eggbeater

Stagiaire Advice.

I get a lot of email from cooks, chefs, soon-to-be cooks, culinary students, parents, spouses of BOH peeps, etc. They are looking for advice from someone in the field that no for-profit culinary school, or glossy magazine will tell them about the whys and the hows that one needs to navigate this mine-field of a not-so-straightforward-road of a career "path."

But my viewpoint, my story, if you will, is only mine. Please write your own comments below to add to this list. Every kitchen, every city, every chef, every cook, every walk-in is a snowflake. Meaning: what my kitchen requires might be loathsome to you. Or what one feels every stagiaire should know, times a thousand, creates the real list.

A female culinary student has written to me for advice on staging. I replied thus:

• bring with you: a notebook that fits in your back pocket, 1 fine & 1 regular sharpie: both black. have these with you for the rest of your career. Claire Fontaine is the very best notebook I have ever used.

• buy a waterbottle/put your name on it. EAT A SOLID MEAL BEFORE EVERY SHIFT you work. do not expect the job to feed you.

• eat foods that give you real energy. if you start to survive on caffeine/sugar/drugs etc. you will not have the real stamina you need to last in this industry for more than a few years.

• if you plan a career in pastry, keep a baby offset spatula in your pocket. there are one million uses for this tool and if it's sleeping in your knife kit, you can't use it on the fly. also a hard bowl scraper in your other back pocket. I can't tell you how many savory cooks have borrowed this from me-- it's amazing for passing difficult solids through fine meshed sieves/tamis etc.

• look and learn. try not to chat or ask a lot of questions. see if your answer is in front of you before asking it.

• be safe. stay out of the way. a stage is always in the way, but try to find a place to be and keep it clean and organized.

• show up early & stay late. this shows commitment.

• SAFETY FIRST. because you are an unpaid worker, the establishment is taking a risk with you being there. if you are injured in their kitchen you will be covered by workers comp, but the money basically covers band-aids. if you cannot lift more than ______# don't do it to be macho. I know people who have had serious injuries because they were too afraid to appear weak in front of their peers.

• the answer to every question is either "Yes, Chef" or "No, Chef" it's always better to start out more polite than you need to be.

• all your tools should be clean and sharp. if you don't need your gigantic tool-kit, don't bring it. bring only the tools your chef tells you you need. but this does not apply to your baby offset spatula. you should never be without this.

• wear a uniform that fits you. you should look neat and clean at all times, and professional. do not wear your school chefs coat.

• be on guard. sometimes the friendliest cooks do not have your best interest in mind. do not shut off your instincts! if someone feels creepy, in ANY way, they probably are creepy. give said person the least amount of energy you can but do not act rude.

• it's possible you will be older than everyone in the kitchen. these days a lot of executive chefs are 30 or under. if the whole kitchen is very young, age-wise, they might try to make you feel out-of-place. stand your ground - you are there to learn, not be their mommy or guidance counselor. anyone can go to college, at any age! a stage is like auditing a class, not marriage. no matter what a cook's age; if he/she is serious, respectful, polite, humble, clean, organized, and has a sense of urgency, he/she belongs in said kitchen and can grow to be part of the team.

• immediately after every day of staging, write down EVERYTHING you saw, did, heard. even if this isn't legible to anyone else but you; even if grammar can't find it's way into your sentences, write it down. at least 30m before you go into that kitchen, read through your notes twice. at the end of every week, create a list of the most important things you saw, heard, smelled, ate, tasted, felt etc.

• KEEP YOUR OPINIONS TO YOURSELF. if you hate the food, or think the chef is disorganized, or think you know better, or see someone not FIFO'ing, or see a busser/server/host drinking the last of the wine glass dregs, or suspect _________ is having an affair with __________, or want to season something more/less, or think BOH should get to eat family meal, or any variation therof, stow said opinions away in your  "what I learned during my stage" notebook. DO NOT SHOW this notebook TO ANYONE but your cat. 

• if someone asks for your opinion, be vague and diplomatic if you feel negatively. the premise of a stage is that you are a person who knows almost nothing. if you know more than nothing, keep it to yourself, unless YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY SURE the person you are dealing with is an ALLY. even someone you are sleeping with might not be your ally. all is fair in love, war, and kitchens.

• hierarchy is a real thing. it matters. a lot. pay VERY CLOSE ATTENTION to who likes who more, who teases who more, who is quiet, who is boistrous etc. it's just like grade-school -- you don't want to be beat up every day at school, but there are factions, and if you are seen as a traitor to the team you're on, it can be hard going. straight up people pleasing gets most people in trouble.

• when you have questions, make sure they're informed. meaning: do your homework. research the chef, the restaurant, the pastry chef, the cuisine, the owners etc. if I think the question asker is lazy I don't give that person a lot of attention. I'm more fond of the curious person than the know-it-all.

• my favorite cooks are the ones who care, are intensely clean & organized, and are problem-solvers. anyone, skilled or not, can point to a problem and announce it. sometimes the only difference between a cook and a chef is how she/he handles the SNAFU incomings.

