude the other cooks display and make sure yours, as a guest in that kitchen, is softer, more polite and clearer than the rest. 

but

never act like you are above anyone. not other cooks, not the pastry department, not prep staff, not dishwashers, not waiters, not bussers, not coat check, not owners. no one. you are above no one. you are a worker among workers. no matter what your title. no matter what it says on your jacket. no matter where you went to school or who you worked for last.

When you first walk into a kitchen, you are humble. You own humility. Look it up. It does not mean you exist only to be humiliated. It does not mean to exude shame. It does not mean you attach a green light to your forehead and affix a sign between your shoulder blades that says, "Step on me. I am a rug you should feel delighted in wiping your muddy feet on. I am a doormat, a stupid rock, a worthless piece of poo."

Being humble means being teachable. It means asking pertinent questions and paying close attention to the answers. It means being quiet and learning by watching before doing. It means being one with your fellows. It does not mean terminally unique. 

being humble
is the opposite of 
feeling entitled.
standing with
is the opposite of
privilege.
acting like a worker among workers
means just that.

I may sound like a Socialist or a Communist or like some hippy radical intellectual academic philosophizing pollyanna. You can call me whatever name you want.

But I've worked in a lot of kitchens.

And I've stepped into even more. 

And I am usually invited back.

Because no matter how many years I've worked, and how many amazing people I have worked with and for, and how many services I've been demolished by, and how many mistakes I've learned from, and how many tears of mine have fallen on the floor-- only to co-mingle with fryer oil food scraps, and no matter how many jobs I haven't gotten, no matter how well I know The Weeds, and no matter how many cuts & burns I've accumulated and patched up on others, and no matter how many times I've packed my knives & said goodbye,

no matter how many,

whether the number be one or too many to want to remember

I remain a worker among workers.

I stand on the same line, on the same side, with.

*

/this post was inspired by these two quotes:

"Why We Do What We Do. It’s about the peo­ple, the places, the peo­ple… Not for­get­ting how to make things, how things are made, who is mak­ing them and why… show­ing it to oth­ers and want­ing to share what we find in the world, it’s about travel and dis­cov­er­ing and learn­ing." ~ Kiosk.

"This is my living faith, an active faith, a faith of verbs: to question, explore, experiment, experience, walk, run, dance, play, eat, love, learn, dare, taste, touch, smell, listen, argue, speak, write, read, draw, provoke, emote, scream, sin, repent, cry, kneel, pray, bow, rise, stand, look, laugh, cajole, create, confront, confound, walk back, walk forward, circle, hide, and seek. To seek: to embrace the questions, be wary of answers." ~ Terry Tempest Williams

Chef Advice. On 'Giving Notice.'

Quitting a cooking job right has to be one of the most talked about subjects amongst cooks. Everyone wants to know how to do it right. And few people give, or take, notice of resignation well. Most cooks know that to give 2 weeks notice today is to have one's last day today. Most chefs know that to receive a 2 week's notice today is to have a good-for-nothing-'senioritis' cook for the next two weeks.

Giving notice right often appears to be more elusive than bankers showing personal responsibility for their actions. And, yet, is is possible. But you have to be prepared, intuitive, professional and treat the person/kitchen/establishment with as much integrity as you wish for others to treat you.

If you are not management, always give two weeks, at least. If you think the chef will fire you on the spot ask for your paycheck. In the USA you must be given your final check on the day you are fired. For every day you have to wait for your check your employer must pay you, whether you have worked or not. Knowing your State, City & Federal rights IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. If you think your chef is going to fire you on the day you give notice make sure you can afford it to give notice on that date.

If you want to give a proper notice and do not wish to be fired on the day you give notice, promise your chef that you will work every day you're scheduled harder than you have up until now.

Work hard to make the kitchen miss you and wish you were not leaving, before you give notice.

In the USA is is illegal for an employer to give you a malicious reference. The worst reference an old employer can give a prospective new employer is no reference at all.

But,

you know what?

Chefs are notoriously as club-ish as cops. If you have upset one chef in your city, chances are said chef will spread the word not to hire you. Yes, it does happen.

As I've said, many times before, a cook's world is small. Travel thousands of miles and you might work with someone you met already. Piss off a cook yesterday and tomorrow they could be your chef, or worse yet, your sous chef.

You think you're no one. You think no one notices. But chefs talk. They trade players or steal like baseball teams. Your chef, your pastry chef, sometimes a whole kitchen full of cooks, will be courted, will be swooned, will be stolen.

Give your notice with aplomb. Play your cards right.

Always play your cards professionally.

Even if your chef is a hack and the line is a bunch of shoemakers. Even if the owners of your restaurant are absent or drunk or appear to have no idea what it takes to build a successful restaurant.

Being professional when giving notice includes some, if not all, of these pointers ~

• Write a letter of resignation. This is a letter, not a sentence. Write it like a real letter not a text or an email. Date it. Spell everything & everyone correctly. Say something about what you learned. Give your final day as a full date. ie: "I should like to work on and up until Saturday May 1st, 2010." Hand sign the letter. Put it in an envelope.
• Print and hand deliver, do not email, your letter of resignation.
• Give notice on a day or during an hour when you can have a few private minutes with your chef. Even if this means asking for that 'date' a number of days in advance.
• Do not give notice in front of any of your co-workers. This will be seen as quitting and you surely will not get a good reference, or be able to place said job on your resume, if you quit.
• In your letter of resignation say what you learned and why you're moving on.
• Give 2 weeks even if you have only been at a job for 2 weeks.
• Stay calm and collected no matter how your chef is reacting.
• Do not stoop to insults. Do not cast aspersions. Do not place blame on others. Think about omitting the word 'you' from the beginning of your sentences and instead speak from an "I" perspective.
• Stay positive. Really. In lieu of however your chef/owners are treating you in your resignation meeting, stay composed. People will remember that you remained professional. Even after they have calmed down. Freak out later in the bar or with your lover or to your friends, but remain clear and determined and calm with your boss[es].
• Remember that you are not responsible for how your notice is taken but it helps to be compassionate/empathetic. It helps to see how your giving notice may look to your chef/team/house. Everyone takes departure differently. Know that those last two weeks will be hard and very very different.
• Leave on a good note. Leave your station/partner better than what you came into.
• If you have been in a kitchen for a long time, thank each cook/sous personally & privately. Even if it sounds sappy, people remember that shit. Many of us feel like we're in a thankless profession & getting a 'thanks, you taught me a lot' gets remembered.

