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