So some of you may think I am dead. Or at least have gone missing. Both are somewhat true. I am dying slowly, getting chewed up in the inferno of a professional kitchen.
A little more than two weeks have passed with me being a professional cook now, and frankly the work is harder than I could have anticipated. Even though I interned as a stage for quite some time, cooking for 5-6 days a week with 10-12 hour days thrown in are very tiring. As I look at my hands while typing this I notice the true mark of a novice line cook.
I have angry burns from splattered oil dotting the backs of my hand. I have a nice big cut on my right index finger from cleaning the deli slicer. On the other side of my index finger is a gnarled blister from using a knife for so many hours a day. A callus is proudly beginning to form. My cuticles are mangled, and the grime from cleaning 40 pounds of mushrooms remains difficult to cleanse. I could really use another manicure.
Err...
Anyhow, the point is that the work is hard. I do enjoy it though and the catharsis a 14 hour day of cooking offers is reward enough in itself. I am genuinely excited for my first paycheck so that I can experience my first compensation for working with food (also I just lost 3 rounds of credit card roulette on a random night of Monday drinking). As of now the work is not consistently 12 hours or more, but the weekends do require us to race, which has lead me to experience a few new things. The constant battle against the clock that is a cook's life, and the war-like camaraderie developed with your fellow cooks in that struggle.
Now I have responsibilities allocated just for me. I am currently acting as a swing cook between pasta and cold stations, setting up one or the other every day. I am frustrated by my lack of precision and speed. If I try to work too fast, the quality of my work begins to suffer, but if I work too slow I might not make it in time for service. The other cooks have been endlessly patient with me and I thank them for that. But I am personally very disappointed that I am not doing better. Right now I have been a supplementary factor to the line, an extra hand who always has a veteran guardian angel to pick up my slack. But starting this week I am going to command my own station, my chef hoping that I can pull my weight on the line.
I guess it is to be expected. Your first job is always a little difficult, but I am annoyed that I don't pick up cooking as easily. Cello was never hard for me to learn, I learned ultimate in a fairly relaxed manner, I can't afford to let this learning curve dominate me. But dominate me it must.
A few Saturdays ago, Le Chef lets me try out the beginning of service on the hot line as a pasta cook. We're picking up a wedding reception of 100 in an hour and we need to turn these first tables ASAP (to turn a table is the time it takes for guests to finish a table so that we can get them out the door, clean and reset the table for the next round of guests, restaurants will typically do 2-3 turns depending on the size and business of the dining room a night). I am getting hammered with orders getting called in waves of 2 or 3.
"Ordering one tagliatelle split, two ravioli and a pasta penne!"
Ordering means that I should start working on heating up the sauce, getting the taste and ingredients to the right point, and have it ready for the pick up. Once the order is picked up I then just heat the pasta in water, throw it in to the sauce, toss it and plate to maximize efficiency. So after this first order I need to saute a bunch of mushrooms, tomatoes and herbs in butter, add mushroom stock and begin to reduce it, prepare two pans of browned butter and sage, and heat up arrabiata sauce and add chicken for the penne. Adjust the seasoning on everything and keep it warm.
"Pick up tagliatelle! Fire table 23!"
The tagliatelle is getting picked up separately alongside the rest of the orders. I begin to heat up all my pasta, Luis starts double checking my sauces. I throw all the pasta in to the sauces and begin tossing, Luis has set up all the plates on the board for me. I plate, being careful to mound the pasta, adding cheese, wiping plates. Luis helps me to finish the plating.
Whew, first order done with marginal success!
"Ordering 2 tagliatelle, 2 pasta onion, penne appetizer! Pick up pork belly and cheese tart!"
I am also responsible for a few appetizers, those being the Braised Pork Belly with Crispy Onions and a Cranberry/Pomegranate Juice reduction and the Mediterranean Goat Cheese Tart with Arugula Oil and Tomato Vinaigrette.
I begin to slow down. My caramelized onion sauce begins to scorch slightly, I'm taking too long and the orders don't stop.
Le Chef looks at Luis and then at me.
"Eric, go help Maestro with picking up the salads for the wedding."
I've been benched. I am crushed. I don't know if I should have expected myself to handle a busy Saturday a week in, but I am disappointed nonetheless.
I have a lot to learn.
I am so upset because I care. I want to be a good cook, I want a solid foundation of cooking technique before I even begin to explore the idea of my own cuisine. A line cook's life is all about being able to express the big dog/chef's personal cuisine. It's not up to you to be creative, it's up to you to be precise and efficient.
Grant Achatz, who I consistently go on about because I kind of love him a lot, at age 23 was Thomas Keller's best line cook at The French Laundry, as it began its climb to the best restaurant in America. I knew he was uniquely artistic and endlessly creative, but I always sort of assumed that was his main asset, that his cooking technique was only slightly better-than-average.
How wrong I was. As I learn more about the enigma that is Grant Achatz I find that he most certainly earned the devotion and loyalty of his staff through his skills as a line cook. When he was the executive chef at Trio, it was often said that if you started slacking on the line he just came in and worked your station better, faster, harder, stronger than you ever could on your best day while expediting.
Fuck.
I really do have quite a bit to learn.
Wish me luck, give me strength.
EP #6
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