What's Next?

Hey All! I swear I'm going to start writing again- but this is just a little update to say I'll be moving some of this blog over to the newer, although more limited access site Personal Forking. If you are looking for the last post about working in Chicago, it can be found there- but you'll need to be signed up for Personal Fork to get access. Email me to be added to the list. Otherwise- stay tuned. Here's a much more brief version of Chicago, originally posted a few months ago, soon be followed by the (almost!!) past year spent in SF.

Here I am, nearly 8 months deep into west coast living, and I've just now found time to write about the amazing experiences that brought me to this point. We can thank this found addition of a Saturday off work to a small battle between me, a rondeau, and the floor resulting in 7 stitches on my face- but a moment to sit down and write was long overdue.  Since leaving New York, I've staged in 7 kitchens in 3 states, worked in Chicago, and have been at Flour and Water in San Francisco for the entirety of my time in California…it's about time for a recap.

In the summer, I'd taken a job at probably the most talked about restaurant in the country- excited, scared shitless, and ready to work harder than anyone else. I found out very quickly what I was willing to endure in order to learn, and what I wasn't; what pleases me about cooking, and what really turns me off. Working in a restaurant is hard- no matter which one you choose to devote yourself to- Michelin starred or not, it’s a grind that is incomparable to any other line of work, but each individual has to find their balance, and then draw a line.
There are some incredible minds at work in those kitchens, and I had the honor of working by their side for a short period of time and soaked up priceless knowledge- but that's not the life for me.

A few weeks into life at X, my Dad came into town for dinner where I spent the entirety of the meal gulping down tears while he curiously poked around at my new job.  I didn't want to spill out all of the tears that welled up every night onto our table- I've always been a hard worker…If I can do anything- it's outwork the next guy.  I couldn't possibly admit to not being able to get through something.  But Dads are…Dads.  They know.  All he had to say was, "You're happiness is the absolute most important thing to me, the prestigious kitchen you're in, is not.  And you should put your happiness first, too."  And like that, everything was clear again.

Endure for a purpose. Endure because you love it.  Endure because once the daily grind is over, while you’re taking off your apron and throwing it into the laundry at the end of the night, you better be smiling.

I only spent two more weeks there after that dinner but I appreciate every second in that kitchen.  I learned what I value in myself, cooks, and kitchens, and what shakes my values just a little too hard.  I learned what I'm made of there, and what I'm not.  I saw qualities I admire so much that I'll never step foot in the kitchen without thinking of them first, and qualities I'd never let within a mile of my own.

Since leaving that restaurant, I had low hopes that was I was looking for existed- a place where intuition is listed on the job requirements.  I know that the place I left is a finely tuned cash-machine well oiled to replicate it’s system across the country for the most efficient restaurants the world has ever seen…So if I knew that was right…could there be another way?  If there wasn’t- you’d find me outside of the kitchen forever, but I was determined to at least look.

I searched the fields of Blackberry Farm again, finding lots of old friends cooking great food…I headed to California where I was exposed to ingredients I’d never seen before and spent long days picking chervil and cutting carrots in other peoples kitchen's with all different ideals until one hit home.

At first, his philosophy sounds pretty common sense.  A chef’s job also emcompasses keeping the employees happy as well.  While your cooks will almost always put up what you’ve asked them to- they will also put up a perfect dish every time when they’ve had a part in creating it.  Chef said-

“I could say,  Hey, this is the new pork and egg dish.  It’s cooked like this, seasoned like that, plate it like this and put in the window.  And they will make it look and taste pretty much like that every time.  Or I could say to a cook- hey, how would you add an egg component to that dish?  Think about it, then let’s talk about your ideas then we can try it out.  Every single time the cook makes, and plates that dish- he has a personal role in it, a piece of him goes up with every plate.  Every plate will be perfect that way too.”

Instead of fighting the creativity that harangues the cook to do things a little differently than the person before them, he harnesses that, embracing the small loss in perfection that you have to throw to chance and human error, and allow the cook to revel in the glorious craft we chose. Over and over again. I've been at Flour and Water since that conversation and can't wait to write about everything I've learned here and since I'm sitting out of work one more day- I might just get that done.

My hat tips to all those in kitchens of X's caliber, I will absolutely be in the dining room again, just not the kitchen. And whatever quality you have that allows you to endure- bless you.

