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
Monday, October 12, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Time to Get in Gear
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
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Northwestern Ultimate Team
As I step outside I can now distinctly smell fall. The air changes. Things start to smell a little musty, it feels like the weather is falling asleep. I love this smell, I love the change of seasons even though I don't necessarily love the cold temperatures. But it feels different this time and after thinking about it for a little while I now know why.
I am not playing ultimate at Northwestern.
This smell is something you experience every night you're at practice, every weekend you're at a tournament. Especially on those tournament days where you wake up at the crack of dawn, the sense of autumn is overwhelming. I miss playing with NUT, I miss playing with my college team.
I'm sure most of you have played organized sports. I dabbled in some football and basketball but nothing too serious. So NUT was all I ever really had, but NUT is all I will ever have needed.
I hope you younger kids who still have a few seasons ahead of you are reading this. There is nothing like your college ultimate team. The camaraderie, the time you spend working and practicing is irreplaceable. Sure, high level club teams spend plenty of time together, but your lives are all so separate. Everyone has their own jobs, schools, relationships, circle of friends. You're just people who play ultimate together.
Your college team is your identity. Some of you don't take it to that level, but I did and so do the top college programs. You spend an insane amount of time together, except it doesn't seem all that crazy because of how fun it is. You spend all that time sweating it out in dusty gyms, throwing frisbees in inclement weather because you want to succeed as a team. Winning with club teams is fun, I can only imagine how rewarding it is at the highest levels. But there's a certain quality about college ultimate that makes it unique.
I don't have a full grasp of it right now, but I know I want it back. Living in Frisbee House, my life seemed more about ultimate than about school. Every day was scheduled around practice, gym time, tossing, organizing and planning for our team. Two hours in the gym, three hours of practice, four nights a week, a tournament every other weekend. And why do you do it? Because you love to play the sport, because you love to play with these people, because they are your friends, your teammates. Road-tripping to obscure polo fields only to freeze and play shitty ultimate in shitty Midwest weather. You don't remember about all that silly shit you talked about in those sleepy car rides, but you know that they were really fun.
And then you show up. Game day. Yes, college ultimate seems like a real joke to most people. An underdeveloped sport largely played by mediocre athletes at best. But you put your heart in to it and you run your ass off. Your legs barely work the next day. You see freshman step on to the field. You get frustrated that they make mistakes, but you know it's part of the process. And when they succeed you get excited, you get jacked up, you scream and cheer and encourage. You lose, well for us it happened all the time. Never could get past those big state schools, kind of like our football team. But you take away what you did well, how to improve for next time, for next year. You win? There's nothing like rushing the field after pulling out a close game. All that time, all that work, all that frustration learning this sport justified in that moment.
Then you leave the field exhausted, and you grossly overeat at some cheap chain or fast food joint. Maybe you have a few drinks that night, depends how seriously you're taking this tournament. You recount sweet plays from today, congratulate your teammates who had a solid day, talk about all the goofy shit that happened. Who did you tabletop? Who got inadvertently hit in the nuts? Who ate too many Cheez-Its? You talk about things immature boys would talk about. You pick on your rookies a bit, maybe "encourage" them to drink some beers. Maybe you watch a movie, maybe you immediately fall asleep. You segregate motel rooms by who snores and who doesn't. You talk about farting and the damage it can do in close quarters. You talk about failed and successful sexual escapades. And then eventually, one by one, everybody falls asleep.
Then Sunday, 6 AM rolls around (sometimes earlier) and it's time to do it all over again.
Sunday is the day that counts. Elimination day. Bracket play. You play hard even though you're a senior who played way too much on Saturday. Your body is abused. Or you didn't play very much because you're a young'n. You get excited to jump in and do what you can. You get frustrated when you fail, you get pumped when you succeed. You wish you could play more, you wish you could go out there and do something spectacular. At some point play stops, maybe you did well, maybe you didn't. The point is you didn't get any work done, but you had a blast this weekend. Time to go home and try to eke out some academic crap for Monday.
I don't know. This post really had no direction. I'm just painfully nostalgic. I try to think of how a college tournament went for me these past 3 years, and that's what I think of. I love this game even though it means nothing to anyone else. I loved and will continue to love having played for NUT. I wish I could have it back, but alas you must move on. All the things the sport and the team did for me as a person I will never forget. Just never take your team for granted, never forget that you will miss it very dearly.