• keep your eye on YOUR PRIZE. constantly re-define success. if you're learning anything, no matter how minor it appears in the scheme of things, that kitchen is a good place to be. but YOUR PRIZE is yours: it's personal. we all think we can suss a person out, merely by look at them, watching them, and asking a few surface questions. not so. you have no idea why that gal on garde manger, that man expediting, or that woman on saute is doing what she's doing or where she's come from or what she's seen or how long she''ll cook for. keep your focus on you and keep your side of the street clean. accountability is your best friend, not your lover. accountability is looking deep within yourself and coming clean to your chef and your team when you've made a mistake. remember: you only go to sleep with you every night. your integrity is all you've got.

Richie Nakano gathered a bunch of cooks hints about how to and how not to stage too, on Linecook. Check it.

I look forward to hearing your experiences too!

Remember, we keep what we have by giving it away.

 

Killed By Dessert.

On January 16, 2012 Bill Corbett, Lincoln Carson, Francisco Migoya, Christina Tosi, Brooks Headley, and Michael Laiskonis put together an epic dinner of dessert. Aptly named Killed By Dessert, the affair was intimate, attended by 60 people. I offered my services as photographer/documentarian. And I am so grateful I did.

I took 800 photographs in about 10 hours.
One hundred sixty six of them can be seen on Flickr.

The best words on the event were the ones they put together themselves. You can read those words, that collaborative 'manifesto' on Michael Laiskonis' blog.

 

But because the photographs are without descriptions or a timeline-the menu:

Yes, you woulda been killed too...

 

"Oasis at Three O'Clock in the Morning"

Falafel, Pine Nut Hummus, Flat Bread

Bill Corbett

 

"Brupper"

English Muffin, Black Pepper Butter, Caramelized Onions, Soft Poached Egg, Pea Shoots

Christina Tosi

 

“Wish That I Had Been Born Into It”

Latkes, Smoked Salmon, Caviar and Rose Champagne

Lincoln Carson

 

“Time”

Dashi-Braised Short Rib, Bone Marrow

Michael Laiskonis

 

Mole Negro de Oaxaca

Duck and Corn Tortillas

Francisco Migoya

...

 

“Just Plain Vanilla”

Supported by Mandarin, Buddha’s Hand, Coriander

Lincoln Carson

Delamotte Rose Champagne

 

Butterscotch Semifreddo, Tony Style

Brooks Headley

Delamotte Rose Champagne

 

“Words”

Tarte Tropezienne a la Façon Thorne

Michael Laiskonis

Delamotte Rose Champagne

 

Napoleon Trimmings

Caramelized Puff Pastry Shards, Just-Made Mousseline Cream

Francisco Migoya

Rosa Regale, Brachetto

"Cornflake Cookie Dough Should Make Up 91% of Everyone's Daily Intake, Not Just Mine"

Fresh Cookie Dough, Cookie Puree, Warm Cookie, Cereal milk

Christina Tosi

Domaine Weinbach, Gewürztraminer, Cuvee Theo 2009

 

"My Family's Lack of a Culinary Legacy" aka "The Only Thing My Mom Ever Taught Me How to Make"

Peanut Butter and Banana Sandwich

Bill Corbett

Kracher Beerenauslese, 2008

 

"I was Too Picky of a Kid to Ever Understand PB&J"

Crock Pot Cake, Warm Pickled Strawberry Jam, Peanut Butter Halvah, Sweet Cream

Christina Tosi

Kracher Beerenauslese, 2008

 

INTERMEZZO

Brooks Headley

 

"Peaks and Valleys"

Milk Chocolate, Tarragon, Hazelnut

Bill Corbett

Warre’s Otima 10 Year Tawny Port

 

Melanzane E Cioccolato, Tableside

Brooks Headley

Warre’s Otima 10 Year Tawny Port

 

Coffee Éclair

Francisco Migoya

Knob Creek Bourbon and Coffee Ice Cube

 

“The Beginning of the End, aka The Old Fashioned”

Orange, Toffee, Smoked Vanilla, Praline, Bourbon

Lincoln Carson

Knob Creek Bourbon and Coffee Ice Cube

 

“Ritual”

Caramel Coffee Parfait

Michael Laiskonis

Lamill Coffee

 

The James Beard Award for Outstanding Pastry Chef. {*please consider this post a call to action}

 

The James Beard Foundation has just published their extensive list of semifinalists for 2012. There are dozens of names listed in every category. My name was on that list last year. It was a cause for great excitement and anticipation. While I didn't make the nomination list, being a semifinalist is enough to put on a resume and feel proud of. To be noticed and recognized by the James Beard Foundation is a wonderful thing. And none to easy for a pastry chef, for which only 1, in all of the USA, is chosen per year.

What are the JBF awards? From their website:

Excellence. Passion. Achievement. Success.
The James Beard Foundation Awards shine a spotlight on the best and brightest talent in the food and beverage industry.