And a little view from the travels that bought me, and kept me, in San Francisco...

I call it a....                                                       Stage Montage.

Blackberry Farm

I can't describe how amazing it is to harvest your own prep.  It was so nice to be back on the farm- brought back so many good memories!

Creative way to carry herbs- pluck out a big cabbage leaf!

 Lardo and grissini

 Getting ready to be smoked!

 I'd never seen gnocci made this way... but...

 Man that piping bag was smart...

 It worked!

 Ohhh Cheffy...Loved cooking with Chef Joseph again!

 The farm, just as beautiful as ever.

A warm welcome : ) tasting of Ports

 Old pals!

New ducks!

 Heirloom beans that John collects through the years...

 My favorite farmer!!!

Livin the Dream : )

Being back at the farm was like arriving at home.  They were always warm there, but even warmer this time around.  The familiar faces nearly convinced me to live out in Walland, TN again...but I was still yearning for a little city.  

Some of my earliest kitchen memories come from there- I still have every single prep list I ever wrote during my stay.  Anytime I ever smell thyme being cooked, I'm immediately brought back to a very vivid memory of my first time cooking lobsters in the back room... I will always have a place in my heart for Blackberry.

The farm has never been prettier, the food never as beautiful, and the people never as loving.  If I ever get the urge to slow down and hang out in the fields snipping greens for dinner, you know where to find me.

Flour and Water

I thought those notes were so damn cool! Now it's kinda an everyday thing...I'm pretty lucky.

Standard. We take all of the face away from the bone, cure it for a few days, sous vide it for 48 hours, then slice it super thin for a pretty bad ass Coppa dish.

I was so smitten with the handmade pastas...These are the Brigante.

Saison

Probably the most impressed I've ever been in a kitchen. And the most excited.  My notes aren't even legible as I tried to scribble in all the new things I was seeing and ingredients being used. Amazing, beautiful, deeeeliscious, brilliant, creative stuff goin on in there. Almost everything touched that fire...bones for stocks, desserts, me. Such a cool place.

Saison's other fire...in Golden Gate Park. If I recall correctly...we were grilling Spam.

Quince

 Trio of Pastas.  I didn't grab a lot of pictures at Quince.  It reminded me strangely of Marea.  It felt kind of like a parallel world.

And what really sold me on San Francisco...this.

My First Stage

As my first year in the kitchen is coming to an end, I figured I should write about a few of the moments that allowed me to realize how much I love it in there. My first stage was probably the biggest "ah-ha" moment.
(Loose definition of stage: Working for free in someone else's kitchen in hopes of learning something while cleaning two cases of fava beans, sometimes in pursuit of a job)

First of all, I wouldn't have been able to muster the courage to show up to the stage had I not stumbled on the note Chef S left in my phone. It doesn't look like much, but a little encouragement from the Chef you admire most goes a long way. The guy is an animal on the line, one hell of a manager, and the best cook I've ever met. When I finish school, I'm going to show up wherever Chef S is working and beg for a job. I tell him this everyday, I hope he's taking this seriously.

By the time the stage rolled around, I’d been out of the kitchen for two weeks visiting culinary and grad schools and eating at all the places Chef S suggested. I thought I'd welcome a break from open flames and sharp knives, but after just a few days I was feeling serious open flame/sharp knife wthdrawals. I couldn't have my first stage be somewhere too intimidating, so I researched a place I'll call a “slump-buster.” The food wasn't anything to rave about, but my interest was really in their charcuterie program and their chef who is a reformed Chem major out of the University of Illinois. Stories like that, similar to mine, always intrigue me. It's a sure sign that the Chef really loves food. Anyway, I'd been nervous for days and I hadn't cooked since the off-season started, but getting my chef’s whites on was like putting on my favorite pair of running shoes. I finally felt relaxed again. Buttoning up my coat felt like a really good hug. All was back where it belonged. I’d been out of the kitchen for two weeks, and I realized that was more than enough. I felt like I was back at the DePaul Libarary packing up my notes, books, and calculator before walking into my ECON 350 final. My favorite place- Under pressure.