No team can succeed on one player. Ultimate is unforgiving in how much it depends on teamwork and team chemistry. Sure a lot of our players could get inserted in to some of the best teams in the nation, but if we can't do it together, right here, right now, then that's all for naught. Play with passion. Play for your teammates. Play aggressive. You young guys will get noticed for that. You older guys will get thanked for that. You would lay out for an errant throw because you know your teammate would do the same for you. You would bid for an in-cut D because it would inspire your rookies, inspire your team to give it their all.
Work hard, hopefully I can be alongside you this year to guide you. It's worth it, trust me.
EP #6
I am not playing ultimate at Northwestern.
This smell is something you experience every night you're at practice, every weekend you're at a tournament. Especially on those tournament days where you wake up at the crack of dawn, the sense of autumn is overwhelming. I miss playing with NUT, I miss playing with my college team.
I'm sure most of you have played organized sports. I dabbled in some football and basketball but nothing too serious. So NUT was all I ever really had, but NUT is all I will ever have needed.
I hope you younger kids who still have a few seasons ahead of you are reading this. There is nothing like your college ultimate team. The camaraderie, the time you spend working and practicing is irreplaceable. Sure, high level club teams spend plenty of time together, but your lives are all so separate. Everyone has their own jobs, schools, relationships, circle of friends. You're just people who play ultimate together.
Your college team is your identity. Some of you don't take it to that level, but I did and so do the top college programs. You spend an insane amount of time together, except it doesn't seem all that crazy because of how fun it is. You spend all that time sweating it out in dusty gyms, throwing frisbees in inclement weather because you want to succeed as a team. Winning with club teams is fun, I can only imagine how rewarding it is at the highest levels. But there's a certain quality about college ultimate that makes it unique.
I don't have a full grasp of it right now, but I know I want it back. Living in Frisbee House, my life seemed more about ultimate than about school. Every day was scheduled around practice, gym time, tossing, organizing and planning for our team. Two hours in the gym, three hours of practice, four nights a week, a tournament every other weekend. And why do you do it? Because you love to play the sport, because you love to play with these people, because they are your friends, your teammates. Road-tripping to obscure polo fields only to freeze and play shitty ultimate in shitty Midwest weather. You don't remember about all that silly shit you talked about in those sleepy car rides, but you know that they were really fun.
And then you show up. Game day. Yes, college ultimate seems like a real joke to most people. An underdeveloped sport largely played by mediocre athletes at best. But you put your heart in to it and you run your ass off. Your legs barely work the next day. You see freshman step on to the field. You get frustrated that they make mistakes, but you know it's part of the process. And when they succeed you get excited, you get jacked up, you scream and cheer and encourage. You lose, well for us it happened all the time. Never could get past those big state schools, kind of like our football team. But you take away what you did well, how to improve for next time, for next year. You win? There's nothing like rushing the field after pulling out a close game. All that time, all that work, all that frustration learning this sport justified in that moment.
Then you leave the field exhausted, and you grossly overeat at some cheap chain or fast food joint. Maybe you have a few drinks that night, depends how seriously you're taking this tournament. You recount sweet plays from today, congratulate your teammates who had a solid day, talk about all the goofy shit that happened. Who did you tabletop? Who got inadvertently hit in the nuts? Who ate too many Cheez-Its? You talk about things immature boys would talk about. You pick on your rookies a bit, maybe "encourage" them to drink some beers. Maybe you watch a movie, maybe you immediately fall asleep. You segregate motel rooms by who snores and who doesn't. You talk about farting and the damage it can do in close quarters. You talk about failed and successful sexual escapades. And then eventually, one by one, everybody falls asleep.
Then Sunday, 6 AM rolls around (sometimes earlier) and it's time to do it all over again.
Sunday is the day that counts. Elimination day. Bracket play. You play hard even though you're a senior who played way too much on Saturday. Your body is abused. Or you didn't play very much because you're a young'n. You get excited to jump in and do what you can. You get frustrated when you fail, you get pumped when you succeed. You wish you could play more, you wish you could go out there and do something spectacular. At some point play stops, maybe you did well, maybe you didn't. The point is you didn't get any work done, but you had a blast this weekend. Time to go home and try to eke out some academic crap for Monday.