Covering all aspects of the industry—from chefs and restaurateurs to cookbook authors and food journalists to restaurant designers and architects and more—the Beard Awards are the highest honor for food and beverage professionals working in North America.

Why do they matter? In The United States of America a James Beard award is considered the highest honor for a chef.

Cook. Baker. Chef. Pastry Chef. Commis. Sous Chef. Saucier. Prep. Dishwasher. Restaurant Owner. It's mostly a thankless job, despite what the media screams at you. It's hard work, day after day, hour after relentless hour, year after vacationless year. Month after month of the same chaos, sometimes reigned, mostly flood.

And then, bam! Once a year a list comes out. The names on it are ones we know, ones we've hard before; some we're surpised by, many we're bored of hearing about. When we read the winners, we're happy there are so many of them it takes a minute to realize there are so very few in the categories of Pastry Chef, Baker, Chocolatier. It takes you another minute to realize there's only 1 award for Pastry Chef Baker Chocolatier. 1.

One James Beard Foundation Outstanding Pastry Chef a year.

In all of the United States of America. A small country, I'll admit, but still. Really? 1?!

How are the awards determined? There's general, legalese information on the James Beard Foundation website under the title "Policies & Procedures." And then there's the critique by Josh Ozersky in Time Magazine. But for the "real deal" see what a JBF Judge says about the process, the criteria, for voting on and choosing "the one," out of hundreds of thousands.

How can one award once a year, define us? It can't, of course.

     being a chef is part pirate, part whore, part punk rock,    part cop,   part junkyard dog, part priest, part cog-in-the-wheel, part junkie, part celebrity,       part sell-out, part pawn, part athlete, part mother, part judge & jailer & lawyer,        part diplomat, part lunatic,    part model, part artist, part factory drone, part convict, part philoopher, part conductor,    part jock and stoner both, part   prat, part citizen, part murderer, part numbers-cruncher, part mayor, part      politician, part polyanna, part bad guy & good girl both, part craftsman, part jailer,   part tornado,         part scoundrel, part construction   worker, part radical,    part accountant, part do-gooder, part thief,    part doctor,

part indefinable.

Chef. A recipe with a list of unattainable ingredients. Incompatible parts.
And there are so many of us.

But because the James Beard Foundation yearly awards are where it's at, I beg you to write them requesting a Regional Outstanding Pastry Chef Award, as they do for savory chefs.

One such person has already written and set forth such a letter. Jenny McCoy, my good friend and colleague, most recently pastry chef of Craft in NYC, set down brave and eloquent words, sending them to Susan Ungaro, President of the James Beard Foundation. Jenny's words, as she is in person, are strong, educated, positive, proactive and utterly brave.

Very lucky for me, and all of you, she has agreed to let me publish her letter.

July 26, 2011           

Susan Ungaro
President
James Beard Foundation
167 West 12th Street
New York, NY 10011

Dear Ms. Ungaro,

   The James Beard Foundation has repeatedly wowed me over the years with their commitment to honoring culinary professionals of all kinds in the United States—not only are the crème de la crème of the industry acknowledged by the JBF, but also professionals who are just beginning their careers; professionals who use food as a way of giving back to their communities; professionals who write about food, photograph food, and even design spaces where food is served. Professionals, who just like the JBF, set the standard for the nation’s industry.

   My first introduction to the James Beard Foundation was in 1999. I was finishing a program in pastry arts at Kendall College, 19 years old, and embarking on my career as a pastry professional in Chicago.  My chef, and former JB Nominee, Don Yamauchi and pastry chef Celeste Zecola of Gordon were asked to cook the last two courses for a “Friends of the Beard House” dinner at Crofton on Wells; I was invited along to assist.  It was at that dinner, in the company of amazing chefs and former James Beard Award winners such as Charlie Trotter, Norman Van Aken and Carrie Nahabedian, that I decided, I, too, wanted to become a friend of the Beard House.  I, too, wanted to strive to win an award, as Pastry Chef of the Year. I still have the menu from that evening; it serves as a reminder of my goal, and as a reminder of my respect for the James Beard Foundation’s endeavors.

   Fast forward twelve years, and many James Beard dinners, benefits, award ceremonies later and while I still dream of an award, my dreams have broadened slightly.  Now I dream to make a lasting impact – an impact that will garner recognition for more of my peers and for the pastry profession as a whole.   I found myself sitting in the auditorium at Lincoln Center last spring thinking, “One pastry chef award a year just isn’t enough to honor all the hard work and expertise of pastry chefs nationwide.”  Just as the cuisine of savory chefs varies throughout the country by region and season, the desserts of the country’s finest pastry chefs do as well. 

   The baking and pastry industry has flourished in recent years. Television shows like Top Chef: Just Desserts have top ratings; schools are being dedicated solely to the art of baking and pastry; films like Kings of Pastry, chronicling the World Pastry Cup competition are in theatres nationwide; pastry chefs have celebrity status and are becoming household names; restaurants are highlighting their pastry chefs nearly as much as their head chefs; enrollment in pastry-based culinary programs has increased by 50-75% in the last handful of years.  With the field of baking and pastry growing at the rate it is, wouldn’t it be wonderful to see the James Beard Foundation rise along with it?

