Why We Cook

Not that you guys need to be exposed to my existential and culinary rantings any more than you already are, but I don't think I've ever really examined my motivation behind this career, even for myself. I'm also pretty sure that last sentence was a run-on. Even though I don't know what a run-on sentence is...

First and ten, Northwestern!

But seriously, the question is hanging there ... why do we cook? Why do we work this lifestyle?

The decision that brought me to cooking and restaurants was a lot like my decision to play cello instead of violin.

I'm Asian, I have to play a string instrument. I was a chubby and lazy child, sitting down is more comfortable than standing, conclusion; I play cello.

Fast forward 10 years and it's like, "I don't like sitting at desks. Office work destroys my soul. Hey, how about cooking? Oooh! Fancy!"

Well, it was a little more sophisticated than that, but that's definitely how it started. I have a short attention span, and I have a need for real-time accomplishments. I don't want to sit at a desk wearing business casual wondering if my 8-hours is going to have any tangible results. I want to get my hands dirty, I want to eat, I want to play with fire, I want to labor, sweat and toil. I want to put a finished plate in the window after a 4-pan pick up during dinner crush on Saturday and yell, "Halibut! Up!" in a cathartic, bestial roar, only to swiftly return to my fire. I want to know that someone is going to love that plate. I want to see the smile and satisfaction on a diner's face.

And apparently I'm not the only one. I'm not sure if it's because I'm getting deeper in to my career, or if this is an actual phenomenon (not one of my many conspiracy theories of which I would love to indulge you with over a cold Guinness), but my generation seems to love food and cooking. Food is having its own veritable revolution, with the focus on organically grown and home cooked food growing by the minute. Whole Foods and its empire of hipsters is growing to Genghis Khan proportions. And cooking is becoming a respected and desirable profession. College kids all go through an existential crisis these days, not knowing what to do with themselves. They didn't have the sink-or-swim attitude of our parents' generation, where they just had to get a job to make a living. Clint Eastwood likes to call us "the pussy generation." Now we have the luxury of exploring our options, and suffer through decades of questioning our existence. Cooking is a career in which one can "express themselves" and "be who they really are" and avoid the tie-as-noose environs of the office world, and they can truly rebel against the years of their parents' oppressive reign!

If it wasn't clear, that was just a bit sarcastic. All the young American cooks I meet and see seem to be tattooed and pierced up the waz, and like to self-administer heavy dosages of controlled substances. Yeah! I can party, and look crazy and still make money in a fun career! Well, some of that is true. There is a dark side to cooking that has a powerful allure to society's less orthodox members. I blame Anthony Bourdain for inspiring a generation of wannabe rock star cooks. And yes you can do all that, but there are plenty of serious ass cooks out there as well. Guys and gals who can't afford to get hammered before Sunday service because they are pushing the culinary envelope. They are the vanguard of the ever growing food movement and are basking in the limelight of a restaurant revolution. They can't fuck that up too often just because they have the freedom to do benders. They have to work their asses off. To quote Bourdain, they, the young cooks in the restaurants changing American dining, are often "whippet-thin, under rested young pups with dark circles under their eyes; they look like prisoners from a Japanese prison camp, they are expected to perform like Green Berets." I love that quote. That's exactly what I want to be. Bone-tired everyday because I pushed myself to the limit.

So while I do have tattoos, you won't see me in 10 years with a rainbow splattered ink sleeve running from my wrist to neck. I won't be inking "Cook Free or Die" or a pair of forks and knives on my wrists. That's not what cooking is about to me. It's not a cultural rebellion, an existential liberation, or an excuse to party. Cooking is a means to an end. Yes, I love food, I love the absolute rock show and adrenaline rush a good night of service can be, but I am trying to open and run a great restaurant. Whether it will be world-class is up to the pencil pushers to decide, but I want to be able to sleep at night feeling good about my establishment.

I love restaurants. It just took me 20 odd years to realize it. There are many sacrifices and downsides, but to me it is a lifestyle worthy of respect and honor. Now that I wait tables full-time, I have to say my favorite moments are going beyond the call of duty for a customer. Danny Meyer's book Setting the Table has all sorts of hilarious anecdotes of when he was required to go beyond just being a restaurateur. One incident involves him spelunking in to one of his customer's freezers in their apartment to rescue a bottle of champagne, and leave a box of petit-fours. I haven't had anything that epic, but I do occasionally get the opportunity to show how much someone's patronage means to me.