I don't know. This post really had no direction. I'm just painfully nostalgic. I try to think of how a college tournament went for me these past 3 years, and that's what I think of. I love this game even though it means nothing to anyone else. I loved and will continue to love having played for NUT. I wish I could have it back, but alas you must move on. All the things the sport and the team did for me as a person I will never forget. Just never take your team for granted, never forget that you will miss it very dearly.
No team can succeed on one player. Ultimate is unforgiving in how much it depends on teamwork and team chemistry. Sure a lot of our players could get inserted in to some of the best teams in the nation, but if we can't do it together, right here, right now, then that's all for naught. Play with passion. Play for your teammates. Play aggressive. You young guys will get noticed for that. You older guys will get thanked for that. You would lay out for an errant throw because you know your teammate would do the same for you. You would bid for an in-cut D because it would inspire your rookies, inspire your team to give it their all.
Work hard, hopefully I can be alongside you this year to guide you. It's worth it, trust me.
EP #6
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Kitchen Humor (Plus Bonus Story)
I started writing this post a little while ago, but now must give a completely new introduction because some exciting things happened today. I, after several months in the kitchen, have reached the biggest milestone. A point I hoped to reach in the next 3-4 months. A point I wanted to reach and become competent at before going to culinary school.
I have worked the hot line.
I have used the element of heat to transform raw ingredients in to delectable cuisine ... in a professional setting, at a high-end restaurant.
I have made ... pasta.
You know that scene in "Cast Away" when Tom Hanks makes fire for the first time, and proclaims to no one "I! ... HAVE MADE! ... FIRE!" Yeah that's pretty much what happened in the kitchen. There was no containing my excitement and there was no hiding my complete ineptitude, but I shouted to the culinary gods that I! HAVE MADE! MUSHROOM TAGLIATELLE!
So yes, I was completely abuzz with nervousness and excitement as I stared down that massive pot of pasta water. Four burners in front of me, my pans above the salamander, and this big boiling bastard that will cook my pasta. I will tame you. I will climb you, you Everest of starch-laden water. But first, I must get a quick crash course in all of our current pasta dishes.
It was a very slow night tonight, and I was hoping for an evening like this so that the other cooks would have time to walk me through some basic techniques. Every second I'm not tied to my station, or doing something for the chef, I watch how the hot line rolls. That's where I want to be, climbing my way from grill, to pasta, to saute. Saute station, the big daddy, the sous chef spot. I want that. So I knew basically how the station worked. But I didn't know the details of every dish. And let me tell you, there are a fuck load of details.
I could easily fill many pages with instructions on how to make the various pasta dishes but let me just give you an example of one of the simpler ones.
I'm not sure what it's called on the menu because we change that shit really often, but on the ticket it's just called Onion Pasta.
1) Heat up a pan, drop in 2 ladles of caramelized onions, 1 ladle of chicken stock, a pinch of roasted garlic, and salt/pepper to taste.
2) Drop in a few knobs of butter to let it thicken, heat through and begin to reduce.
3) Let the sauce reduce to a "thick" consistency, taste, set aside.
4) When the waiter calls for a "pick up" time to finish the dish. Drop in a "big handful" of regular ole' spaghetti in to the pasta waster.
5) Let the spaghetti reheat for 30 seconds, bring the sauce back up to temperature, moisten the pan with a few drops of pasta water if necessary. (This is one of those pro veteran moves where you pull one of the pasta baskets out of the water and drip a few drops of water in to your pan)
6) Combine pasta and sauce, add salt (it'll probably need it), toss, i.e. flip the pan and toss to combine without using tongs, because tongs are clumsy and inefficient and have a chance of tearing pasta ... oh and do this with your left hand because your right hand needs to be available, and if your left hand is retarded for some reason even though you played cello for 10 years then you're shit out of luck.
7) Twist the pasta in to a nice mound with tongs, plate on to a bowl (weird sentence, I know), add tomato fondue, chopped herbs (parsley, sage, thyme, rosemary .. and marjoram .. taste it, Garfunkel), parmigiano reggiano, and breadcrumbs.
8) Slide it under the salamander for 15 seconds to brown the cheese/breadcrumbs, slide it into the window, it's done.
