random thoughts of an obsessed chef
Well we made it. It was one year ago today, April 1, April Fool's Day, we opened the doors and a life long dream of mine came true. My wife, my youngest son, Jen my partner, and myself all stood there scared out of our minds and not knowing what to expect. Theresa and Calvin had no restaurant experience and their training consisted of a 15 minuet run through of proper service, and then on the floor they went. We did 16 for lunch and 14 for dinner, all of whom were friends and family, and all of whom we were deeply grateful for their early support.
One year. Wow. The first year is often the hardest to survive for a restaurant. I think the mortality rate is around 75% of all restaurant close in their first year, but not us, and the simple fact for this has been the wonderful support we have received from the community. We thank all of you who have dinned with us and supported us in this first year.
Now that this mile stone has past we look to the future with more than the hope of survival, which was our simple first year goal. We now look forward with expectations and plans. We have our cookbook coming out in September. We are planning a community garden for this summer in the space next to the restaurant. The market continues to grow and we have more leads on local products that will make it even better, and we have other things in the works.
Today is just another day, however. Today we will open for lunch at 11:00 and dinner at 5:00. Since it's spring break for the kids it will be slow and I don't expect to set the world on fire. But in another sense today is special and no matter how slow we are today I will be grateful we are still here.
Today is a sad day. Today one of my best friends, Senior Master Sargent Steven Grandalski is shipping out for his second tour of duty in Iraq. Him and his wife Keri, along with their 2 children are the bravest people I know. I want thank them for their service to our country and for keeping me free.
Thank you Steve and Keri, and may you have godspeed in your return.
As all of you know, cooking if my one passion; my one obsession. But recently I have began to question the place of cooking in my life. What I mean is where does it fit? What's the purpose of cooking in my life. In a way this blog has been the vehicle with which I explore cooking's place in my life, so it shouldn't come as any surprise to me when I begin questioning why I cook. But this recent episode of questioning reaches down deeper inside. I don't know if I am looking for direction or connection. My gut feeling is I'm trying to see where I am connected in my endeavor.
Paul Tillich, an existential theologian, and the one theologian that speaks most to me, spoke often of man's "Ultimate Concern" when referring to god. Faith, according to Tillich is the state of being ultimately concerned. Now, because Tillich's idea of ultimate concern is not the easiest concept to understand, in fact some wonder if even Tillich understood it completely, I'm not going to get into it. If you are interested here is a link to a very good discussion. But I bring up "ultimate concern" because Tillich argued that ones ultimate concern cannot be something finite, hence, my cooking no matter how passionate I am with it cannot stand in the place of my ultimate concern. If cooking cannot bring me fulfillment then what does it do? This is the question now before me.
Cooking by itself will not bring fulfillment. It can't, it's grounded in finite existence, but cooking can be that which leads me to that which concerns me ultimately; at least I hope. Aristotle taught that by living a virtuous life we can find happiness and part of living a virtuous life is living a life where the social good of man is the highest aim we can aim for, this is where a proper use of the political life springs. To put it another way, when we put social concerns above our individual desires we are living rightly and will find ourselves more fulfilled and hence happier. My cooking needs to take that next step where I no longer cook for sake to cook, but I cook for a greater end; an end that takes aim at man's ultimate concern. Is the greater good of man our goal? For now I don't know, but I am going to start off in that direction and see where it leads me if for no other reason than it will be a good journey. I do know owning a restaurant for the sake of owning one or for making money is no reason to own one. There must be a higher aim for us. We are coming up to the first anniversary of the restaurant and we have reached the goal we set for ourselves, just survive the first year. Now that we have done that I want to look ahead with loftier ideals for the restaurant and market. What are they? Have not a clue, but give me time and these ideals will present themselves; a path for us will be made clear. What I do know is I am enjoying the adventure.
Chin Shengt'an was an 17th century scholar who, while staying in a temple with a friend for ten days because of foul weather, wrote 33 happy moments. While I don't find all or even most of his moments all that happy for me, I do re-read them from time to time just so I can think of my own happy moments in life. For the next few posts I want to give you my 33 happy moments in the kitchen. I hope you enjoy them but more importantly, I hope it makes you think of what your happy moments are while cooking.