If you are a chef, meaning you have a management role, your notice should be far more than 2 weeks. The longest notice I ever heard of was Eric Ziebold, who gave Thomas Keller a 4 year notice when he left The French Laundry to work in Washington DC. I gave Elizabeth Falkner a month's notice after working as her pastry chef at Citizen Cake for 2 years.

In the years since September 11, 2001 & this new economic downturn, giving notice has taken on new meaning. Few cooks & chefs are given the chance to do so before they are laid off or show up to see a city padlock on their kitchen. How owners and chefs give notice to their employees ranges from months and months notice to less than an hour.

It's a precarious business we're in. While people have to eat, they do not have to eat in restaurants or hotels or on cruise ships or hire caterers. 

The restaurant where I work now has recently placed an ad on Craigslist for cooks. In the resumes we have perused so far, it's obvious times have changed radically. It used to be you could not put the name of a place you worked on your resume unless you had been there at least 6 months.

Now you're lucky if you see 3 months of continuous employment on someone's resume.

But I'll say it again.
Treat your employer, your chef, as you wish to be treated.
If that job has meant the world to you.
If your chef is better than you ever thought she'd be.
If your fellow cooks took time with you.
If your sous taught you more than you ever thought you could learn in one span of time.
If you mentored, made a difference, came early & stayed late, took a leadership position before one was given to you, loved every menu change, didn't just complain but worked on solutions, were proud to say your worked at that restaurant, woke up {almost} every day excited to work, can say those dishes you made were spot on, called a station Yours, pushed yourself out of your comfort zone, got buried in the weeds every service and helped those around you finding their way through the bogs too, you can barely say all your learned because it overwhelms you--

If

you can't believe you're leaving a restaurant, a chef, a sous chef

you have fallen in love with.

Treat those people, and yourself, with respect, integrity & professionalism.

Because sometimes people evaporate.

Because in your next job you'll be working as many hours as you were working here, and it's easier to lose touch than stay connected.

And because

you never know all you've learned
until you leave.
until that job has become a dot in your rearview mirror.

I can't tell you how many times I've gotten jobs from connections I made in previous kitchens. Or with cooks I've worked with. Almost all, in fact.

Where I work now, for example. Gina dePalma, Babbo's everlasting pastry chef, was someone who kicked my ass to hell and back at Gramercy Tavern many many years ago, started asking around New York to see if anyone needed a pastry chef, when I was coming here from London last November. Jonnatan Leiva responded and then called Mourad Lahlou, a close friend to us both, to cross check me. It was on these two amazing chef's high recommendations that I landed in an execugtive role almost immediately after landing in New York City.

If you want to be treated with integrity, act with integrity. Even in the face of anarchistic unprofessionalism, that this industry is wont to display, at least recently, do it the old fashioned way.

Give notice to your job respecting your journey, and your chef's journey before you.

Because you know what?

Sometimes,

sometimes it can be the most amazing experience.

Sometimes

you can think you know a chef, you can think you love a chef enough, you can think you have learned all you can learn in a chef's kitchen

until you give notice.

and you both cry.
and you both reach for the others' hand.
and you exchange thank yous that reach into the very core of who you are.
and you are stunned by your chef's grace.
and you realize in that moment you know nothing.
and you know that knowing nothing means the most incredible journey ahead, not leaping off a bridge.
and you feel goosebumps borne of honor.
and you feel graced to have been allowed a position in his kitchen.
and you both want everything for the other, the way the best, most unselfish love feels.
and you know you will hate every minute that ticks away your time left in that chef's kitchen.
and you know that you will be his friend forever. and he, yours. equally and without condition.

Because, sometimes, showing up to life, on life's terms, can exceed your wildest expectations.

Becoming a Chef. What's the hurry?

A recent post and some ensuing comments to it has led me to be thinking more about the current issues which restaurant kitchens face. This is not at all to say hotel and catering and test and bakery and private cheffing kitchens are excluded from these issues, but most of my experience is with restaurants, and since I cannot share with you what I don't know, I let you cross out one word and fill it in with the one you know. Let's make a deal, shall we-- give me a few centimeters of poetic license and I'll give you a small country's worth of poetic comprehension?

Restaurant kitchens are what you see when the industry is X rayed.

As well, restaurant kitchens tend to be the ones cooks become chefs in. Independently owned restaurants tend to be the professional cooking environments chefs become recognized names in.

And restaurants, in the Isosceles triangle of professional cooking hierarchy, are considered to be the peak. In other words there's an unspoken rule in cooking: restaurant cooks are real cooks and everyone else is a hack. Restaurant cooks look down on catering the same way New Yorkers make fun of New Jersey. It's unspoken, but really it's not.

Because of this prevalent attitude, when someone wants to start cooking professionally, they are rarely introduced to the hundreds of thousands of other ways to get paid to cook. And because restaurant cooking is notoriously, unapologetically brutal, cooks who 'can't make it' in restaurants feel like, or are made to feel, both overtly & silently, like complete failures.

Is it true the first step of recovery is admitting?

Or is it what you do with your admission that counts?

Understanding the emotional and pschychological tactics the restaurant industry use to attract, keep & work to death its cooks is important if one hopes to gain entry into its labyrinth.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still in it. I love it. But I know it too.

Well.

Not a lot appears to have changed in the industry since I naively joined it 17+ years ago. What was true then is still true now ~

• most cooks do not get paid for all the hours they work
• most cooks work 6 days a week or more than 5 shifts in 7 days
• most cooks work an average of 60 hours a week, and chefs can be upwards of 120
• most cooks are not offered &/or cannot afford health insurance
• most cooks have to quit or get injured in order to 'get a vacation'
• most cooks experience at least one if not multiple injuries which take them to the emergency room
• most cooks are male and get paid more than their female counterparts, being 'Chef' is no exception
• most cooks eat less than one meal a day
• most cooks feel abused in their workplace & that abuse ranges from yelling to physical violence
• most cooks have legal and illegal substance abuse issues, whether past or present
• most cooks look as if they have not seen the sun in quite some time
• most cooks can not afford to pay off their culinary school loans on the wages they make in the industry
• most cooks who went to culinary school said it wasn't worth as much as they thought it would be once they began working 'for real'
• most savoury cooks know nothing of pastry & vice versus
• most savoury cooks/chefs do not like dessert, and think the making of it is below them
• many savoury chefs do not employ equally good pastry chefs for fear dessert will compete with their limelight
• most pastry chefs get treated like second class citizens by way of wage differential, equipment mistreatment or lack thereof, shortages in staff and in-equal billing/name mentioning on menu/website/press/cookbooks
• pastry chefs rarely get the kind of press savoury chefs do (when was the last time you saw a photo of a pastry chef on the cover of Food & Wine etc.)