Eight steps doesn't seem all that bad. And when you write out the steps it certainly seems way more complicated than it actually is. Working in a kitchen is very much a matter of habit and practice. But when the night is busy, you have a bajillion other things to do, or you just got slammed with 6 different pasta dishes that have equally or more complicated directions then ... fuck. Add in completely n00b skillz with the hot line, and you have a recipe for disaster.
But it worked out all right. I churned out 5-6 pasta dishes with help from the grill man, Rey, and the sous chef, Chuy. I then even got to do a few completely on my own under their watchful eyes. And then someone ordered risotto which is a completely different kind of bitch, and I called it quits for the night. In fact, once the word "risotto" inked its way on to the ticket Chuy just starts laughing, knowing full well that I would seriously fuck up a risotto right now.
And alas here is my very poorly done tie-in to my original post. Kitchen humor.
The kitchen is a very funny place. That's just what happens when you put together a variety of cultures, languages, overgrown man-children, and a general attitude of complete immaturity. My chef put it very eloquently one day,
"This place, and every other kitchen I've worked in is one big penis joke."
And then as if the culinary deities wanted that to hit home at that moment, someone whips out a well-hidden beef tenderloin from under their apron to "cock slap" one of the dishwashers. Even a cleaned beef tenderloin would rival the alpha walrus for sheer dick size, as Luis tags Gavino from a good 2 feet away. The cow from which this exquisitely tender cut of meat came from is surely displeased to find its backside muscles used so crudely. Chef quickly cuts in to stop the fun (tenderloin is expensive, bro), Luis clearly had no idea that he was there and shuffles back to his station.
But yes ... there are shenanigans. Don't get me wrong, we work hard when it's busy, and generally we take our jobs very seriously. But sometimes there is just a perfect opportunity for a joke, or just a little too much downtime. The Chef seems to be always be around to never let the fun get out of control, to keep our focus on the job, but even he can't be everywhere at all times. And sometimes he can't help but join in.
Enter: Va Pensiero Mystery Hot Pepper Challenge
The Chef walks in with two small boxes of hot peppers. "Some woman from Indiana I know grew these. She gave 'em to me, let's eat them for employee meal." Well we have no idea how hot these things are and no one wants to try. Chuy slices one open and gives it a whiff, recoils. The fear is palpable. Generally, my theory is that peppers are like poisonous reptiles. The small, brightly colored ones are the ones you have to stay the fuck away from. But every once in a while you get a deceptive bastard or a lying whore of a pepper/reptile. Anyhow, Chef calls Chuy out for being a "complete pussy of a Mexican" and that a pepper grown in Indiana cannot possibly be that hot. The only way to know for sure is to try.
I somehow get dragged in to this challenge and we each pick our poison. Following my theory I go for a large, dull red one, thinking, praying that this thing is mild. The chef picks out a wrinkled, yellowish one. I think, HUGE mistake, Chef. Chuy sticks with the sliced open little green one. On 3, we bite.
I've never just taken a bite out of a whole hot pepper. I take a big ole' chomp failing to notice that the others take mincing, girly bites. At first, not much going on, just a slight tingly spiciness. Clearly, the calm before the storm. Or should I say volcano. Spicy tingling and pain literally erupt all over my mouth. I shout expletives, only taking comfort in the fact that the other two are tearing up, looking extremely disappointed in themselves. The Chef can't help but yell angrily, "C'MON! INDIANA!? WHITE WOMAN!? C'MON!"
After suffering for a few minutes, we can't decide which ones to exclude from employee meal. Every one is claiming theirs was the hottest pepper. In the end we use a mixed batch, but of a very modest quantity. Yes, employee meal was plenty spicy.
So that's exactly the kind of stupid behavior you'd expect from a frat house or post-college apartment (nice job with the cinnamon, B). Apparently these stupid contests have been going on for ages. There was the "10 Budino Challenge" of great notoriety. Our budino is a molten chocolate cake, but of far greater quality than any of those bullshit chain desserts. But it is also incredibly rich. Ingredients to make roughly 70 of them? 50 egg yolks, 12 whole eggs, 12 quarts of cream, 3 lb. mix of dark/bittersweet/milk chocolate, 2 lb. confectioner's sugar, and some other flavorings. So the 10 Budino Challenge is exactly what it sounds like. Sometimes when we bake them for plating they form a crack that would leak chocolate everywhere on a plate. These wounded soldiers can only serve one purpose; to be consumed by stupid restaurant staff. You could imagine the aftermath, something like in District 9 where he barfs black goo everywhere.
