The Big Dog

I am not sure what kind of picture I paint about my Chef, but I think it's time I introduce you to my working environment.

The Va Pensiero kitchen is through and through Chef Jeffrey Muldrow's ship. It's a big boat, it's a little old, but it's well-organized and functional. There are many things about it that I love, and a few things about it that bother me.

The restaurant is rather old, and it shows sometimes. Our roundeaus are warped and the bottoms look like JCVD placed a violent roundhouse in to them, thus creating a cooking surface that has mountainous summits and jagged canyons. They heat and cook very unevenly, requiring me to be vigilant so that no poor onion explorers get scorched in any canyons, or are left to freeze on any mountaintops. (Okay weird analogy got taken too far .. I get it, shut your face, I had to go with it). Our mandolines are frustratingly dull, our knives can't hold an edge to save their lives, and we have stupid vegetable peelers that have perpendicular blades as opposed to parallel ones. I HATE those peelers. Also, our appetizer plates are ugly and the 80s want them back.

But the space is huge, there are WINDOWS, and as previously mentioned it is meticulously organized. Anytime I need something I know exactly where to find it (mainly because it's staring right at me from an industrial steel rack across the stove), and dry goods are stacked and labeled in the back. At Oceanique it was like a scavenger hunt every time I wanted something (no offense, Mark). And I reiterate the space for soon I feel I will be working in a New York City kitchen that allows no room for personal space, let alone working space, and has a dungeon-like prep kitchen with a torturous flight of stairs. I should stop getting annoyed when Maestro jostles me to use my oven.

And it's important to describe the Va P kitchen in detail because it represents Chef Jeff better than words could. He is a solid cook. I sometimes find myself questioning his methods, and maybe wondering why he isn't "big time," but without a doubt he is a good cook. Some feel that I could find a paying job in a lesser institution, like a decent diner or bistro, but I am constantly reminded why I am here. Sure, you could go to state college for cheap, maybe even for free, but a lot of you went to Northwestern and shelled out massive cash because of the education. That's the way I feel. Chef Jeff runs a good restaurant and it isn't by chance. He has spent a lifetime honing his skills on the line.

He seems crass a lot of the time. He has potty-mouth humor, doesn't have a very expansive vocabulary, and his penchant for sarcasm often makes me feel stupid. But he is very knowledgeable about Italian food and how to make it.

I made a ragu Bolognese today. He walked me through the steps and gave me an in-depth tour of Italy along the way. As you can imagine, sauce Bolognese originates from Bologna which is in the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy. Emilia-Romagna, as he explains, is what separates and combines Northern and Southern Italy. In the North you have room to rear cows so beef is a major protein. Your cheeses are cow's milk cheese, and dairy in general is king. In the South is where tomatoes are prominent, but not cows. So sheep and seafood are your major proteins and much of the cuisine is based on those. Well Bologna, apparently, is where everything comes together. Tomatoes are turned in to tomato paste and brought north, milk is brought south, prosciutto is brought from Parma, mortadella is made in Bologna, etc. The Chef believes it to be a quintessentially Italian creation wrongfully bastardized by Americans (see: spaghetti with meat sauce, or as he calls it ketchup and hamburger shat out of a cafeteria).

We carefully grind pork, veal, beef, prosciutto and mortadella, adding cold lardo, or pig back fat to the mixture, making sure it stays cold. I dice up a fine mirepoix (onions, carrots, celery, 2:1:1 ratio). Saute the meat mixture, just barely cook it through and strain the fat off. Saute the veg, get a nice little brown color, hit it with tomato paste. Let that brown up a bit, French people (the Chef no like ze French) call it pincage. Add the meat back in and add whole milk. You reduce it until it reaches a pinkish hue. You hit it with more tomato paste. The final product is a dark orange and is creamy, incredibly flavorful and pleasantly chunky. It takes a few hours to reach the right flavor profile and consistency, but oh is it worth it. We serve it layered like a lasagna but with crepes instead of pasta. He says that's very traditional. The crepes are folded, topped with a leek sauce (sauteed leeks, carrots, heavy cream and thyme), sprinkled with parmigiano reggiano and browned in the broiler.

One sauce. One afternoon. A veritable treasure trove of knowledge. I'm not going to lie, half the reason I wrote this post is so I could remember all that. And that happens very often for me. I ask about polenta, I get a very lengthy but fascinating lecture. Foccacia bread, tagliatelle, orecchiette, Cremini mushrooms, pistachio pesto ... I ask a lot of questions to learn, and I am not disappointed to always get a lot of answers.