1. It's early in the morning and I walk into my kitchen. There are no sounds. The hood isn't on yet. There are no people talking or making noise. It's only me. I slowly begin putting together my work station while thinking quietly about the day ahead. Ah, is this not happiness?
2. The restaurant is full and the kitchen is very busy but the cooks are all dancing with each other flawlessly. The sound of pots hitting the stove top. The sound of knives on the cutting boards. The sound of the chef calling his tickets. Ah, is this not happiness?
3. The look of a perfectly cooked piece of fish. Ah, is this not happiness?
4. I had a guest ask me about how to poach an egg. I wasn't busy and invited her to come into the kitchen to show her. After discovering it isn't all that difficult, she smiled. Ah, isn't that happiness.
5. I hire a dishwasher who has had some bad breaks in life. She has no or little education and often comes with a record. After a few months of washing dishes he shows an interest in learning to cook and I teach him. A few years go by and I hear from her and learn that cooking has given her a good life. Ah, is this not happiness?
6. A couple comes into the restaurant for their anniversary but it is soon apparent they don't have much money to spend. The man, though he doesn't readily show it, wishes he had more so his beautiful bride could have a nice dinner. Without making a show of it, we roll out the red carpet and send them extra courses on top of what they have already ordered. They leave satiated and happy without ever knowing what we did. Ah, is this not happiness.
7. It is late afternoon. I brew a pot of my favorite tea and take it down to the dock on the river just behind the restaurant. I watch the ducks diving for food while drinking my tea, and looking up I see my wife coming down to meet me. Ah, is this not happiness?
8. I have had a hard day and notice there are some dishes to be done. Going back to the dish room I get myself lost in just doing dishes and forget about everything else. Ah, is this not happiness?
9. It is winter time and there is a storm raging outside. The restaurant is warm but because of the storm we have no customers. I'm sitting at the table beside our big window looking outside while reading a cookbook and drinking tea. Ah, is this not happiness?
10. It's my day off. The day outside is beautiful. The sun shines and there is a cool breeze, but off in the distant brews a thunderstorm with it's black clouds. I have spent the morning preparing food for the afternoon. The house is full of our best friends drinking wine and eating food. Laughter can be heard and the kids are all running around getting themselves into trouble. I'm sitting in my favorite chair smoking my favorite pipe. Ah, is this not happiness?
11. My son is at the restaurant hanging out with us. He is not doing anything in particular except looking up points of interest on the Internet. Just when I am at my busiest in the kitchen he wants to show me something and I don't really have time, but because he is with us I make time, usually putting an order on hold. He shows me something trivial. We laugh or plan or look at each other knowingly. Ah, is this not happiness?
OK, this is the first 11. I'll post the next 11 in a few days.
As anyone who knows me will tell you, I am a bona fide chef groupie. I follow the careers of the tops chef with a passion. I know Mario Batalli's favorite band is Joy Division. Escoffier was a very devout Catholic and would rub his ear when he got angry. Marco-Pierre White doesn't like music played in his restaurants. Fernande Point loved Champagne so much he drank two bottles a day. Guy Savoy was portrayed as a customer in the French version of Ratatouille, and so forth. I can't get enough information about my favorite chefs. If there was a People magazine for chefs, you could bet I would have a life time subscription. I love finding out small details about those at the top. I get giddy when I discover so-and-so has a goldfish named Bob or some other ridiculous, insignificant detail.
My groupie-ness sometimes can be taken to the extreme where I put on rose colored glasses when it comes to their food and believe these guys can do no wrong. I am also a devout restaurant review reader. There are a number of great websites and blogs who write brutally honest reviews of the top restaurants in the world, and I am a regular reader of these sites. What I like about these sites is the fact that the reviewers are not awe struck by the reputation of the chef or restaurant and will write their honest review of what they thought of the food. While most of the time the reviews do give praise for the greatness of the food and restaurant, there are times when the review does not find that particular meal all that wonderful. It is these reviews I enjoy reading most. It's not because I like dirt but because these reviews are learning experiences for me. I read them trying to see what the writer sees as great, good, and just plain bad, and because these sites are written by seasoned eaters, I generally trust their judgments.
What I look for in a well written review is the writer's (read paying customer) honest take on the food and overall experience. I make it a habit to listen to the honest opinions of those who eat my food. Notice I say, "honest". There are those who are never happy, or find a demented pleasure in telling cooks their food was not so good, and I do not listen to these folks. But, to those who are honest I am thankful.