I think you see my point.

You might ask why I still do it. Knowing what I know. Or seeing that, in almost 20 years, not much has changed.

And I say. Be the change you want to see in the world. Even if your world is only as small as restaurant kitchens. Even if your world is only as small as the cooks {?un}lucky enough to work with you. Even if your world is only as small as you think it is. Because making change takes a long time. Change can oft not be seen until it's become quite small in the rearview mirror.

Most of us only know what we've learned long after we've left.

Which brings me to the subject of this post.

In "Chef Advice. or when cooks say " ." chefs hear " ." " I imply something I do not say outright.

There has been a change in the industry I've called home in the last 17 years. And, to be fair, it had started long before I stepped on the foot of Reed Hearon who was the chef to kick my ass to hell and back all those years ago.

In a profession considered a craft considered a lifelong education considered a place where you paid your goddamn dirty dues in a workplace considered to be completely insane and without fairness or law or recourse or reason in a series of apprenticeships unpaid and paid with minimum wage and or easily let bodily fluids and not, what was discontinued to be, slowly, quietly, but methodically undermined by this thing we know as culinary school.

And not because all culinary schools are the root of evil.

But because a school system was built to more quickly train what it had taken others {who would be, no doubt, asked to teach in such facilities} dozens and dozens of years to learn.

And that, my friends, is what I was implying but did not say outright in my last post.

What has changed, because of culinary schools or the advent of them; because of tv chefs or the creation of themselves as products by mainstream media to sell you an image you'd rather swallow whole than the Real One (see bulleted list above); because of reality shows and the chefs they 'find' to play real ones on tv {all entendres intended}; because of all the glossy food magazines telling you how much luxurious fun it is to be a chef,

what has slowly crept in,   i n s i d i o u s l y   is the HURRY.

The speed at which everyone seems to want to be a Chef.

WHAT IS THE BIG HURRY?

To become something that one can't really become anyway? Because being a chef is a verb. It's about learning and growing and asking millions of questions and eating and smelling and tasting and listening and it's constant. Sometimes its the kind of repetition that makes you want to blow your brains out. Sometimes it's rewarding in ways you can not verbalize so you cry or do another line of coke or fuck your brains out or lay down on the floor and look up at the ceiling after a particularly grueling night of service. Most of the time only those who wear your uniform too can understand your accomplishments, albeit small or far between.

The hurry is disrespectful.

It disrespects every person who has come before you.
It disrespects those who have taken their whole life to learn.
It disrespects those who are attempting to teach you.
It disrespects the industry as a whole.
It disrespects the craft.
It disrespects every piece of food you touch, every animal you butcher, every service you try and set up for.
It disrespects diner, owner, dishwasher, waiter, busser.
It disrespects the finesse, the knife, the ingredients, the process, the uniform.

If you're in a hurry you're disrespecting yourself.

And that disrespect affects me and affects the kitchen as a whole, and in turn affects the entire industry.

The way a city begins to lose its soul when landmarks are destroyed, this hurry has eroded parts of a craft I love fiercely and wish to protect. 

And

to know a love, to be a craft, to walk a talk, to have and to hold dedication, to live a full life, to be brave and vulnerable both, to speak the truth despite circumstance and loneliness, to rally and advocate for the silenced, to write about those whose words will never be read, to listen, to know and still to speak out, to keep what I have by giving it away, to attract but not promote, to conjure stamina day in and day out, to learn and to teach, to mentor and to guide, to allow dissent, to practice anger without violence, to swim deeper and deeper into into the whys and the hows, to engage you, to bake and share delicious foods, is the hope of eggbeater, and its author.

Chef Advice. or, when cooks say " ." chefs hear " ."

An incident happened in the kitchen yesterday. I became so angry I could not speak.

I'm still angry.

I'm angry at the person, but moreover I'm angry at what said person's actions spoke. Spoke of, spoke to.

Because for every word spoken in a kitchen, an action follows, and for every action, a meaning.

Because when cooks *complain, give excuses, present attitude, ask for special favors, {attempt to} triangulate their managers, are lazy, lie, walk in late, work slow, are a mess, do not listen to direction, mope, whine & moan & whinge & pout, do not communicate with their partners, do not help their fellow cooks out of the weeds, think their chefs are their friends, cry, and talk back to their chefs,* they do not step into the good graces of their chefs & fellow cooks.

Unless your chef is a shoemaker, just like you. In which case you're in good company.

But if you want to be a better cook one day. If you don't just want to be a shiny happy tv chef. If you want to learn from the good ones. If you don't want to be fired. If you like your job/kitchen/crew/paycheck/menu.

May I make a suggestion?

Think hard about your actions before taking them.

Think about what we {chefs} hear, when you {cooks} do any of the *above.*

When you say, "_________." = we hear "-----------."

"Do I have to ~ ?" = "I'm lazy and I'm looking to you to validate me and my lazy ass." "I don't want to learn anything new or push myself in any way, shape or form." "I like my comfy lazy spot and why would you want me to do something I don't want to." "I wanted to be a cook because I thought it would be fun, not hard."

"I'm going to come in later than you're asking. I'm set-up." = "I don't think about anyone but myself. I'm special." "I am not on a team, I work by myself." "I don't want to do anything but what I have to." "I'm an independent contractor." "I'm psychic and I know how many covers we're going to do between now and when I come in next. You should pay me extra for psychically forecasting our numbers." "I've done way too much mis en place and nothing I serve in my next service will be fresh." "I want to sleep in." "I don't care if disrespect my fellow cooks by trying to get special favors, personally, from the chef." 