The kitchen can be a funny place. I applaud any women that can work in that environment for long. Clearly I don't expect every kitchen to be like this, but I like that Va Pensiero can produce some seriously good food on a crazy night, but yet still be a fun place to work. We get yelled at, and we get caught "in the weeds" here and there, but if you like kitchen work that's sometimes a lot of the fun. When you're trying to plate angel food cake, fresh strawberries, and zabaglione sauce for a wedding of 70, and your Chef yells at you, "You assholes work like old people have sex! HURRY THE FUCK UP!" You can't help but smile and yet get on your horse at the same time.
Whenever I walk in to the kitchen and when I see the Chef we often have this exchange.
"Hi Chef, how are you?"
"Fat and happy."
"Do we have a party today?"
"Every day is a party at Va Pensiero."
EP #6
I have worked the hot line.
I have used the element of heat to transform raw ingredients in to delectable cuisine ... in a professional setting, at a high-end restaurant.
I have made ... pasta.
You know that scene in "Cast Away" when Tom Hanks makes fire for the first time, and proclaims to no one "I! ... HAVE MADE! ... FIRE!" Yeah that's pretty much what happened in the kitchen. There was no containing my excitement and there was no hiding my complete ineptitude, but I shouted to the culinary gods that I! HAVE MADE! MUSHROOM TAGLIATELLE!
So yes, I was completely abuzz with nervousness and excitement as I stared down that massive pot of pasta water. Four burners in front of me, my pans above the salamander, and this big boiling bastard that will cook my pasta. I will tame you. I will climb you, you Everest of starch-laden water. But first, I must get a quick crash course in all of our current pasta dishes.
It was a very slow night tonight, and I was hoping for an evening like this so that the other cooks would have time to walk me through some basic techniques. Every second I'm not tied to my station, or doing something for the chef, I watch how the hot line rolls. That's where I want to be, climbing my way from grill, to pasta, to saute. Saute station, the big daddy, the sous chef spot. I want that. So I knew basically how the station worked. But I didn't know the details of every dish. And let me tell you, there are a fuck load of details.
I could easily fill many pages with instructions on how to make the various pasta dishes but let me just give you an example of one of the simpler ones.
I'm not sure what it's called on the menu because we change that shit really often, but on the ticket it's just called Onion Pasta.
1) Heat up a pan, drop in 2 ladles of caramelized onions, 1 ladle of chicken stock, a pinch of roasted garlic, and salt/pepper to taste.
2) Drop in a few knobs of butter to let it thicken, heat through and begin to reduce.
3) Let the sauce reduce to a "thick" consistency, taste, set aside.
4) When the waiter calls for a "pick up" time to finish the dish. Drop in a "big handful" of regular ole' spaghetti in to the pasta waster.
5) Let the spaghetti reheat for 30 seconds, bring the sauce back up to temperature, moisten the pan with a few drops of pasta water if necessary. (This is one of those pro veteran moves where you pull one of the pasta baskets out of the water and drip a few drops of water in to your pan)
6) Combine pasta and sauce, add salt (it'll probably need it), toss, i.e. flip the pan and toss to combine without using tongs, because tongs are clumsy and inefficient and have a chance of tearing pasta ... oh and do this with your left hand because your right hand needs to be available, and if your left hand is retarded for some reason even though you played cello for 10 years then you're shit out of luck.
7) Twist the pasta in to a nice mound with tongs, plate on to a bowl (weird sentence, I know), add tomato fondue, chopped herbs (parsley, sage, thyme, rosemary .. and marjoram .. taste it, Garfunkel), parmigiano reggiano, and breadcrumbs.
8) Slide it under the salamander for 15 seconds to brown the cheese/breadcrumbs, slide it into the window, it's done.
Eight steps doesn't seem all that bad. And when you write out the steps it certainly seems way more complicated than it actually is. Working in a kitchen is very much a matter of habit and practice. But when the night is busy, you have a bajillion other things to do, or you just got slammed with 6 different pasta dishes that have equally or more complicated directions then ... fuck. Add in completely n00b skillz with the hot line, and you have a recipe for disaster.