Often times it difficult for us cooks to really tell how we are doing, and this is because of a couple reasons. Firstly there is the whole can't see the forest because of the trees. You see, we spend our days in the trenches and it is not easy to keep ones bearings straight and it takes a lot of concentration to keep standards up and consistent. Good, honest (read not mean spirited) feed back from the ones eating is always welcomed.
Secondly there is ego. Chefs are an ego driven lot and some of us think we are gods and untouchable. Far to often a chef thinks his/her food is above critique. They often think they are so good that the guest should say nothing, sit there, and eat in gratitude and awe. Bullshit. It is for the guest we cook and it is the guest who has the final say as to the worthiness of a meal. A good, honest review of a meal that did not meet the grade is good for us on occasion. It keeps us on our toes. In the end, it is for you guys we chefs cook for, and in the end it is ultimately your opinion that matters.
OK, I'll take this slow for those of you whom may not understand. Let's pretend you are making a reservation at my restaurant...
ring, ring, ring...
"Thank you for calling The Cooks' House. How may I help you?"
"Yes, I would like to make a reservation for 8 at 7:00pm."
"8 at 7:00pm. Perfect. See you this evening."
It may be me, but I don't see anything there that says, "and we are going to a movie at 8:30". No, I guess it's better to come in and order three courses, take you time, and then at 8:05 tell us you have an 8:30 movie, and this BEFORE you receive your entrees. We must have set a new land speed record getting the entrees for 8 people ready so they can at least get a couple bites before they have to leave.
Guys, listen, do you have somewhere to be at a certain time? Great, no problem. Let your server know and I will guarantee you will get out with time to spare and still be able to enjoy your food. Do not, let me repeat, do not pop that on the the restaurant staff last minute. It's not fair to them, nor you.
There are two type of cooks in the world, bulls and ballerinas. Each has their place and individual roles in the kitchen, and every kitchen needs a healthy mixture of each type. The mix is entirely dependent on the kind of kitchen, for instance, if the kitchen is pumping out buffets or banquets for 100's or even 1000's of people on a regular basis, then it will have the need for more bulls. However, if it is a high end restaurant that is producing world class cuisine where the average guest bill is above the $100 per person mark, then it will have a fair amount of ballerinas dancing around. Get the picture? Bulls are the producers of the bunch. You need 1000 of something made? Give it to a bull, they love these kinds of challenges. You'll get 1000, no guarantee what the place will look like when they are done, but you'll have 1000. Give a ballerina the task of producing 1000 of something and it will take a while, and they may even have a nervous break down in the process, but tell them you need to put tiny drops of vegetable puree around the rim of a dish, all the same distance apart, and in thirty seconds, and they will produce. Give the bull the same task and you will end up with a mess. Bulls cannot be ballerinas and ballerinas cannot be bulls. I have tried to convert each type with no success, but I am convinced that each can learn from the other, and every cook should strive for a happy medium between the two.
Let me give you two example of each extreme. I had this kid working for me that was a mess on the line. No matter how hard he tried he could not get the food on the plate the way I wanted it. Tell him I wanted a dollop and he would plop. He had absolutely no grace in his movements and his plates looked like it, but when I moved him to prep he really came out. This kid was amazing when it came to defeating prep lists. We would leave him prep lists that were epic in proportions and I be damned if he wouldn't have them complete every time we came for the shift. It got to a point where we would put anything we could think of on his lists just to see if he could get them done and he did, each and every time. His speed was truly amazing. He not only completed his lists, he did so without screwing anything up.
OK, contrast him with this little ballerina who worked for me. I'll call her Jane. Jane was painfully slow at everything, but what she did do, she did well. She had a certain grace when she worked. She worked for me as an intern for a couple months during our slow period. We would do 20 people and it would feel like we did 100. It took her forever to plate anything. I don't know how many times I would pound the table screaming at her that I needed HER dish to sell the order. Oh, she would buzz around the kitchen busy as a bee. She was always doing something at 100 mph but getting nothing done. She would come in 2 hours early to start her prep and not be ready when we opened. Sure, she could make beautiful food, but my god, plate tectonics move quicker than she did.