"There's nothing to do." = "Please fire me." "My eyes have stopped working." "I don't know how to clean or organize." "I was supposed to be a famous chef by now." "I am worthless and if you still have me on payroll after I've uttered this, than you are a bigger fool than I."

Cooks:

your actions are translated into words for us chefs. Just as you base your respect of us on our actions, so do we, you.

If we have nothing to teach you, leave. If treating us, your fellow cooks and yourself with respect is beyond you, please find another profession.

This industry, this career, this craft is borne from loyalty, apprenticeship, a lifetime of education. It's really not for the meek. It's for the humble, the teachable.

What we do, day in and day out, involves a kind of stamina few people understand.

And if you work in a teaching kitchen, a kitchen where the chef works the line, a kitchen where the menu changes seasonally, a kitchen with few or no "extra people," a kitchen bringing in whole animals, a kitchen brought back from the grave, a kitchen where every chef works a station, or four, a kitchen surviving in this horrible economy, like the one I'm currently in, I strongly suggest you show it some respect. Because, I can guarantee it, you won't know what you left behind, until long after you're asked to leave it.

But if you don't really want it.

If being a professional cook is a stop-over to a better career, a lily pad from which to jump to your next thing, something you're doing because you didn't want to go to college; then do not expect me to invest in you.

Discontinue to expect respect. Instead, work on earning it.

kitchen communications. or, learning to speak 'kitchen'

in the course of a day a person hears a lot of words, thinks a lot of words, writes a lot of letters bunched up  with each other, and reads even more.

in kitchens we mince words, speak incomplete sentences, shout orders, and make clear, sharp points quickly. the concept is: listen the first time because i don't have time to repeat myself. sometimes communication is done without words, happens without opening our mouths. our hands communicate, our gestures speak volumes, our eyes admonish, our bodies teach, our body memory saves our lives, and those we work with.

patience. it's an unknown, a foreign word. a full explanation is gold, but not the traded kind, the sort found on a sunk ship, on the sea's bottom. recipes are scarce, methods are memorized, reasons are few. why is a word regarded with resentment, at best. no time for why. why is a word you have to take to the library on your day off. why is a word for those with enough money to go to culinary school. why? why takes time. minutes you don't have.  minutes you could use to go to the bathroom, breathe, take a gulp of water, pause.

sink or swim.

and we do a lot of sinking, and more treading water, hopeful. that our feet will reach sand. soon.

kitchens are about the now. about the i needs and the whens and the now, motherfuckers. maintenant. 'can i have that today, please?' kitchens are about economy. the economy of movement. the economy of words. the economy of thought, opinion and critique. choose your battles wisely, timely.

communication in staccato.

you better be good at morse, at braille, at seeing: using both eyes. hard.
you better have your blinders off.
except when you need them strapped to your head. tight.

kitchen communications are written in invisible ink, in shorthand; spoken in slang colloquial dialect vernacular jargon. kitchenspeak. kitchen-uendo.

that said, all over the world, there's only one language: kitchen.

graffitti.

if you speak it here, you speak it there. even when you're not speaking. once you learn kitchen you can never shake it. tattooed into your skin.

you smell a cook before you see her cooking. you see a cook even before you smell his sallow skin. you see scars, you hear invisible scars. you know.

look up passion. it means tortured.

*

I'm in a kitchen right now with a lot of 'green' cooks. They need a lot of care. A lot of 'hand-holding.' Way more than I would have been able to get away with. Ever. A lot of explaining needs to happen. While we will always have to repeat ourselves, {ad infinitum, in fact-- basically until a cooks gets so tired hearing us say the same thing over and over he will comply, merely out of annoyance!}, the management team (3 of us in total) find ourselves really frustrated by the simplest of basic pieces of information we barely remember learning ourselves. We're frustrated because it seems as though a lot of these cooks have been cooking for a little bit, but did not learn the universal language, kitchen, along the way.

This is not to say I don't remember learning as I was coming up: I do. More than most because I did not go to culinary school. I remember when and from whom I learned what an 'All Day' was. I was taught, the hard way, to use my towel every time I reached for a saute pan. {My partner placed a red hot cast iron plancha in the same stack as the 'cold' ones.}

But I don't remember anyone ever telling me not to call in sick. I remember a female line cook taking me aside and telling me how it was and would always be for female cooks. {"You will work twice as hard, and get 1/2 the recognition & pay."} I remember a sous chef telling me I had to choose between a lover or friends: that I would never have both and have this career.

I have seen a lot of marriages end. I have witnessed a lot of addictions flourish. I have seen a few miracles. I have tasted a lot of tears. I have talked to a lot of people from the edge of a bridge. Mine, theirs.

*

If cooking is your calling, I suggest you pick up the phone. And listen.

If no one is teaching you kitchen, allow me to school you.

~

If you're cooking in the kitchen of some famous chef's empire, but you are not learning, get the fuck out of there. You have no time to waste.

If you don't know how to properly give notice, whether as a dishwasher or a sous chef, ask someone who has been cooking longer than you. If you start burning bridges at the beginning you will have no way of getting to the next job, later. Remember: the worst reference of all is no reference. If you think you will never come across the people you are working with now, again, you are sorely mistaken. No matter how many thousands of miles you travel, I guarantee you you will work with someone who knows someone else you worked with. People talk. Reputations start getting built early.

Stick with the winners. Watch the cooks who do it better than you. Watch cooks who are more organized, work cleaner, are more efficient, have composure, can take criticism, are graceful. Watch. Hard. Study, yo. LEARN GOOD HABITS NOW. Think of it this way: it's easier to learn good habits now than get bad habits beaten out of you later.

Stop moaning, whinging, complaining, pouting. Have you ever babysat? A silent, resentful cook takes all the energy out of a room, a kitchen, team. You are no longer a child. You are not the most important person in the kitchen, even if you're the strongest. There are no cowboys in kitchens. Kitchens are teams, yo. If you're so strong, help someone who isn't. If you need so much attention that you will fuck up on purpose to get it, a good chef will weed you out and press eject. If you need help, ask for it like an adult. Passivity is annoying. Ask for what you need. Be direct. And if one cook says no one night, she might say yes the next, so keep asking. Sometimes the most noble bravery is vulnerability. 