   And so my question to the James Beard Foundation, its Board of Trustees, and its National Advisory Board is this: Would the James Beard Foundation consider honoring pastry chefs within regions just like they do savory chefs?  In just the last few months, I have mentioned the idea of award expansion to several of my pastry and savory chef colleagues across the country, chefs who are both former JB Award nominees and winners, and every single one of them agrees—awarding more than one pastry chef a year would be a tremendous acknowledgement to the pastry profession from the organization that the pastry profession respects most.

   Many thanks for your time and consideration. I look forward to working with you soon.

 

Sincerely,

Jenny McCoy
Pastry Chef
Craft

Jenny's blog, Seasonal Sweets, also has a copy of her letter published, and another plea to write to The James Beard Foundation.

Please honor Jenny's gift, Jenny's bravery, Jenny's letter with a letter of your own!

Consider this post a call to action.

Please send a letter-- especially if you are a cooking for a living. Please write a letter if you [or someone you know, know of, respect, love and or admire, are inspired by] are now, or want to be: a Chef, a James Beard Award Winner, a Pastry Chef, Pastry Cook. Or believe Pastry Chefs should get the same recognition as Savory Chefs.

Thank you.

StarChefs Sixth Annual International Chefs Congress 2011 NYC {& I won an award!

In just a few hours the ICC will kick off another year at the Park Avenue Armory in New York City and, like last year, I will be attending. But this year will be a little different...

In July I had the honor of doing a tasting for StarChefs with the smart, sexy, vivacious, strong, opinionated, flirtatious and lively Antoinette Bruno. I had no idea what the tasting was for or about until it was seemingly over. And then the interviews began in earnest and I was being signed up for all sorts of things at the ICC in the fall.

No matter, fall was months away.

And then I heard a little rumour. I was being considered for a Rising Stars award. It was all happening really fast. October was getting busy even before September arrived.

The day I got the call from Star Chefs to say I had won the award I was also told I could tell no one. Top Secret news they said. I was bouncing with happiness but no one to understand why. The night before the photo shoot for all the award winners I was having dinner with Jenny McCoy, pastry chef at Craft, and Scott Hocker, Editor-inChief of TastingTable.com I couldn't hold it in any longer-- I had to tell someone! I leaned in and asked if I could share an off-the-record piece of news just between us? We had been dishing some other industry gossip and I knew my sealed envelope news was safe with them.

"I won a Star Chefs Rising Chefs Award and--"

And Jenny turned to me and exclaimed, "ME TOO!"

Neither one of us knew who any of the other winners were, and we wouldn't until the next day.

The next day we learned what was expected of us because of the award.

We, all the NYC 2011 Rising Chefs Award Winners, will all sit on a panel tomorrow morning, 10-11 am called How To Make It. And that night some of the best chefs in NYC will "cook for us. We get to dress up, invite our significant other and Mentor and relax a bit.

Monday morning, 9-10am, I'm sitting on a panel with Amanda Hesser of Food52.com, Regina Varolli of Huffington Post, Dave McCue of SubscribeMail.com and Antoinette Bruno of Star Chefs called How To Build A Better Digital Mousetrap.

Tuesday night all of us will present our "winning dish" in miniature, to about 600 chefs, press & industry folks. Expect 2-3 "thimble" mini 3 - 1 Cream Pies from us at Peels. Yeah, only 600. Minaiture. Petit Four size.

I am especially looking forward to Hillary Sterling's gnocchi, Jesse Schenker's carpaccio, Adam Schop's Peruvian Chicken and Hooni Kim's spicy pork.

That very same night we will receive our award. Our "Mentor" will present us with it. I have invited the incredible Claudia Fleming to give me mine. No other pastry chef pushed me harder, got under my skin farther, inspired me more.

If you're in the business, no matter just starting out or have been cooking so long you feel like a dinosaur, the ICC is for you. Last year I won a 3 day pass by filling out one of the many Star Chefs industry surveys they send when you sign up for their newsletter. This year Pastry Chefs can go for a fraction of the price-- $199 for 3 days! It's an overwhelmong, inspiring, intense three days.

Last year I happened upon a demo by Patrice Demers, who thoughtfully approached me, knowing who I was because of eggbeater. He introduced us to Ice Cider and made desserts so gorgeous and at the same time intensely flavored and delicious, I had tears in my eyes and a new friend & colleague when I walked away.

The International Chefs Congress hosts some of the best chefs in the USA and world and because it's not open to the general public we can let our guard down and meet our heros, heroines, future and past mentors and all the cooks in between.

This year you'll find me pinching myself as I watch Pierre Herme make Macaron, hugging tight chefs I haven't seen since last year, catching up with colleagues I don't see enough because we're all too busy in our own kitchens, asking questions of panelists and answering questions posed to me.