Finally...
I walk in. I’ve memorized their menu to the point that I could probably tell you what ink they’ve used after looking at it so closely. I find a corner and start setting up my station. It turns out they’ve hidden the cutting board, towels- everything I need. I can't figure out why they've made this some sort of treasure hunt...I can't even figure out how to turn on their pre-historic sink. I finally stumble on some towels and an apron. I fold them once….Okay, twice.
Should I ask what to do? Yeah.
I ask what to do. Slowly but surely, they uncover that I’m kind of a half-wit that has just figured out how to hold a knife properly. At first they're pretty cold to me. Peeling garlic, freaking fava beans. What’s next? Stuffing sausage for what feels like a decade. Once I prove that I can bang out a case of favas pretty fast, Chef asks me what I’m interested in. I pull out my list- I get my hands on all sorts of things I saw on the menu. Chicken balontine, rosemary and thyme bisquits, whatever I ask- they let me do. Chef starts letting me try what we make from their sausages to their pate. I keep my head down, mouth shut, and my hands busy. Service rolls around. Chef comes up and says, “Shannon, you’re goona shadow Jimbo on fish. Don’t be afraid to shove him out of the way and get yourself in there.”
I start thinking of all the maniacal tasks I can plot to keep myself off the line. I’m panicked.Should I just start taking apart the microwave so that I don’t have to go out there? I face the facts. I’m getting on the line. Towels…spoons..what else do I need….umm….I’m too scared to think. Heat. Orders come in and I’m trying to watch Jimbo pick these dishes up….I can’t catch anything. I ask about the mise, trying to put the dishes together through ingredients. I’m lost. I’m sweating. I’m the the freaking way. I think to myself, either I gotta get out of the way or I’m goona get pushed out of the way.

Sink or swim.

I grab a pan and start cooking. I listen to all the mussel orders come in and start picking them up. Jimbo is working around me like I’m F150 parked in front of the burner. I’m still in the way. I clean when people stop to breathe. I stock their mise when I see nine pans running low.I’ve started picking up the Sea Bass and the mussel dish has been mine for awhile. When I finally look up, it’s 9 pm. Lead-line cook Jamie has started calling me "Kid" and has given me some minute plating responsibilities. He's beginning to warm up to me. "Kid, did you try the chicken yet? Kid, have you seen our flank steak pick up?" At this point he's just handing me the pans when he wants them plated. When service starts to slow, the professionalism slacks and they get comfortable with me on the line. They've made a handful of blonde jokes gauging how thick my skin is. They've found out I can hold my own with the boys. Service ends. I clean the hell out of their stations. I clean the coolers. I scrub the walls. Chef R’s voice from back at work is echoing in my head, explaining to his little drones that we are always an employee of that restaurant and to uphold our standards especially cleanliness everywhere we go. I clean harder. They stop me to offer a PBR. They ask me back. What did I learn?

I belong in the kitchen.

I walk in the next day and Chef literally puts a suckingling pig in my arms as I walk in the door.“Take it apart but keep the skin in tact. Not because we need it, because I want you to learn.” A delivery comes in the front of the restaurant. I hear Chef say, “The young lady in the back can sign for that.” My lack of experience and knowledge becomes a little bit of a joke, but also Chef's pet project. At 9 pm when service starts to slow down again, Chef remembers that we have halibut waiting to be butchered in the cooler and he takes me in the back to show me how to butcher my first flat fish.
I came in the third day for a few hours to make Chef chicken liver pate. We work together for a few hours and compare notes on our recipes. I needed something to pair with it. Chef hands over his credit card and sends me to the store and asks me to grab his some Marlboroughs and Skittles. On my walk to the store, I kept thinking that there was no way I would ever get sick of this. Cooking is too much fun, I can't believe I can get paid for this...the kitchen is like my playground.

Chef wrote me an email the next day saying I had a natural talent, a promising future and they were all rooting for me in my next adventure. Is it dorky to say how much that means to me?That was one of the best moments of my culinary career. After a little push from Chef S and smidgen of courage, I got through my first stage, they actually asked me back and then told me I had a promising future. That was the culmination of my first "ah-ha" moment and also the moment I decided against grad school in favor of culinary school. I know what I want- I want to be a better cook and I'm going to go do that even if that means leaving the guidance of an awesome chef and the best group of line cooks I could imagine.

Thanks again Grocery Bistro, and good luck with your new venture.