Watch, listen, learn. TASTE. I can't stress watching enough. Memorize your station, and the station next to you. Inventory, taste EVERY PIECE OF YOUR MIS EN PLACE EVERY DAY, every night, every service. Even if you are the only one on your station. Even if you don't want to. Some ingredients/components just take a few hours to go off. If you serve bad food it's on you. Have INTEGRITY. And if you hate your job/menu/chef so much that you don't care to taste your m.e.p., leave. Please. You have no time to waste.

Read. Read the restaurant reviews in your town. Do Google searches on your place of work. Read what people are saying. Read about the cuisine you're serving. Read food magazines, cookbooks, food blogs, industry magazines. Just read. Please. Look up ingredients. Read about how ingredients are used in their native foods/cuisines/dishes/ceremonies. 

If you're allowed: eat where you work. Get perspective. Try eating something you serve, start to finish, with the utensil your front of house serve it with. If you don't want to eat the whole thing/a certain component, then it's a good bet your diners don't want to either.

Stage. If you have a day off, go to another kitchen. Go to another kitchen to watch, to look, to see something else, to hear something else, to smell something else. Use your days off well. The first day is for laundry & sleeping, but if you have another: study. Even if you don't have money to eat out, look at other menus. Surf the web and look at restaurant websites. I'm not the only chef blogging... Read, look, comment, ask questions. 

Shut up. Shut up and listen. "Yes Chef," or "Oui Chef" should be your only response to critique. You have another opinion? Save it for the bar after work. Save it for someone who cares.

Someone I worked with recently thanked me for my patience, my teaching, my explaining. She said she had none of these attributes. She told me how she 'teaches' in her kitchens.

"I say, 'This is unacceptable. This is how you do it. Any questions?'"

Remember that your response to critique/instruction informs your chef about how to talk to you the next time. If you don't respond to thoughtful instruction, but you change after being screamed at, you will surely be screamed at from then on out. If you're in a kitchen where the chef only screams and you can't learn in that environment, find another kitchen. But I warn you: this industry isn't nice and patient. If that's all you can handle, there will be a lot of kitchens you'll never be able to work in. Learn from.

Clean clean clean and then clean some more. You can never be too clean, too organized, too efficient. Learn how to use 2 side towels. Yes, I said two. Not twenty. Try keeping your whites white. Whether butchering or making chocolates. It comes back to integrity. It comes back to sticking with the winners. You want to be fast? Be good first. Work clean, work efficiently, move with purpose, with grace. Look up the word INTENTIONAL if you don't know what it means. If you don't know how to practice it. Speed will come. I promise you. But if you're moving really fast, and you're a fucking mess, then you're not doing a very good job. You're no one I want to promote. You're no one I look up to. You're no one to judge.

Pay attention. Look beyond yourself, your station, your job. Attempt to see yourself as part of the whole. I know it's hard. It's impossible when you're first starting out.

Be ACCOUNTABLE. Learn the word accountability. Take responsibility for your actions, your inactions, your lies, your mistakes, your commis' mistakes, your cooks' mistakes, your achievements, your fears, your strengths, your weaknesses. You didn't order enough? Say sorry but do more than sorry. You think only about yourself? Open your eyes and pay attention to/support the cooks you work with/for/next to. Your station is never set up? You can't figure out how to keep it clean or leave it clean for the next cook? Stay late. be receptive to learning.

Ask questions. Ask how to be better. Ask questions silently. Go to work every day with a question and get it answered at the end of every shift, even if you can not utter it aloud.

Be better today than you were yesterday.
Every day.

Become versatile. Think you're great on saute? Grill? Come in on  your day off and work in pastry. learn your voids. Fill your gaps. Dive into what you're afraid of. TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE MOST SKILLED PEOPLE IN YOUR KITCHEN. Volunteer to butcher. Apprentice the gnocchi making sous chef. CHALLENGE YOURSELF.

~

In the kitchen where I work now the chef is bringing in whole animals. You know what the crime is? NOT A SINGLE COOK HAS ASKED TO LEARN TO BREAK THESE ANIMALS DOWN. What the fuck are they waiting for? A formal invitation? Come on now. Are you serious? I can count on one hand the kitchens I've worked in that have brought in whole animals.

What else?
What 'schooling' have you received?
What am I forgetting?
What did you learn that has stayed with you through the days, the hours, the years, the grueling jobs, the awful kitchens, the shoe-maker chefs?
What do you teach your cooks?
What do you pass on?
What do you wish you never learned?
What's indispensable?

*

I'll leave you with these words, which I recently submitted & collected from my friends & colleagues on Facebook ~

Urgency, Communication, Responsibility, Finesse, Listening, Accountability, Organization, Humility, Mindful, Efficient, Receptive, Critical, Questioning, Curiosity, Taste, Common Sense, Empathy, Resourcefulness, Creativity, Consistency, Fearlessness, Self-Critical, Levity, Focus, Grounded, Preparedness {aka Mental mis-en-place}, Humor, Taste Memory...

*

If you're in the wrong kitchen, I urge you to leave. If you're not learning, I urge you to find a kitchen, a city, a cuisine you can learn in/from. If you can't afford culinary school, don't go. You have a myriad of options.

I can't possibly be the only chef passionate about teaching, about apprenticing, about sharing.

I can't possibly be the only chef who believes these words with all her might.

Remember, know this:

we can only keep what we have, by giving it away.

Menu Changes. or: what to do when history repeats itself.

I don't have to tell you that the economy of your country, city, town, continent, family has tanked.
I don't have to tell you anything about it. You know.
I don't have to tell you to hold onto your job. You have. As long as you've been able to.
I don't have to tell you not to spend your money on frivolous items. You either have or you have not; either out of need or need to rebel.
I don't have to tell you how many restaurants have closed, how many cooks and chefs and pastry chefs are out of work.
I don't have to tell you that if you love, really love a restaurant, you may want to become a regular.
I don't have to tell you that if you really love a chef or a pastry chef's work, you should tell everyone you know to go eat at said person's workplace. You know.
I don't have to tell you the power of positive press is far quieter than the power of negative press. Whether you rant indignantly on Yelp, or feed a piece of barely true gossip to Eater, or pan a place on Chowhound, or talk doo-doo on your own blog/Twitter/Facebook about a particular place,
you play a part in the wild fire that will surely consume said business.
I don't have to tell you anything. You know why? You know.
You're smart.
You read as much as I do.
Probably more.