But it worked out all right. I churned out 5-6 pasta dishes with help from the grill man, Rey, and the sous chef, Chuy. I then even got to do a few completely on my own under their watchful eyes. And then someone ordered risotto which is a completely different kind of bitch, and I called it quits for the night. In fact, once the word "risotto" inked its way on to the ticket Chuy just starts laughing, knowing full well that I would seriously fuck up a risotto right now.
And alas here is my very poorly done tie-in to my original post. Kitchen humor.
The kitchen is a very funny place. That's just what happens when you put together a variety of cultures, languages, overgrown man-children, and a general attitude of complete immaturity. My chef put it very eloquently one day,
"This place, and every other kitchen I've worked in is one big penis joke."
And then as if the culinary deities wanted that to hit home at that moment, someone whips out a well-hidden beef tenderloin from under their apron to "cock slap" one of the dishwashers. Even a cleaned beef tenderloin would rival the alpha walrus for sheer dick size, as Luis tags Gavino from a good 2 feet away. The cow from which this exquisitely tender cut of meat came from is surely displeased to find its backside muscles used so crudely. Chef quickly cuts in to stop the fun (tenderloin is expensive, bro), Luis clearly had no idea that he was there and shuffles back to his station.
But yes ... there are shenanigans. Don't get me wrong, we work hard when it's busy, and generally we take our jobs very seriously. But sometimes there is just a perfect opportunity for a joke, or just a little too much downtime. The Chef seems to be always be around to never let the fun get out of control, to keep our focus on the job, but even he can't be everywhere at all times. And sometimes he can't help but join in.
Enter: Va Pensiero Mystery Hot Pepper Challenge
The Chef walks in with two small boxes of hot peppers. "Some woman from Indiana I know grew these. She gave 'em to me, let's eat them for employee meal." Well we have no idea how hot these things are and no one wants to try. Chuy slices one open and gives it a whiff, recoils. The fear is palpable. Generally, my theory is that peppers are like poisonous reptiles. The small, brightly colored ones are the ones you have to stay the fuck away from. But every once in a while you get a deceptive bastard or a lying whore of a pepper/reptile. Anyhow, Chef calls Chuy out for being a "complete pussy of a Mexican" and that a pepper grown in Indiana cannot possibly be that hot. The only way to know for sure is to try.
I somehow get dragged in to this challenge and we each pick our poison. Following my theory I go for a large, dull red one, thinking, praying that this thing is mild. The chef picks out a wrinkled, yellowish one. I think, HUGE mistake, Chef. Chuy sticks with the sliced open little green one. On 3, we bite.
I've never just taken a bite out of a whole hot pepper. I take a big ole' chomp failing to notice that the others take mincing, girly bites. At first, not much going on, just a slight tingly spiciness. Clearly, the calm before the storm. Or should I say volcano. Spicy tingling and pain literally erupt all over my mouth. I shout expletives, only taking comfort in the fact that the other two are tearing up, looking extremely disappointed in themselves. The Chef can't help but yell angrily, "C'MON! INDIANA!? WHITE WOMAN!? C'MON!"
After suffering for a few minutes, we can't decide which ones to exclude from employee meal. Every one is claiming theirs was the hottest pepper. In the end we use a mixed batch, but of a very modest quantity. Yes, employee meal was plenty spicy.
So that's exactly the kind of stupid behavior you'd expect from a frat house or post-college apartment (nice job with the cinnamon, B). Apparently these stupid contests have been going on for ages. There was the "10 Budino Challenge" of great notoriety. Our budino is a molten chocolate cake, but of far greater quality than any of those bullshit chain desserts. But it is also incredibly rich. Ingredients to make roughly 70 of them? 50 egg yolks, 12 whole eggs, 12 quarts of cream, 3 lb. mix of dark/bittersweet/milk chocolate, 2 lb. confectioner's sugar, and some other flavorings. So the 10 Budino Challenge is exactly what it sounds like. Sometimes when we bake them for plating they form a crack that would leak chocolate everywhere on a plate. These wounded soldiers can only serve one purpose; to be consumed by stupid restaurant staff. You could imagine the aftermath, something like in District 9 where he barfs black goo everywhere.