I didn't win this award alone. I am the accumulation of all who have taught me. I am as strong as my team. I am continually awed and honored. I am humbled daily. I practice a craft whose depth is beyond measure. I show up every day and attempt to be better than I was the day before. I ask as many questions as I answer.

Thank you to all of you who participated in giving me the 2011 New York City Rising Star Chef 'Community Chef' Award. You know who you are, especially you Mourad Lahlou & Pichet Ong. My admiration, appreciation and love to you both. I hope I can continue to honor the award, the duty, the camaraderie the award merits.

It is my goal to be a chef among chefs. But Chef is not the end of a sentence, it is not a place we arrive. It, like the craft we practice, is a verb, like love.

James Beard House Valentine's Tea Sunday February 13, 2011

The Day before Valentine's Day proper, yes. My first time ever inside the James Beard House.  woot!

You might have seen me mention it on Twitter...

It's where I am today, along with Heather Bertinetti, Sara Jenkins, Jennifer McCoy, Meg Grace, Kiyomi Toda-Burke & Sandra Palmer. I am so so so excited to meet, and work among these amazing chefs!

Feel like you missed out because you didn't know about it in time? April 15, 2011. Save the date. Peels luncheon at the James Beard House. Be there or be perpendicular.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

culinary school changes the playing field. for all cooks.

In High School it became apparent to me I would not score as high as my friends on the SAT. Because I didn't have money. The test didn't cost any money. But the tutoring did. And the more money you {your parents, that is} paid, the higher your score.

You still had to pay for college, but that initial number increased your chances to get into the school of your choice. Or the choicest school.

I do poorly on tests like the SAT. It turned out I got into all the colleges I applied for. But not because I did well on the SAT. Because I was being judged as much on my skills as I was for my grades. No, maybe more. I applied with a portfolio. I applied with a craft, for a craft.

And crafts need to be practiced, for years, in order to gain proficiency.

Natural born talent helps, but even brilliance needs to be polished, honed, trained, exercised.

I think of culinary school the way I think of a vacation at Club Med. Never gonna happen for me. I've never had the money to live, even temporarily, in a walled environment. Must be nice. For those folks. Sounds abominable. Privilege breeds privilege. Wish I could relax like that for a spell. O I would take such advantage of such an opportunity!

It's confusing.

It's confusing that there's school for a craft. A craft learned over a lifetime. Everyone has to start somewhere, I reckon, but why does it cost so much money? What are those culinary students learning that I haven't/can't learn, just by working in kitchens and practicing this craft, every day?

And where, on the continuum of cooking, learning to cook, do those culinary students get propelled to, when they graduate? How many years did they "miss" by going to school?

Did culinary school give them a clear understanding of the demands this industry expects? To show up every day. Never call in sick. Never have a weekend off. Never be able to sit down on a 16 hour shift? Work injured, work hurt, work sick, work without days off. Work every night. Every weekend. Work all the time.

Did culinary school ever tell them that a craft is a verb, not a noun?

Did culinary school ever tell them that "Yes, Chef" is all the answer our superiors should hear when they've made a correction on our work, on our attitude, on our appearance, on our plates, on our work ethic?

"You're not doing these kids a favor by coddling them. You're crippling them."

I know you think I hate culinary schools. Perhaps you think that deep within me I wish I had been able to go-- to have been able to afford to go. You'd be right on all accounts.

I don't hate culinary school or graduates of culinary students as a rule.

I despise the privilege. I despise the cooks waiting for a formal invitation to learn, to grow, to challenge themselves, to do for their fellow cooks and chefs something outside their own eyesight.

I detest the attitude shift. Wave after wave of culinary students graduate every few weeks in America and where are they? Why aren't they applying for restaurants with whole animal programs? Why can't they last more than a few weeks in a bakery? How come they don't know basic information about seasonal produce, or better yet: how not to waste food?!

I think culinary schools are somehow teaching their students that all they have to do to get an education is to pay for it. And that once they start getting paid themselves, education will just arrive on a conveyor belt and they won't have to work for it or stoop down to pick it up or wait patiently or do thousands of hours of repetitive tasks. They think that with that school certificate they will be the foreman before being the apprentice.

I've seen cooks fired for shrugging their shoulders and blaming their commis, their prep staff, even their sous chefs, for their fucked up mis en place. When did personal responsibility become a thing of the past? If it's "always someone else's fault," when will you challenge yourself to become better, cleaner, faster?

In New York City most line cooks walk into a line that is fully prepped for them. They do not butcher their own protein, they do not peel their own fava beans, they do not wash their own stoves, they do not wash their own tools, they show up at their call time and punch out and drink a staff drink and

if they think that the chefs and sous chefs and prep cooks

who do all that prep for them, every day, who know

how to butcher, how to make charcuterie, how to bake bread, how to cure a ham or make marmalade or roll out a really tender pate brisee, how to prep their own fucking station-- from start to finish,

are going are to

invite

them to learn,

they are in for a big surprise. Because no fucking invitation will be written for them.

And the craft will be diluted

by those who think the fast track is a school an education few people can afford.