I don't have to tell you what happened on September 11, 2001. I don't have to tell you that the Internet Bubble, based on money which did not exactly exist, but which was generating thousands of businesses to be born, and invite more people than could even fit in San Francisco & beyond to move there, and displace thousands more, burst. At about the same time as September 11, 2001.
O yes. It was a fun year. A great time to be working in a luxury industry making food people neither needed nor could afford.
I lost my job of 2 years that year. After that I was unemployed for longer than I have been since I started working, at age 14. I witnessed over 6,000 restaurants close in San Francisco. In one year.
You probably remember that time as well as I do.
I know you remember what you were doing that day.
And if you lived in NYC or the Bay Area, you remember the recovery time.
It took years.

It is for these memories, these reasons, these experiences, which I still feel, still know, viscerally, that I remain forever grateful to have a job, when I have one.
It is for these memories, these reasons, these experiences, which I still feel, still know, viscerally, that I have grown.
It is for these memories, these reasons, these experiences, which I still feel, still know, viscerally, that hope to always know perspective, even the smallest amount, is utterly important.

Because

a little perspective

goes

a long way.

When it happens all over again. History is only important, if you can learn from it.

There are very few restaurants that do not have to worry. About food costs. About labor percentages, about inventory, rent, the economy, holidays, weather, natural catastrophes, equipment, vermin, waste, stealing, lawsuits, worker injuries, etc. Very few. Not none, but probably less than a percent I'm guessing.

Everyone thinks it's so much fun to be a chef. So creative. So nifty. So delicious. So exciting. So glamorous.

And they're right.

Some of the time.

The rest of the time they're wrong. Very wrong.

Because sometimes the most creative things you're doing is

• figuring out how to cut costs without firing your entire staff
• changing your menu overnight because none of your purveyors will deliver to you because of outstanding invoices
• working every station even though the kitchen is composed of 6 stations in the layout of a 3 bedroom house
• juggling a myriad of medication to take while working sick
• offering every kind of 'special' that will attract every kind of diner at any price point you think all of these people can or will want to afford
• filching your numbers to reflect what the owners want to see
• keeping your management away from the bar where you know they're drinking away any of the profits you might otherwise be barely seeing
• figuring out how to serve food you worry is going off but can't afford to throw out
• shaving ounce after ounce off of your plates of food in ways diners won't notice so you don't have to raise prices, which diners always notice
• keeping your body alive on 3 hours of sleep, no food and coffee as your only imbibement
• switching arms, hands, wrists, because your primary one is so injured you can no longer use it well
• and
• p.s. you don't have health insurance
• even though
• you work in one of the most physically challenging indoor workplaces you know of

Menu Changes.

These words are a stand in for other words.

Menu Changes mean a variety of things. A menu changing is a symptom. Menus Change because they have to.

After September 11th, 2001, Menus Changed. In order for restaurants to stay afloat, they had to lower prices, drop expensive proteins, lay off extraneous staff {ie pastry chefs}, ask the staff that stayed to take pay-cuts & do twice the work.

A lot of Menus Changed and many restaurants started making Comfort Food. The United States needed comfort. A lot of it.

So tonight, when I was asked to change my menu, radically, I understood. I didn't like it, but I didn't stomp my feet and say, "It's not fair!"

I understood its implication. I know its history.

I had my "reactionary, emotional, angry" self tempered, calmed {silently} by my 'Grounded Self,' and I took the order as a challenge.

For I am only one of millions who has [had] to Change Menus. Change plans. Change on a dime. 

Change Menus. Get grateful. Turn challenge into lesson. Know life is full of lessons. Have perspective. Calm down enough to see the forest through the trees.

Because you know what?

Changing Menus is changing directions is life changing, and

the only thing you can rely on is change.

Recipes vs. Intuition

Do you consider yourself a good baker? A great cook? A top notch chef? Are you a blue ribbon winning home baker? Have you begun an underground restaurant because you gave such stellar dinner parties? Do you think your palate is superior to anyone you eat with? Is your cookbook collection the envy of everyone? Is your recipe based blog highly trafficked? Do you give homemade candy as gifts? Have you taken innumerable cooking classes? Do you consume eggbeater for the recipes,  or for insight into professional cooking? Did you read Michael Ruhlman's Ratio? Did it radicalize or bore you? Inspire or confuse you?

Recipe: a method for achieving some desired objective.

I'd like to pose a question.

Do recipes get in the way of learning to cook, bake?

At what point does a baker, a chef, no longer need recipes, or, when are recipes needed and when are they crutches?

It's too many questions, I know. Not of which can, truly, be answered. But I'd like to involve you in considering them with me.

Because I've worked a number of professional cooking/baking venues, and I've recently jumped from large scale bakery baking to tiny batch plated dessert component baking, these questions have come banging on my door in the middle of the night. They're many, and loud. And they don't let me sleepwalk through. They don't let me stay still. They make me itch with their curved lines and that enigmatic dot at their end.

?

Questions.

Questions without answers.
But questions that beget learning, delving, growing, understanding.

And then there are more questions.

Recipes, to get back to the subject, are validated. Everyone likes a good recipe. Recipes are passed down on notes, in book, translucent oily index cards. Unique handwriting scratchings. Recipes are whispered, graffitti'd, brought to the grave, tattood and celebrated.

Millions of trees have been cut down in the name of recipes. A cookbook is born every second. Recipes are facts. Recipes are coveted. You can trade a recipe like money, and there are as many recipes that 'wprk' as there are that 'don't work.' No one can argue with a good recipe, right?

And some recipes will live forever. In our hearts, in our minds. O recipe, we love you. For cliches ever on.

Is it blasphemy, then, to want to do away with recipes? Will I be witch hunted and burned alive for public view? Should I now beg for mercy, while you're silently collecting stones?

Recipes.

What are they, though?

Recipes represent certainty. They are certainty. They represent logic, arithmatic, and maybe even math. And we hate, we despise, we murder, we denounce uncertainty. We approve of Empirical and we're not afraid to erase its opposite.

