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