Memorializing the Living. or, celebrating people before they're dead.

For a few years now I've had an idea. I've thought about how terrible it is for the dead to miss their own obituaries. I've often wondered if a person's quality of life might be bettered if she/he knew how appreciated they were. I've had the idea to memorialize the living, not merely the deceased.

I've seen newspaper writers vie to be the ones who set down those words describing those lives as past tense. And I've witnessed thin, hungry and absent obituaries. Unattended memorials. Wordless friends, affection starved grief. 

I've read final books, written in someone's last years, and memoirs written in what we call someone's mid-life. We're really lucky if people we love and admire set down words, create art and leave us with something to hear them by, after they die. But it doesn't mean we should wait until they're gone to celebrate them, and what they mean to us, while they are still alive and meandering, imperfectly along, weaving in, like knitted yarn, through their lives and ours.

It can really embarass someone to tell them how much you appreciate their presence in your life. I have friends and colleagues for whom these words would make their skin crawl with disgust. I work for and with and have working for me, people for whom words like this would make them run screaming.

The person who thinks they are the best is the same narcissist who thinks they are the worst.

Some of us are very hard on ourselves. And positive or negative words from those we admire feel the same: like a lie.

I used to work with someone who would have never let you finish a sentence of sappyness. Macho. Or macha, as sex-specific romance language goes. Compliments and criticisms went to the same place with her: on the floor. She wasn't having any of it. Just get the work done. And have a drink after work. Or six. But then one morning, on a day everyone in my generation will remember, she died. Destroyed, evaporated, murdered. Few words left behind. To write any felt impossibly difficult and necessary both.

The difficult and the necessary.

What eggbeater is about. As you know, I sometimes say what no one wants to hear. I sometimes speak for those who can not. I hope to speak from the heart of my industry. {all is fair in love & war} I write words free of sponsored agenda. I work inside real kitchens with real people and real issues, personal and political, domestic and international, human and historical.

I want my idea to become real. I'm going to start writing Living Memorials.

Some of them might be formal, some of them all-inclusive, some of people you have already heard of, some I'm sure don't even know who I am, some of people I've known my whole life.

They will be about people whose lives I find wondrous, complicated, inspiring, joyful, radical, humble, tough, sharp, mysterious, generous, sexy, intense, quixotic, adventurous, frightening, enviable, quiet, colorful and more or less, depending on how you see and experience them yourself.

And I would like you to join me.

If you take up space online, please consider this an open invitation to write a Living Meme too.

There are no rules, none that I'm going to make, at any rate. I just want to see more celebratory words set down about people who are alive and actively living, doing, being. Foibles and all.

put some gratitude in your attitude. now.

Dear Ungrateful, Pouty, Self-Entitled, Spoiled Cooks,

   Did anyone ever teach you to say Thank You? Out loud?

   When was the last time you noticed how accomodating, how helpful, how understanding, how supportive your chef, team, management was? Did you thank anyone? Out loud? Why not? What the fuck are you waiting for?

   Have you stopped for one minute to take a look around? When was the last time you helped someone from another department, another station, another side of the kitchen? Do you know the names of the people you work with? Have you tried to learn any kitchen Spanish?

   When was the last time you looked at someone else's list and asked them if they needed any help? When was the last time you taught something? Asked to learn something new?

   Have you ever asked someone in the restaurant, not in your department, what the challenges of their job are, for them? Have you ever imagined yourself in the dishwasher's shoes?

---------

Let me tell you a story.

In late 1998 I found myself working at The French Laundry. Now you can say anything you want about that, but it would all be bullshit, unless you were there.

For all the glitter and gilt and faerie dust surrounding this famous restaurant, it was a small, mean, competitive kitchen in a town the size of an elbow in the middle of a mono-cropped valley dedicated to the growing of wine grapes. This meant that on my way to work I watched crop dusters spray poison quietly. This meant that on my way to work I watched tractors kick up soil and on my way home the same tractors, doing the same thing. This meant that on my way to work I watched hot air balloons ascend and thousands of Mexican men tend to the precious vines. It was idyllic and hell. Fake and real.

The winter I arrived the President declared a National State of Emergency for Napa. It rained and flooded and people's livelihoods were taken down the river.

And in the summer, Napa is hot. 120F from 7 am-10pm for 16 days straight hot. You don't pee or sweat or cry hot.

Thomas Keller designed the kitchen that you see today at his restaurant. Every detail thought of by him. Implemented, paid for, by him.

On the very first day I arrived at the restaurant, I noticed the windows. The French Laundry kitchen has windows.

So the day he installed an awning over the walk-in, which was outside, I noticed. That day I did not get soaking wet on my way to and from the walk in. I walked right up to my Chef, and thanked him. Aloud. We shook hands. Because that's how TK works. Manners. Old School. Proper.

I thanked him for the windows too. He looked bewildered.

"This is the first kitchen I have ever worked in with windows in the kitchen. Windows that were not sealed or blocked or locked. Windows that see out, windows that open, that's wonderful. Thank you for doing that, Chef."