We love facts. We love when things make sense.

Well, many of us at any rate.

Intuition.

Intuition represents uncertainty. Intuition is touchy-feely. Intuition is something beyond logic and is sometimes re-named as common sense. Intuition is related to psychic and many people would disregard all such subject as hokus pokus, never even needing to wash their clean logical hands of it because to them it never existed in the first place! Intuition is not empirical. Intuition is heart and love and none of these things exist under a microscope.

You either have a good sense of direction or you don't.

Intuition.

What is it? We define it by what it is not because we don't know what it is. And we despise uncertainty. We discard illogical. We call it crazy, hysterical, ridiculous, a farce, a scam; we want to stand on the other side of it and put it in the dunce's corner.

But you know what?

It's fear. We are terrified of uncertainty. We embrace safety & surety and we do everything in our power to keep groundlessness at bay or, better yet, throw it in the bay.

Can intuition be taught? Inspired? Can inspiration be dispensed? Does it take one great teacher to move you beyond, and delve you deeper, or many? Or none? Do you either have it or you don't?

What if you're somewhere in between? What if you sit on a fence, are a switch, can go both ways, are all ways, like bois & grrls, can see beyond what's at the tip of your nose, have a thing for sublimating the paradigm, live outside the pink box, use a recipe and intuition both, think with all of your brain, don't believe in opposites?

I believe in recipe and intuition both. Combined. In tandem. A guild, if you will.
I believe, though, that recipes can {sometimes} block intuition. {Especially when used alone.}
I believe if one places the recipe before what one knows to be true, that's where {some of the} trouble begins.
That's when "Bad Things Happen."
And, so, I beg of you to consider this.
I ask you to step outside the comfort and safety of recipes, especially only ever making a recipe once, or casting aspersions upon a recipe and it's supposed author/parent because 'it didn't work!' for you.

A recipe is a guide. A recipe is a series of suggestions, of possibilities. A recipe is a ratio.

One of the very first 'cookbooks' ever suggested to me was Le Repertoire de la Cuisine. While it is a compilation of recipes and methods, there are no measurements, no implicit instructions. Upon first glance there are merely lists. And yet, what one finds, upon closer and inquisitive inspection, is patterns.

And within patterns, there lies quiet learning.

Protein always does the same thing, whether in flour or chicken, egg whites or oranges.
Leavening can always be relied on to rise, whether via yeast, baking powder, egg whites, steam.

You may cook and bake for very different reasons than I, I know. You may not be seeking what lies around the corner from your tried and true tested recipes. You may think I'm relating recipes to life in a way that's silly and indulgent. You may not think everything is related, as I do.

I'm not asking you to set fire to your cookbook collection or never spend too many hours again on recipe based food blogs. I'm not even asking you to humor me by swallowing what I have to say whole.

All I'm asking, suggesting, is that you consider.

Consider stepping back from recipes. Consider how you learn, how you jump to the next level of learning, how you quietly cross lines and borders into new cooking/baking territory.

When you feel the bicycle under you, un-held, unsupported, for the first time, it's an exhilarating, terrifying, ebullient thrill! You don't know how you don't tip over; it's magic!

Baking is alchemy.

Tried & True Science, and mystery both.

Ingredients respond as much to logic as they do to love.

Recipes are ratios, but no ingredient stands still. Flour is not one thing, and neither is water. Ever block of butter, all around the world, will react differently. Even two sugars are not what you think they are, even though they look the same under a microscope!

If ingredients are alive, and changeable, then so must be recipes. And us; those who use, abide by, share, trade, give, alter, mix, fight with, discard, write & re-write, must also be amenable to holding on and letting go both, all.

Recipes & Intuition live on a spectrum. They are not opposites. Both are certainty & uncertainty. Two sides of one coin.

Chocolate-Caramel Slice

When I first came to be introduced to this, er, dessert, I was underwhelmed. One could even say I did not like it. At all. Boring, insipid, blah, came to mind.

I heard the name, and a different sort of caramel than the one who met my mouth, upon eating said thing, had been my wish. I wanted buttery, creamy caramel, and instead it was merely milky. Dulce de Leche, to be exact.

The dough was dark as darkest chocolatey night and what happened on my tongue was a dry midnight desert sandy storm. ick.

Why, you might be asking, am I reviewing a confection I seem to despise so much?

Because my thoughts have recently changed. Now every time I make this easy going treat, I secretly slice off a piece of my own and eat it in tiny   slow   savoring   bites.

The story of Shuna and The Chocolate Caramel Slice is one of many layers.

Let me first say this:

You do not know what a good, bad or indifferent baker/pastry chef you are until you work alongside someone who is better/worse than you. This is not at all to say that if you are an outstanding home baker, you are deluding yourself. But as far as professional cooking & baking go, it is my experience that unless you push yourself really hard to stay away from your sweet spot comfort zone of I-Know-All-I-Need-To-Know-And-I-Feel-Very-Comfy-In-This-Job/Kitchen-Thank-You-Very-Much, and move kitchens or chefs or hire people who are much closer to your level than you feel comfortable having them, you will become stagnant in your baking skill and knowledge.

The professional cooking & baking world is alive, like bread dough. Just following a recipe, whether it be the one of your life or one for a soup, isn't enough.

Unless it is.

In which case you should stop reading now and move onto another blog/book/TV show that fits your mediocre lifestyle/career.

Becoming a better pastry chef isn't about copying all the bigshots and making food from non-soluble powders and mists and freeze-drying every plant you can get your tongue around. You can become a better ______ and still follow your heart.

This is what you have to ask yourself at some point: what am I learning? who is challenging me? why am I fighting change so violently? what scares me? how much failure can I live with? what are the absences/holes in my career/education and where can I go/who can I work with to fill them?

My inner critic demands a spot: How on earth can Chocolate Caramel Slice stand in for life lessons? Come on now, you have to be kidding me. Haven't you seen the headlines? The world is in crises.

But everything is everything, yes? In my world, all is language and all languages are about communication, right?

And when I ate this fine looking sweet treat and I hated it, I delved into why. When I asked the baker about it, she became defensive and said, "People like it! It's a regular thing of ours!" And I thought, that's not an answer, it's an excuse.