So, what you want to aim for is that happy medium in between the two examples above. The two most important characteristics in a line cook are speed and accuracy. Speed is the bull. Accuracy is the ballerina. A well balanced cook, no matter which side of the line he/she may fall, will have both characteristics, while one will always out shine the other. Discover which one you are and play to your strengths.
What am I? I'm a ballerina, which is good because I look FABULOUS in a tutu.
Well, I just finished the last recipe in the last section of the cookbook. Phew...what a relief. Have no idea what's next in the process, but I'm glad this part is over. I think there are around 100 recipes or so, most of them I have had to do from memory.
Someone asked me this evening when we're going to get on T.V. or on one those cooking competition shows like Iron Chef or Top Chef or the like. My reply was that we're not. Why? Well, it's mostly because my food, our food, is not the type that will win competitions. We don't do theatrics, which is what wins those kinds of shows. We do simple, straight forward food. Our carnival squash soup has 4 ingredients in it; carnival squash, milk, onions, butter. Nothing fancy but in the end what you get is a soup that tastes like, well, carnival squash. Simple, singular, intense flavors is what we aim for. I don't use a lot of garnishes. A vast majority of my plates have no garnish. Take for instance the hanger steak currently on the menu. It's a 7 oz piece of hanger steak served with roasted fingerling potatoes, roasted shallots, and a red wine sauce. That's all that goes on the plate. There is no green stuff, no flair, nothing mind blowing on the plate. It's just a sliced piece of meat with sauce, potatoes, and shallots. Simple and to the point. It has taken me a long time before I felt comfortable enough with my food to forgo unnecessary garnishes. I've seen chefs who have 20 or more garnishes at the ready for all their plates. I have a bag or two of micro-greens, some chopped chive and maybe...no wait, that's all. I think it is an important statement to the guest when the chef doesn't find it necessary to doll up the food. I think it says the chef is confident in what he/she is serving in what it is and no more. I am getting closer and closer to my ideal of what a plate should be like.
I like to think my food is finally taking me by my hand and leading me into that simpler life I long for. A chef's food is directly tied to the chef's world view; to her dreams and beliefs; to his life as he lives it. A chef cooks from the totality of what makes them human and I am trying to let my food guide me to a simpler way of things. I find myself facing Plato's cave where what I see is not what is real. I see in my cave, shadows on the wall that merely point to what is real and sometimes during the day while cooking I catch a glimpse of the reality my heart can only see. When I plate a dish and look at and see it's simple beauty setting there unadorned by any unnecessary garnish or when I make a pan sauce for my duck with nothing put the pan the duck was cooked in and some stock and it comes out wonderfully, I am transported to that reality I long for. Like the prisoner who was released from the cave to see the sun, my food often releases me from the shackles of life and grants me a chance to see the beauty that can be found in life. Slowly, ever so slowly, I am beginning to understand I don't have to keep up with the Ramsey's to be happy in what I do. I am beginning to feel comfortable with my desire to take it slow and not heap to much on the plate. Today while talking with the farmer who supplies me with garlic, shallots, and potatoes, I saw in him a quiet happiness that comes from him having his small farm. He isn't going for riches or fame or glory, instead he is farming from his heart and finding happiness in the process. My cave wall still has a lot of shadows on it and it will for some time to come, but I am happy that at least once a day when I look at my food I see the sun for what it is.
Well folks, you've had to sit through 99 posts of drivel and now I present number 100. When I started the blog I was employed in a restaurant that was sucking the very life out of my cooking (not to mention my very existence) and I began to blog to help keep my sanity, but now 100 posts later I am co-owner of not only a restaurant but also a neighborhood market. How far I've come in just a few words.
Here is a link to a recent interview Jen and I did for the opening of the market. Hope you enjoy it and if you live in the Traverse City area hope we will see you soon in the market.
The market is coming along very nicely. We have filled the shelves with produce that is in season. Yes, you can get fresh local vegetables in Northern Michigan even though there is a foot or two of snow on the ground. We also feature a number of take out items ranging from East Indian curries to meat loaf. There are sweets, breads, milk, a bunch of Michigan made cheeses, eggs, and the like. Don't forget about teas and coffee.
Hope to see you soon and lets see where the next 100 posts take us.