The kitchen can be a funny place. I applaud any women that can work in that environment for long. Clearly I don't expect every kitchen to be like this, but I like that Va Pensiero can produce some seriously good food on a crazy night, but yet still be a fun place to work. We get yelled at, and we get caught "in the weeds" here and there, but if you like kitchen work that's sometimes a lot of the fun. When you're trying to plate angel food cake, fresh strawberries, and zabaglione sauce for a wedding of 70, and your Chef yells at you, "You assholes work like old people have sex! HURRY THE FUCK UP!" You can't help but smile and yet get on your horse at the same time.
Whenever I walk in to the kitchen and when I see the Chef we often have this exchange.
"Hi Chef, how are you?"
"Fat and happy."
"Do we have a party today?"
"Every day is a party at Va Pensiero."
EP #6
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Smart Defense for Old Men
I've never been a defensive oriented player. After a lifetime of playing cello, eating Chinese food, and a smoking habit picked up at 14, I never had the athleticism and endurance to be an all-star defender. But I had good throws and a natural sense for the sport of ultimate and I think that's why Northwestern ultimate players didn't shoo me away as quickly as possible.
So I plugged away at it; quitting smoking, conditioning, hitting the gym, learning to lay out, studying the game, losing weight, and here I am ... still not a defensive oriented player.
Though I am a more advanced version of Panda (we like to call it Uber-Panda or Panda 2.0), I still wouldn't put myself on starting D-line. But that doesn't mean I don't play good defense, that just means it's not my strong suit. Every offensive player worth his salt can get the disc back if need be. I hope you young, athletic defenders out there read this, because the reason I can defend you is not because I'm faster it's because I'm smarter.
"Old man tricks" is a term used to describe a set of skills a player of veteran experience possesses. It is a term used to describe a player who is able to get open/play defense via deception, trickery, and knowledge of the game and field. This a term used to describe me. Old man tricks don't always belong to just post-college, 30 and over players. It mainly applies to someone who relies on their brain rather than their brawn when playing ultimate.
Handler defense. This is one of the most underrated and most difficult aspects of the game. Being able to put consistent pressure on a team's best handlers will eventually win you the game. To frustrate an opponent's ability to get a reset is a priority. But the first thing you have to realize, is that your opponent will be getting open on you. The important thing is to contain him and make him go where you want him to go.
It can be broken down in a few steps:
1) Upline cuts are unacceptable, STOP THE UPLINE. A successful upline cut gives the handler a power position and the best hucking opportunity, downfield cutters will strike at this moment. In high-level club ultimate, giving up an upline cut in the backfield will be a huck-to-score 60-70% of the time. Even if your mark comes around and makes the handler holster the huck, you are out of position and open to be broken. SO DON'T GET BEAT UPLINE.
2) Contest the dump/reset. You can stop an upline with somewhat ease by positioning yourself up the field, but to contest the dump is much harder. So many people just let the handler have the back reset easily and give up a huge swing. You have to be tight enough to contest a badly thrown dump (if it floats, is not out to space enough, etc.). A good handler will get open on this option most of the time, but it's a percentage game. If you are close enough to D a small error, then you are close enough to ...
3) Cut off the swing. This supposed good handler will get open on the back dump most of the time. If you can force him to lose yards, lose midfield position, or clear out for the next handler cut than you've succeeded on step 2. Now you must cut off the swing. You have to come all the way around and stop the O/I around swing. This swing resets their whole offense, it can't be allowed to go off. If you can force a handler to get a dump, but no swing 20 times in a row the offense will eventually make a mistake. In fact 20 times in a row would be remarkably consistent on the offense's part.
4) Cut off the break. The next look the handler has is the I/O break up field. Because you're going to be slightly out of position to stop the around swing (and that's if you're quite agile) a good thrower will quickly throw downfield to the breakside. Now that look is a) not always there because it's a hard communication between handler and cutter, and b) a hard throw in general, prone to turnovers, especially in wind. So if you've gotten to step 4 and that's the only option your handler has, then you as a defender have won.