But any nerd with a textbook and a few months in Italy could probably spit that out. Can the man cook? Well I've said it before and I will emphasize it again ... hell yes. I was once given random advice to work in a kitchen where the chef still cuts his own protein. I was not disappointed on day one to find the Chef cleaning a massive pork shoulder with his own hands and (shitty) knives. He doesn't work the line anymore like most chef/owners who have to spend their time elsewhere. But I am confident that he was and is a very reliable line cook. He taught me how to break down a chicken. He did it with unteachable confidence and ease. He taught me how to filet a fish and I basically got a piscine anatomy lesson. And it's not just food. He teaches me how to be a mechanically sound cook.

When I first started working on the hot line I quickly realized there was a lot more to it than just making good food. There are movements and actions one learns naturally by cooking for years. Movements that immediately display skill and experience. Movements that suggest confidence and ease, not my current state of awkwardness and panic. You learn these faster by having someone yell at you to stop being so goddamn clumsy.

I like to rest my hands on my hips sometimes but that means my elbows increase the space I take up by two-fold. He always barks, "Tuck in your big fucking elbows, Eric, you're going to cause a disaster," (Somehow I am the tallest and thinnest person at this restaurant). He reminds me that when there is a lull in service that it's not break time, it's "check to see how fucked you are" time. Check your ingredients, are you running low on something? Do you have more? Where is it? Can you get it easily? Can you make more in time, just in case? Where's your knife? Don't kill anyone. Clean off your station. If you're not busy help the dishwasher out and bring your pots to him, he's got enough shit to do. Do you have tongs? Did Luis steal them? He's a tongs-stealing bastard ("Bastard" is his favorite word). Towels? Are they clean? If they're covered in shit and oil throw them in the laundry. Got time to wipe off the burners? You get some rebellious cooking fat and you now have a grease fire. If I have to turn on the Ansul because of you I swear to God, Eric, I will end you (Ansul is an emergency fire extinguisher system that most kitchens have). Bring 16 ravioli to the front of your low-boy (refrigerator) so when an order gets called you are ready. Check your pasta water. Is there enough? Is it hot? Is it so starchy that it is now essentially a solid? What about your pasta baskets? Is there shit in them? Look ... a stray strand of linguini. Getting an onion ring in your fries is cool at Burger King, but that shit don't fly at Va Pensiero.

Where else would you get such a loving and helpful lesson?

So the man is deeply intimate with Italian cuisine and its history. He's an experienced and capable cook. He is clearly a well-organized and profitable chef. And he is willing to have me in his kitchen. He is willing to accept there may not be perfection, because this stupid Asian kid is eff'ing everything up. But he is willing to teach me, and guide me unto the right path. Because he likes to yell at me and frankly I think he thinks it's funny. He also likes Asian people.

Sometimes my schedule at Blu and Va P don't line up nicely, and I have to explain to him that I can't come in that day anymore, I got scheduled at work ... you know, where they pay me? The next time he sees me it usually goes something like this..

"You missed a good time the other day."
"Yeah, I'm really sorry, Chef. Sometimes it's unpredictable. Did everything go alright?"
"Don't fucking worry. Va Pensiero isn't going to close because your clumsy ass didn't show up."

I love you too, Chef.

EP #6

The Act of Cooking

As I spend more time in the kitchen I realize a very wide range of topics come up in discussion. You spend a lot of time together, you start talking about random shit. Dick and fart jokes only last for so long. Recent topics of discussion include the economic production rate of Brazil vs. Chile (Some are convinced that even though Brazil is far bigger, it is still a relatively poor country), and the best philosophy for the defense of the USA. This one waiter, one of the very few Americans who works at Va P, has something for Amish culture. I don't know if after his Rumspringa he decided waiting tables was his calling in life or what, but he's convinced the Amish would have a proper mindset for the defense of this nation. Hence he and the chef (who from my observations seems to be a more conservative-minded person) had this exchange,

"I think if the Amish ran the country, there would be world peace."
"Really? I think we'd all be dead. Pussy ass bastards, when was the last time someone took a horse-and-buggy in to battle?"

End random anecdote.

So I've decided to go to Va P on off nights as opposed to busy weekends because a) I get to work the pasta station, and b) the cooks have more time to teach me and guide me, and c) if I fuck up it wouldn't set in motion a snowball-effect of disaster. C is particularly important because the last time I went in (yesterday) I was just having one of those days where I could not do anything right. I forgot to turn on the soup heaters, so by 8 PM they were tepid. I almost destroyed the microwave. I burned 2 vegetable tarts. The convection oven was broken and making my life even more difficult. The list goes on. But the difference between doing that on a Sunday as opposed to a Saturday is that it's very funny on Sunday, and very not funny on Saturday. Anyhow, now that I guess I'm a real sort of line cook and I make real sort of food, things have changed quite a bit.