Today while taking a break from my usual hectic schedule I was drinking a pot of tea and reading through one of my favorite books called "The Book of Tea", by Kakuzo Okakura. I have found a copy online for you to read. I have copied the first two paragraphs of the book below for your enjoyment because they speak so much to me and always remind me why I love tea so much. Hope you get a chance to read the whole book, but if not, I hope you at least enjoy the first two paragraphs:
Tea began as a medicine and grew into a beverage. In China, in the eighth century, it entered the realm of poetry as one of the polite amusements. The fifteenth century saw Japan ennoble it into a religion of aestheticism--Teaism. Teaism is a cult founded on the adoration of the beautiful among the sordid facts of everyday existence. It inculcates purity and harmony, the mystery of mutual charity, the romanticism of the social order. It is essentially a worship of the Imperfect, as it is a tender attempt to accomplish something possible in this impossible thing we know as life.
The Philosophy of Tea is not mere aestheticism in the ordinary acceptance of the term, for it expresses conjointly with ethics and religion our whole point of view about man and nature. It is hygiene, for it enforces cleanliness; it is economics, for it shows comfort in simplicity rather than in the complex and costly; it is moral geometry, inasmuch as it defines our sense of proportion to the universe. It represents the true spirit of Eastern democracy by making all its votaries aristocrats in taste.
What I love most about those words is how they do not make excuses for the imperfections we find in everyday life, but in fact celebrate them, and raise them to a place of beauty and of art. Tea, as Mr. Okakura tells it, is all about finding what is possible in this life. Tea is victorious in its simple outlook! I especially love his use of the word, "tender" when referring to our attempt to find the possible in the impossible. Tender means given to gentleness and sentimentality as one dictionary defines it, and these are two qualities people generally do not associate with myself, though I would disagree. Sure, I am not the sappy type and I do not goo goo and ga ga over things nor will you find me overly emotional, but I do have a soft streak in me, though you may have to look a bit and over look some of my gruffness, but I digress.
I actually read the word "tender" in this context as not pushing your way through life but being delicate with it. To be tender in this way is to see life as something that is fragile or easily hurt, and life, like a great cup of tea, is fragile and easily ruined if not made with care. The movement of life is subtle and if we are tender with it we will find ourselves able to follow its movements and flow with them instead of battling against them.
I often will spend time just looking at the tea after I pour a cup and find myself simply enjoying the way it looks in the cup. The way it reflects the light and the beauty of its clarity and the delicacy of its color. What is tea really but a few leaves steeped in hot water? But to make a perfect cup of tea takes a life time of practice. There are thousands of varieties of tea in the world and each and every comes from a single plant. How one treats the leaves from the plant "camellia sinensis" determines its flavor. Call me Captain Obvious, but I'm going to point it out anyway; though we all stem from a single source, our shared humanity, we all do not taste the same, and how we treat our lives will be the final judge of its final flavor. My life, like tea, is easy to make, but to make it well takes tenderness, and tenderness is something I find myself having to renew daily.
Hi All.
A quick note to let everyone know our Wellington Street Market will be opening this up coming Monday the 15th. For those of you living in the Traverse City area we hope to see you, and ask that you help us spread the good word.
We are opening up with a menu of 23 or so take items ranging from Jen's famous pizzas to East Indian food developed by our good friends from Kuri Guru, Himanshu and Mutka, to grab and go sandwiches and soups and a good selection of sweets, plus a few more items.
We plan on adding to the grocery side of the market as time goes on to eventually make it into a classic neighborhood market.
Hope to see everyone soon.
Someone left a comment on my last post wondering what my second worst ever was in the kitchen. Well I'll tell you. It was a Friday night and we had 100 reservations on the books. When doing the prep work for the evening the cook will always find out how many covers is expected for the evening and make his mis en place accordingly. After working any given station for a couple weeks one can usually make a pretty educated guess on how much of every item will be sold for the up coming service, and with this knowledge prep what he/she will need.
I was the meat cook on this occasion and I knew that for 100 covers 20 orders of rack of lamb should be sufficient, and was very comfortable with that number. It was a popular item and 20 orders represented 20% of all the entrees that would be sold that evening. I also had fillet of beef coming of my station and had prepped 30 or so orders because on any given night fillet always sold better than lamb, but not on this given night.