The situation at Futami is rather unique. Our customer base is largely made up of one-time, solo diners from the hotel. We rarely are able to make them regular customers, they probably can't give us a ton of word-of-mouth advertising, but we must treat them well anyway because that is our mission in hospitality. So someone comes in from the hotel, they are spending the odd night in Evanston and they have a lot of dietary restrictions and they have never eaten sushi. I have 5 other tables needing my attention, but I will give him my full services and try to take care of everyone else as well. I answer every question, give as many explanations as I possibly can, and when his food does come there are some things he realizes he can't eat. He feels bad about it, I feel worse; I should have drawn some of my conclusions. Duh, if he doesn't really handle fried food well then he probably isn't going to be able to eat the lemon-butter sauce with the seafood entree. Well, shit. I beg and plead with the chef to serve up a new plate, something steamed and fresh. He gives me A LOT of shit and hate for it. I don't care though because he doesn't know I've been on that side of the window also. As a cook, yes it is annoying to customize menu items for picky customers. But frankly, that's part of the job, and though you don't necessarily see direct benefits from doing so, just shut up and do it. You can grumble about it later.

Anyhow, I bring him a new plate as soon as I can of lightly steamed seafood and vegetables and he is ecstatic. Some fresh sashimi and seaweed salad later, he is thoroughly pleased. He leaves me a great tip, but that isn't what makes me happiest. It's when he comes up to me as I'm closing out some checks and thanks me and apologizes for his fickle diet. And then he tells me he is converted to sushi for life. A wholesome, body tingling buzz runs down my spine. That feels good. I want to be able to make everyone feel that way when they leave my place. That is why front-of-the-house is so important, that is how you earn a customer for life.

Granted, I'm not always a spectacular waiter. Sometimes my own mood swings and frustrations with the restaurant present themselves in my work. I'm not proud of it. And yes, money is a big motivation. But I hope as I mature and grow I can learn to seek and give that kind of hospitality every time someone walks through my door.

And I just hope I can get there. As I mentioned, this life is not without sacrifices. I never had a normal family life. My mother started working when I got home from school, and I would only see her briefly before I had to go to bed. I never had regular sit down family meals, I was generally left to eat by myself in front of a TV. My grandmother never could kick the habit of Chinese women eating after the men, and would do house chores while I ate with Steve Urkel. Afterward I would struggle to communicate with her with my lackluster Mandarin, and scribble down gibberish to make it look as if I had done my homework. My father died when I was 11, and I saw him less than my mother even before then. My sister and I share a pretty sizable age gap, and it wouldn't be until high school that we really grew closer. Yes, the restaurant world has its downsides, and I spent a large part of my childhood minding my own business.

Sometimes, there's nothing I want more than a normal family life. I want to learn how to cook, I love to cook beautifully for customers, but I imagine there would be nothing more satisfying than cooking for your family. At the heart of cooking is love. Wanting to feed and please others is an act of pure love, something that is obscured by the other aspects of restaurant life. A grandmother slaving over a stove may not have a better seafood tomato sauce than Michael White at Marea, but the love it represents will make you remember it as the best meal you've ever had.

So yes it seems ironic that while I want the stability of a family at times that I found the one career that may not allow me to do that. I wish I had a 9-5 sometimes so I can hang out with my friends, have a normal relationship with a female where we could actually go on dates on weekends, have weekends off so I could play ultimate as long as my knees will allow me to. Maybe I won't get a lot of those things, and it will make the already difficult marathon to owning a restaurant that much harder. I hope I don't break before then, because with all my free time now I must admit I am really enjoying being able to see friends and family more, to play ultimate when I want.

But Daniel Boulud shared the same concerns (well ... maybe not about ultimate). And he admitted that yes, you will always want more time with your daughter. But there is a family in the kitchen waiting for you. An incredibly diverse spectrum of people whom you grow close to in the fires of service. That if this life is really for you, it will fulfill you as much and sometimes more than a normal family life could. That there is a way and means to balance everything in life, so long as you have the presence of mind to do so.

So here's hoping.

EP6