You know why?

Because he fucking put them there, that's why.

Because he wanted windows for his staff, for his kitchen. His kitchen: his   h o m e.    So we could see out, so diners could see in.

I thanked him aloud a lot. Because after working for a bit in this godless industry, I knew.

I knew that nothing should be taken for granted. No one, nothing.

----------

I think I've spoiled my cooks. Especially my new ones. I give them all their schedule requests. I give them 2 days off in a row. I give them weekends off. Holidays. They get to take home food. They get paid for every hour they work. They get a great staff meal, more than a few times a day. They work 5 days a week. I'm in the kitchen, doing production alongside them, every day. I teach and support and answer questions and problem solve.

You could say they're just doing their job and I'm just doing mine.

And what's there to fucking complain about?

It's common manners they lack. Upper Management offered each and every one of them a gift for their Thanksgiving dinner and not a single one of them a. thanked management or b. took the gift.

I was mystefied. Stunned. Disappointed. Angry. Livid.

Ashamed.

Self-Entitled much?

The self deserving thing? The "I see you do all these things to accommodate me but I want more more more and no I won't say thank you or show my appreciation in any way"? Yeah, no. Yeah, no and fuck you very much.

---------

    When you are ungrateful you disrespect your fellows, your parents, your kitchen, your support staff, your chef.

    When you are ungrateful you disrespect yourself.

    When you can't say "Thank You," outloud, for anything... Those gifts? That support? Those schedule requests? Those days off in a row? That list I let you pass off to someone else? That raise? That set schedule? Those holidays off? Yeah, they stop happening. poof!    D   i  s a p   p    e     a       r.

    Gratitude.

    Put it in your attitude.

    Right quick, yo.

    Thank your train conductor for getting you home safe. Thank the cashier at the grocery store. Thank the dishwashers. Every fucking day, yo. Treat the dishwashers with the respect you think you deserve for once. Thank the cooks who make your staff meal. Thank your chef for taking the time with you. Thank the Sous Chefs because their job is thankless. Thank the architect for the high ceilings and the incandescent lightbulbs. Thank the service staff for selling your baked goods.

    EVEN IF YOU THINK YOU DESERVE WHAT SOMEONE IS GIVING YOU, SAY THANK YOU ANYWAY.

    {Esteemable acts build self respect.}

                                                                      Thank you could go viral.

    Say Thank You. Give it freely. Give it out a lot. Give it aloud. Shake people's hands, look them in the eye. These little old fashioned things? They mean the world. To even the most cynical, modern youth.

    Give Thanks. And not merely on Thanksgiving. Believe me when I say a little goes a long long way on the road to earning respect in this industry: cooks do not get respect without earning it first.

    Say Thank You and Mean It. DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. Thankful is a verb, an action. If you mean thank you then you act thank you then everyone feels your gratitude.

    Gratitude.

    Put it in your attitude.   

    Or at least think about what I've said.

    If you're lucky, you'll be able to thank me later.

 

for cooks only; an unapology.

i don't know what inspires you
i don't know who inspires you
i don't know why you continue to get up in the morning
i don't know why you do what you do
i don't know why i didn't die before i turned 30
i should have
that was the direction i was heading
fast
furious

i don't know
and you don't either.
you can't
because it's not ours to know
maybe we can guess
but it really doesn't fucking matter
because all you have is now.
and what is your now?
is life happening to you
or are you in it?

you might be wondering, what is my fucking point here?
I better make it soon because you were just demolished by service and your kitchen was too damn hot tonight and the dishwasher broke in the middle of service and the most expensive protein in the walk in went off and the cream delivery never came in and no one noticed and you're starting with a longer 86 list tomorrow than your prep list
and
and and and.

i don't know what inspires you.
but i hope you know.
at least some of the time
because
it's so important
to know why we do what we do
but I'm not talking about some intellectual bullshit
that's not what you're going to be able to lean into
when you're so tired you can't remember how you got home
even though you aren't drunk or high
and perhaps haven't been
for some time.
a lot of time, even.

i hope you know what inspires, what motivates you, to go on
because you are going to fucking need it.
need it like a vein needs to be tied.
need it like a baby needs to be fed
need it like a dog needs direction
need.
i kid you not, yo.
because when you get home and the voices start
you will need to know why
because when your family or your friends or your partner or your community
call
and call out your name
and call you out
you are going to need to know

why

even if it makes no fucking sense
even if it seems absurd
even if it's absolutely crazy.

it's ok to love it and be passionate but
fire burns bright
and it burns out
and is indiscriminate
in who it burns
along the way.

i wish you a long, slow journey.
i wish you an intentional journey.
i wish for you the strength it takes to make an unapology
to be the kind of selfish that not all the bad kind.
i wish for you humility.
i wish for you a mentor, a teacher.
i wish for you to uncover learning and epiphanies and loyalties
where you least fucking expect it.

this profession takes heart.

serious.

so,
i don't know what inspires you
i don't know who inspires you
i don't know why you continue to get up in the morning
i don't know why you do what you do

but i hope you take some time to think about it

because you will be tested
your heart and your body and your psyche and your original book
and your mind
and your goals
and your ego
will be tested
and you will be slammed up against a wall
over and over and over and over
and you will be challenged
to assess and reassess and
i wish for you

clarity.

i wish for you at least one person in your life
who you know loves you no matter what
mistakes you make
and that you trust that person enough to listen to everything they have to say
even if you're so uncomfortable that you want to zip off your skin and run away forever
because you're going to need people to lean into
when you barely know yourself anymore.
you're going to need to be reminded
why.