The evening started out and I should have known it was no going to go my way. The first few orders took out at least 8 of my 20 orders leaving me with 12 to finish the evening with. I guess I should let you know that the 20 orders I had prepped was all we had thawed out. The chef kept extra racks in the freezer for emergency reasons but because we were getting in more racks the next day I didn't bother taking any out to defrost, to call this a miscalculation would be an understatement.
So now with every order coming in I would develop a knot in my stomach hoping not to hear, "ordering (insert number) lamb(s)", and with each order my once ample supply of lamb dwindled. When I got down to 5 orders I told the chef I had 5 orders and we would have to 86 after that. No go buddy. He told me that was my problem and that I had better get some frozen ones in running water right now because he was not going to 86 lamb on a Friday night. So I ran to the freezer in a panic and threw 8 racks being 16 orders of lamb into some running water to thaw them out. The five orders I had ready quickly were ordered and now it was only the frozen, and I emphasize frozen, ones I had to work with.
From here the night gets a little blurry. All I remember is the chef ordering more and more lamb and my not having any of it to cook. Remember, what I did have was a solid block of ice in the back sink. Had the night stopped there I would have survived but it quickly took a turn for the worse. The next thing I remember is the chef calling pick up on orders of lamb I did not have. Why, because they were still frozen and I could not clean them and hence could not cook them. Well, the chef began to get pretty angry with me and in no uncertain terms explained I had better get some lamb in the "god damn" oven because I was the one holding up the entire service. Remember that sick feeling I spoke of in my last post? The dizziness and confusion that can overcome a cook in these situations, it was worse than that. I wanted to throw up. I couldn't think straight. I ran back to the sink to grab the still frozen racks and made a pathetic attempt to clean them. Mind you, we are still ordering and picking up other tickets while I'm doing this. I'm firing and picking up fillets, chickens, ducks, and other items during all of this, and by this point I am a blob of jello.
"Pick up 3 lamb, medium rare", calls the chef
The usual reply would either be, "oui chef", or "3 lamb medium rare", not in my case. I replied, "The lamb isn't ready chef."
"Not ready? Why the hell not?"
"Because it's still frozen on my cutting board."
"Get it in the oven!!! Fire the f@#*ing lamb!!!". I think he may have a minor heart attack but I'm not sure.
So here I am firing frozen lamb for orders that are ready to be picked up. To put how bad this into perspective, on any given day a medium rare rack of lamb will take about 15-20 minutes to cook and need to rest another 8-10 minutes. So in a perfect situation the quickest a rack of lamb can be sent to table is 30 minuets. Not these racks. They are frozen. They will have to thaw in the oven before they even think about cooking. We are now looking at at least 60 minutes before these babies go out, also remember that the guest has already been in the restaurant for at least 1 hour 15 minutes eating other courses before the entree would come out, making the total time from ordering to eating their food over two hours. Completely unacceptable and boy did I get it.
From here on out it's only bits and pieces I remember. At some point I shut down. I was way past wanting to cry. I completely forgot how to cook. I was worthless and the chef knew it. He mercifully 86'd lamb and we took the remaining pick ups slowly. I could only pick up one order at a time because I could not concentrate past that. Mind you, on a busy night cooks will be picking up anywhere between 1-5 orders, sometimes more, at a time while at the same time taking more orders from the chef. It can be pretty chaotic but any experienced line cook can do it with no problems. Not me, not that evening. I have never before or since that evening been that bad off. It was so bad the chef didn't say anything to me about it ever again. I wasn't called to the office for a royal ass chewing or anything. It just was never spoken of again.
Eleven o'clock finally came around. I cleaned up my station and went home. I really don't know how many lamb orders I cooked that night. I do know it was over 30. When I cleaned up my station I still had more than half of the fillets I prepped. I guessed wrongly.
I have burnt into my memory two of the worst days in cooking career. The first was just not long after I took my first chefs position. The night in question was New Years Eve, 1993. My boss told me we would take no more than 150 reservations and to plan a menu accordingly. I went to work. This was my first time being at the sharp end of the stick and I wanted to impress. I had everything ordered. We did some of the prep the day before. I came in early on News Years Eve to make sure everything ran smooth. Around 11:00am or so in walks my boss. He tells me we are up to 200 and to expect 250. Excuse me, 200 but plan on 250? I thought 150 was the mark we were aiming for? I still get that same sick feeling in my stomach when I think of it that I had when he told me. Plan for 100 covers more than I was told, then I am prepped for, and more than I ordered for. We were still prepping when the doors opened up.