The most important difference is that I make dishes that have to taste good. There are people paying for my end product, paying damn good money, so it'd better taste like it. Whereas before I would only make parts; the diced eggplant in the caponada, the sauteed shrimp in the crab cakes, the roasted red peppers for the antipasti, now I make whole dishes. There isn't really any room for error. I must taste constantly and adjust accordingly. And it's not just pasta but prepped dishes as well.

I help out the various stations as needed, but without fail I always make the crab cakes whenever I come in, the horseradish aioli for the crab cakes, mascarpone cheesecakes, Sicilian roasted red peppers for antipasti, and whole grain mustard potato salad. Though these are not all dishes on their own, they are integral components to a whole dish that have to taste right. They are complementary but necessary. So the chef will walk around his kitchen as usual, talking, checking on things, and most importantly tasting. He trusts his staff (as he should) to make things taste right, but he still tastes things here and there out of hunger and/or curiosity. So I'm making the crab cakes and I leave for a second to get some gloves. He tastes the mixture (jumbo lump imperial blue crab meat, sauteed tiger shrimp, minced red peppers, sliced scallions, egg, breadcrumbs, horseradish aioli). As I'm walking back and see him munching at it my heart seizes. I forgot I'm responsible for all the crab cakes tonight, or rather I forgot how important that is.

"I can't fuck that up! These are one of our most popular items, why did he trust them to me, oh dear jesus I fucked that shit up I know it, crab cakes are his favorite, $12 a pop, so profitable, they're not remotely Italian he admit he put them on the menu just because he likes them, oh shit-fuck-damn, he's been making these for years and now the intern makes them and effs that shit up, oh god hellllllppppp meeeeeeeeee!"

That's basically the dialogue that was running through my head. But just as that little bit of crazy passes, he finishes chewing and resumes conversation as if nothing had happened. What? Absence of criticism = praise? FUCK YEAH! I immediately rush back to the bowl and give it a taste. Hey! It does taste pretty good! Taste it, chef. Literally. Oh it's delicious isn't it?

But the moment of heart failure I experienced as he was tasting it was no joke. I have to get serious about making this food. I can't let small errors happen anymore. My carrots weren't diced precisely enough, well not a huge deal even though incorrect. My pasta lacks seasoning and tastes like nothingness? That's a big deal because someone paid $20 for that. If I'm going to be a real cook I need to start acting like one.

Which brings me to my next point that I've reiterated before. Wilson recently went to eat at Woodfire Grill, the restaurant of Kevin Gillespie who is currently on Top Chef (or is he? I haven't been up to date for a week). He said it was fantastic. That bastard (Chef Kevin) is like 26. WHAT THE FUCK!?! I don't see myself owning a wonderful, fantastical restaurant in 3 years. I see myself slaving behind a stove, a good one, but nonetheless no better than a culinary themed serf. And then I follow Grant Achatz's twitter, and he's always talking about his cooks and how passionate they are. Grant-fucking-Achatz is saying you're a passionate cook? That means something.

So I don't want to get back in to last post where I bitch about how competitive it is out there and how nervous I am, and how much of a little girl I am being. But it is damn competitive out there, I'm nervous and I am being a little girl. Maybe that means cooking at home more, experimenting, learning to make things taste right in a non-pressure situation. Wilson also knocks me (as have many of my past roommates) for not cooking all that much at home. They find it odd for someone who likes working in kitchens so much to not enjoy his own kitchen. Well frankly, cooking at home is a pain in the ass to me. Going to the grocery store and buying mediocre ingredients (can't afford organic or farmer's market stuff right now), coming home and cooking it (okay that part is fun), then washing dishes and cleaning everything up (not fun, even with a dishwasher) seems tedious to me. Not to mention that we don't have a wide range of miscellaneous ingredients at home that any professional kitchen would have. Oh I need star anise? Who the hell keeps fresh star anise on hand at all time? No one, or almost no one. And even if they do they probably bought it once for $6 and used it once. Six months later, that shit is weak sauce. Literally (most spices, especially if ground lose potency in 6-8 months).