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.

 

Star Chefs Congress. when chefs watch chefs.

we learn from each other. we learn from those who speak the same language as us. we like to see new toys, we like to play, we like to gawk and star fuck and snack. we network, we stand back, we jump in, we press our jackets and we show up late. we meet & greet. we are awkward and full of hubris. we think we're above it all and we know we're so so        small.       we know we have so much to learn.                   we think we know it all. we think tv has made us. we want tv to make us.                                          we toil away quietly. we blend into the crowd and we wear patten leather clogs. we spike our hair and get new ink and we have disdain for all that shit.         we use hydrocolloids and make excuses and we just cook. we get our hands dirty and we haven't picked up a saute pan in years. we only sharpen our own knives on a stone and we use electric knives.

we.

we. cannot be contained by one definition.

chef.

what does it mean anyway.

but what i do know is this.

i found my calling. the first time i put on a chef's white double buttoned jacket i was home. and i didn't even know what home was. not ever. but i knew.

and that doesn't mean i don't doubt. that i don't falter and get lost and lose it. to be inspired is a grace, not a guarantee.

love does not promise.

life has no clock.

who you meet, what you see, what you taste, who you taste, words you read, music you hear, fruit you pick, who you watch, who learns you, who you thank, who thanks you, what press you get, what fame you have to live up to, what you chase, who you chase, contracts you sign, how you struggle, what you lose, who you lose

all of this is fleeting. memory. rememory d.

*

a few nibbles from my live tweets~

"Cuisine is dynamic. Anything that uses the vagaries of ingredients, and that those ingredients change, fuel innovation." David Kinch

Dan Barber called out the concept of "trend-ifying" professional cooking/cheffing by talking shut about our "Media Climate." nice. Word.

"Food is ephemeral. It becomes a memory after you eat it. It should provokes thought & make you learn something." David Kinch

"It doesn't matter how good it looks on the beautiful porcelain plate/wood/ metal. If it doesn't taste really really good..." Thomas Keller

Next dessert is about spring. We don't have rhubarb because winter is very long. So we thought green. Green is the colour of spring. Patrice Demers

Instead of using sugar in apple sorbet we use the ice apple juice." Patrice Demers

What does a chef do? He cooks. And cooking is a craft. Cooking is repetition. And one must learn the craft. ~Thomas Keller

"it's the chef's responsibility to nurture." Thomas Keller

*

when we go to these conferences we rate ourselves, compare. we see who we aspire to be and those who we would rather die than become. we say we'll never sell out or we look for better ways to sign our soul off.

i went to learn what i know already. that i love my people. that i despise and desire the industry and i will forever be beholden to the craft. that the media is a hungry machine with no teeth and taste buds. it swallows whole like the cyclops, never satiated.

but in the fight to leap into its eyeless clutches or to pry ourselves from its grasp, we, if we open our eyes and hearts and minds, can see and feel and taste and smell and learn so

much.

we hear our words in the mouths of others. we laugh and we are understood. 

we learn from each other. we learn from those who speak the same language as us. whether the alphabet or the intonations are the same, or not. we speak the same language. when we pick up a knife or taste an apple or whisk a warm cream or build a story with disparate textures.

*

a lot of people these past days thanked me for writing eggbeater. it is an honor. thank you for working the line every night, and the ovens every day. thank you for upholding this craft i love with all my heart.

thank you for riding the storm with me. sfl

{you know you're}opening a restaurant{when you}

you know you're opening a restaurant when you

wake up every morning at 7 am regardless of how late/early you went to bed
wake up shaky even though you haven't touched caffeine in weeks
forget to eat until dinner time
don't know what day, date, season it is
forget what you forgot
start erasing more emails than you read, write or answer put together
start paying someone to do your laundry
think that the morning of today happened during a different week
interview and offer jobs in the same hour
make prep lists the size of your first knitted scarf you couldn't figure out how to bind off on
stop seeing your bank account drop in funds
start emptying your home fridge into the trash
stop buying food for your house
stop answering personal calls
stop getting personal calls
discontinue to commute/walk/ride anywhere that's not in your restaurant's vicinity
stop knowing what's happening in the world/your city
forget what 'news' is
forget what daytime looks like
stop eating meals and begin eating tests
forget that you own, or have ever worn, any other clothes but your whites
start looking at 'normal' people like they're zoo animals
realize normal people are looking at you funny
don't notice people looking at anything
don't notice anything

you know you're opening a restaurant when you
start missing yourself.