Never, and I mean never, have I been hit so hard and so fast with tickets than I was that evening. "We're open" quickly was followed by a barrage of orders that came at me so fast I was lost the first 10 minutes and didn't find my way back until the last ticket came in. The entire night was a total disaster. People left angry. I didn't have enough food. The boss was mad at me. The waiters were mad at me. The only ones on my side were my cooks. About mid way through this hell I felt like sitting down and crying. Walking out never looked so good.
For those of you who have never cooked professionally probably don't know this feeling I am talking about. Every cook on the planet has had one of those nights were they just wanted to sit down and cry. One of those evenings where you are so far in the weeds you have no idea what is coming and what is going. One of those rushes where the tickets just keep coming in and you get further, and further behind. Usually in the midst of this mess you are so confused you don't know which way is up. You moves become erratic. The plates you are trying to sell get sloppy. The chef is typically losing his mind because of you. It really is one of the worst feelings on earth. Having your puppy ran over before your eyes is better than this. Believe me. It's something every cook hopes will not happen to him/her, but it's something that does eventually happens, no matter how hard you try. Luckily, as one matures and gains more experience, these nightmare moments become rarer and rarer.
It was during one of these moments I had one of the most important insights of my career. I don't exactly remember the rush or just how bad I was in the weeds, but I do remember thinking to myself, "You know Patterson, elven o'clock has to come sometime", and by that I understood that eventually the last order would come in, we would clean up, and we would go home. No matter how bad the rush is. No matter how far in the weeds I may be. No matter how ugly it is, eleven o'clock will come. There is no stopping that.
I have since since that day started applying that philosophy to my everyday life. When things start going wrong. When the bottom seems to be dropping out on me and nothing is as it should, I try to tell myself that 11:00 has to come. That this too will pass and tomorrow, or next week, or next year, has to come eventually come. That no matter how bad it looks today if I don't allow myself to get drug down, I am assured that it can't be like this always. I don't get all Polly Anna and crap like that. I don't own rose colored sun glasses. In fact, those who know me will tell you that I am a pessimist by nature, but what I am not is a defeatist. I plan on the worst to happen, but I also know if it does, that it won't last forever. Change is a natural part of life. What goes wrong today will go right tomorrow, or eventually at least. Eleven o'clock will come back around and I'll clean up my station, and I will go home.
Last night when I got home from the restaurant I went to my son's room, which happens to be the basement of the house, to hang out with him. I do this most every night because I just like being with him and catching up on his day. I have said before that there will be too many things in life I will miss because of my profession, but I will not miss my boy growing up and he will not have a distant dad.
Calvin is learning to play the bass guitar. He takes weekly lessons. He looks up tabs of his favorite songs on the internet and more often than not he plays for me what he has been learning while I'm down in his room. Last night he was playing his heart out on some song he has been working on. His I-Pod is hooked up to an exterior speaker and the song is playing on it while he plays the bass part. He has some time to go before he'll be playing for Metallica or his other favorite band Tool, but he's giving it his best. As I sat there listening last night I had such a feeling of pride for him that made me form some tears in my eyes, at that moment I was so proud of him and to have him as my son.
I've not yet written of my most important source of inspiration, my Mom but last night I caught a glimpse of my Mom's heart and the support she has given me for as long as I can remember. She has always been my biggest fan and my biggest supporter. I look back over my cooking career and at every moment she was there rooting me on, from my beginnings as a lowly apprentice to the opening of the restaurant, every step of the way she has waved my flag with an enthusiasm only a mom could muster. In some of my hardest times as a chef, when all the cards seemed to be stacked against me and I questioned my abilities I would always think of my Mom and how proud she is of me no matter what anyone else thought. She would deny having any influence on my career but in the end she has been the cornerstone that has helped me hold it all together. No matter what, I have always known there is a women in Arizona who thinks I'm the best chef in the world. Thank you Mom.
My obsession with cooking began with an epiphany I had after cooking myself a pan of popcorn on the stove in my childhood home when I was 11 years old. I have since moved beyond that simple dish but my love and fascination for the magic that happens every time I step behind a stove has never wained. I invite you to journey with me as I explore what it means to cook.
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