But maybe I should. Tom Colicchio said he would often buy heads of celery for 2 dollars and just mow through them to practice his knife skills. He is one of the few big name chefs these days who did not go to culinary school. I definitely could use more practice on making a good stock, reducing it and testing its body and flavor. I could use a lot more practice doing a lot of things. And don't get me wrong, I actually look forward to this practice, unlike cello. I love to cook, the act is both cathartic and enjoyable in its sometimes frenetic pace, but how to become the best is still beyond my knowledge.

Maybe I'll take it slow, don't freak out. Let's just make sure every onion pasta and mushroom tagliatelle I turn out right now is perfect.

EP #6

Time to Get in Gear

On my days off I usually have a lot of things to do that make my civilized life possible. Recover from a hangover (okay, not always but a lot of the time), do laundry, clean the apartment, organize bills and finances, exercise, etc. But while I’m sitting at my computer thinking and scheduling my life I leave a lot of food-related TV on in the background. I used to not be in to competitive cooking shows other than Iron Chef America, but now I’m kind of hooked. Top Chef, Chopped, The Next Iron Chef (but NOT The Next Food Network Star … please, I don’t want to know who can be the most charming while making a lasagna in front of a camera). On the one hand I like these shows for the same reason everybody else does. I like seeing cooking as a competitive sport, a gladitorial battle. I like seeing talented chefs work with unrealistic pressures and conditions, taking their skills to a level they wouldn’t normally encounter. I like the theatrics, the judging and the food. But I don’t like how uncertain it makes me feel.

The more I watch these shows the more I am made aware of how much talent, passion and dedication there is out there. Every day, every show there are a slew of competent chefs presented. Usually the cream rises to the top, but even those that fail on cable television still have got some serious skills. One of my favorite things to do is to research hot restaurants and staff changes in New York, Chicago, all the big gastronomic cities. I like reading bios and interviews to see how these chefs got to where they are. I am not disappointed to find that great cooks come from every walk of life, from many sorts of trades and backgrounds and ages. There are a few common denominators that I’ve identified and highlighted in big, bright yellow (I’ll talk about this later), but generally there are no themes.

I think my favorite chef right now, and many other people’s favorite chef as well, is Grant Achatz. I’ve only eaten his food once, at Trio in Evanston, way back when I was a college freshman. I liked the food a lot but can’t remember all that much. Could I go back to that day, I would have taken notes had I known I was in the hallowed halls of the next food movement. I don’t have the money to go to Alinea right now but I like how Chef Achatz works. I like his mindset and his philosophy towards food. I love his brilliant artistry and ability to push food beyond the boundaries we as a species have known since forever. His genius is shining. I went to a cooking demo of his once and he signed a copy of the Alinea cookbook for me. He wished me luck and told me to say hi to Chef Mark at Oceanique. I have only perused through that book once. I’m scared of what I might find on a more detailed study; a level of accomplishment and skill perhaps that I could never hope to attain? I feel like Salieri in Amadeus as he looks through Mozart’s music in bewilderment. I fear I might get knocked over by a powerful epiphany.

But there can only be one Grant Achatz. And for every Grant Achatz, there are another great handful of chefs of comparable celebrity and talent. And for every one of those another group of chefs who are James Beard Award winners and nominees. And for every one of those even more successful and competent chefs who make great food, run great restaurants. Where do I fit in this food chain? Where CAN I fit in this food chain?

I want to be successful, I want to be appreciated for my hard work and skill, as would anyone. I’m not saying I’m going to be the flag bearer for a new food movement, but I want to be respected as a good chef, as a creater of delicious food. That means I need to get more serious about my culinary education.

There are three factors to success; talent, hardwork and passion. All the talent in the world won’t do anything for you if you can’t apply it with time and effort, sweat and tears. Hardwork and passion will take you far, but not to the top. When all three are aligned the sky is the limit. Now I can’t control how much talent or passion I have. I’m pretty sure I at least have the passion part down. I can most certainly control the effort part of the show though. And that’s what I need to do.

My rule is I work my shifts at Blu every week and I work at least 3 shifts at Va Pensiero to cook. This usually gives me 1 or 2 days off a week. I’ve been offered an opportunity to take an internship shift at Bennison’s bakery. I think I need to take at least one morning shift there (oh yeah 5 AM .. go baking) and one more shift at Va Pensiero. I need to get serious. The staff at Michelin starred restaurants, some of the best restaurants in the world will work 15 hour days, 6 days a week. How can I afford to let myself have so much leisure time?

School is out. It’s really time to start thinking about how to get serious. I’ll let you know how it goes.

EP #6