Because, let's face it y'all, People Like Things Made With Sugar. Very fucking few people are critical about sweet things. It's the baker, the author, who needs to be discerning. JUST FOLLOWING THE RECIPE IS NOT ENOUGH. No, it ain't. "Well, I followed the recipe..." Is not an excuse for mediocrity. A recipe is merely a guide. It's a secret language for people at various levels understanding its hidden grammar, meaning, message.

Ever wonder why one recipe can achieve countless results?

Because IT DEPENDS ON THE BAKER/COOK, yo.

Make that recipe yours.
Own it.
Learn it.
Make it more than once, more than thrice.
Taste it as you go along.
Eat it. In full. Taste every component/ingredient as you assemble it.
Find out why the author cast flour as the leading role, or butter, or egg whites!
Sing it.
Whisper it close.
Sleep with it under your pillow and ponder it while sitting on the dock watching the buggy skaters do their thang.
I'm serious, yo.
Learn, don't just follow.

And so, without further ado, I introduce you to

'the recipe' for the Chocolate Caramel Slice:

Here's the thing. It's dead easy.

Line a shallow baking pan (preferably with removable bottom) with parchment paper. Make sure parchment reaches up sides at least one inch above pan's edge.
Line with chocolate short dough, let's say 1/2 to 3/4 inches thick.
Bake until just done (best to err on the side of under-baking here).
Spread slightly salted (I prefer sea or Kosher) dulce de leche [ddl for short] over cooled chocolate crust. Thick, at least 1/4 inch thick, but really I don't know the amount. (recipe for dulce de leche - boil one unopened can of sweetened condensed milk, with water covering the can completely, for at least 3 hours. open can when it's not super duper hot. voila! caramelized milk. if you want a much more complicated, highly finessed method, please climb over the wall to Chez Pim's house.)
"Crumble" chocolate short dough over top of ddl & bake again until crumbled dough on top is done.
While I agree it's difficult to tell if chocolate dough is 'done,' look closely at how the colour of it changes in the oven. Touch it--it's shouldn't feel like mashed potatoes, but it shouldn't feel like wood either.

Pull parchment away from slice when cool-ish. Parchment walls are there to hold caramel in place during baking.

Slice with non-serrated knife, straight down motion, when cooler. (I'll admit I prefer eating it when it has a bit of warmth to it.)

Refrigerate slices you're not going to inhale the day you bake it. While I don't usually believe in refrigerating pastry, this one could use the extra hit of moisture it will get inside your cold box.

I have come to like and appreciate the Chocolate Caramel Slice because of it's stupid simplicity. That's a compliment. Sometimes the easiest things are the easiest to mess up. Look at bread. Flour and water. And who the hell makes it at home anymore?

I have come to enjoy eating and making the Chocolate Caramel Slice because I made that recipe mine:

• I cooked the dulce de leche until it was nice and dark. {colour is flavour in baking}
• I added delicious tasting salt to the ddl. {I have been appalled at the use of Table Salt in professional kitchens in London.}
• I under-bake the bottom crust slightly.
• I taste every component and make sure they're just right before I bake it. {I am not relying on the recipe, I am relying on me as a baker/taster of many a baked good [of my own and others' making]}
• And I do not sell the Chocolate Caramel Slice after more than a few days of it sitting out at ambient (= retail bake speak for room temperature.)

Do tell me what you think if you make it. Perhaps you'll have a process too?

MONTEREY MARKET NEEDS YOUR HELP!! PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD

PLEASE MAKE YOUR VOICE HEARD.
PLEASE go to Friends of Monterey Market and show your support/read about what you can do.
PLEASE WRITE A LETTER.
PLEASE DO NOT SHOP AT MONTEREY MARKET AFTER JUNE 3rd UNLESS BILL FUJIMOTO takes back his resignation.
PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD.
PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD THAT MONTEREY MARKET NEEDS EVERY ONE'S HELP to make it clear that Bill Fujimoto IS Monterey Market and his resignation is not an option.
PLEASE MAKE IT CLEAR TO THE ENTIRE FUJIMOTO FAMILY that you will not support a market that places its bottom line before family.
PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD.

If you have eaten ANYWHERE IN THE BAY AREA, you have supported Monterey Market.
If you have ever shopped at ANY FARMERS MARKET, you have supported Monterey Market.
If you have ever blogged about new fruit in season, new fruit available in the USA, climbed upon the great pumpkin interactive sculpture in North Berkeley, or made anything in any home kitchen or restaurant or catering kitchen with any fruit or vegetables, you have supported Monterey Market.
If you believe in farmers, chefs with integrity, great produce, eating seasonally, eating locally, supporting local business YOU BELIEVE IN SUPPORTING MONTEREY MARKET.
AND YOU WOULD CONSIDER SHOWING YOUR SUPPORT TO A MARKET, A TEMPLE, A STORE, AN INSTITUTION that was in need of help.

MONTEREY MARKET NEEDS YOUR HELP.
PLEASE BLOG ABOUT THIS RIGHT NOW AND LET GOOGLE AND THE FUJIMOTOS KNOW WE WILL BE HEARD.
WE DO NOT ACCEPT BILL FUJIMOTO'S RESIGNATION.
WE WILL NOT SHOP AT THE STORE IF THE FAMILY ACCEPTS HIS RESIGNATION.
PLEASE TWEET ABOUT MONTEREY MARKET and the petition.
PLEASE TELL EVERYONE YOU KNOW WHAT'S HAPPENING.

I love Monterey Market.
I always have.
I always will.
I support Monterey Market from accross the USA and into the United Kingdom.
BUY EAT AT BILLS AND WATCH IT WITH EVERYONE YOU KNOW PILED INTO THE LIVINGROOM if you don't believe me when I say this is a place that must be saved!!!!!!

**If you have time to leave a comment here, you have time to write a letter to the Fujimoto's.

Hamantaschen for Purim

 they look so innocent.
leetle triangles.
filled with goodness.
hand formed.
delicate dough.
baked to order.
smaller than the palm of your hand.
a few bites.
one brief Jewish Holiday.
Purim.

HAMANTASCHEN.

thousands of them ordered.
sheeting, cutting circles, filling, egg yolk 'glue' washing, forming & sealing, freezing.
just a little cookie.
no harm no foul.

just 4000. that's all.

who needs sleep?