Good handlers will beat you upline occasionally, will beat you on step 2, 3 and 4 often. The point is being able to force them back and take the hardest look most of the time. As I previously mentioned, it's a percentage game with handler defense. They will get open, but if you can force them to the worst position, to take the hardest throws most of the time, you will get turnovers and affect the game. It may not be glorious or attention-grabbing but it's EXTREMELY important. (Thanks to CK @ Force Flick for schooling people in handler D)
Now all the handler defense in the world won't save you if an offense can fundamentally get downfield cuts all the way to the endzone. Though cutting defense is definitely not my strong suit, I can definitely dominate an inexperienced player, or someone that is not using their brain. There are plenty of young, athletic cutters who just like to run deep and catch Frisbees, but I can prevent them from getting open because of positioning.
Let's just talk horizontal stack. Ho-stack cutter D is a very one-on-one operation. Vert stack depends on handler and team defense a lot more, so yeah ... ho-stack.
The defense you're going to play depends on the position of your cutter. If they are in the primary lanes in the middle of the stack, then you have your work cut out for you (pun ... unintended .. I suck). But the exterior lanes can be exploited for their weakness in position.
Let's say the disc is centered, the handler's primary looks are the 2/3 mid lane cutters. The cutter on the far breakside can't do much. They can't cut across the 2/3 lanes to get in to position, so for him to get the disc there has to be a break throw or a deep shot to space. The best place to position yourself in my opinion is a few yards off your man, shading him deep. A deep look to this cutter is actually the preferred look so you can't risk letting a huge throw get around you, so play him deep. But you can play off a few yards and "allow" an under. As long as you watch what's happening up field with the handlers, you can prevent a gain. The only way the disc is going to the breakside guy is if the disc swings all the way around to the breakside handler (or a break throw, but let's assume our marks are tight). If you see the disc swinging all the way around now you have to be ready to attack the under that's coming. The deep look will rarely come from a swing, and if it does it won't be the best throw. So 80% of the time it will be an under cut that allows a great angle for a lay out D attempt.
Now let's talk about the 4 spot, the cutter trapped against the line (forcing forehand). This cutter has a decent under look, but a bad deep look. So that means you should shade under. Obviously this will have to depend on respective skill/athleticism as to how much you can cheat in, but you can give a few steps deep if you're quick. The most important thing here is that if your cutter does get the disc, to force him as much to the sideline as possible, and to put a huge trap mark on (what we in Chicago, call the "hardest" mark). The deep look to this cutter is a bad look. It has to be an exceptional throw to go out of bounds, come back in to catch the cutter in stride. If it even comes back in play at all, it will usually come in high, at which point you can contest it, or too far out and low where it cannot be caught. So stop the under here, and force them outwards toward the line.
The primary cutters are going to be a tough place for the defense. The beauty of the horizontal stack is that the under and deep options are kept open. So the primary cutters will probably be the strongest cutters and they have several places to go. This is where athleticism and decision making will have to be utilized to the fullest. If you've got yourself a tall, fast cutter that likes to stretch it deep, you'll have to force him under and try to contest an in-cut. If they have weak throws (as tall, deep receivers tend to have), then you can hope and probably get turnovers that way. If they're not terribly fast, or if you think you can beat them in the air with confidence, force them deep. These cutters tend to be mids for their offense, getting under and doing damage with smart throws. If you force them out of their comfort zone deep, then the handlers will be less likely to throw to them, and you can get turnovers that way. If you have an exceptional cutter who can go deep, and move the disc under (ex: Kurt Gibson, Will Neff, etc.) well ... you're going to have a tough time, but that's what makes them good players.
These are just guidelines. Defense depends on knowing good habits, smart positioning and being flexible. You could play defense strictly by these guidelines and have decent success, but the only true way to dominate is to account for your opponents' strengths and weaknesses. This is an experience thing. The ability to evaluate your opponent just by watching them for a point or two, and then adjusting your defensive measures accordingly. Quick I/O forehand break? Adjust to a wide inside mark, play physical on stopping the backhand around break, get the foul called. Cutter is faster than you? Body him up, get in his way, keep some contact with him so you know where he is at all times. Huge thrower? Straight-up mark, downfield defenders have to be alert and know that all options are open, that a goal could be coming when the disc is in his hands. There are thousands of adjustments to be made in any given game. In a match of equal athleticism and talent, this is the difference maker. As I heard someone on Sub-Zero once say, "Johnny Bravo is a team like Sub Zero, fast and with good skills, but with way more intelligence."
Alright well... I've been meaning to get all that off my chest for a while. I wanted to give my 2 cents to NUT during the season on handler defense, but it may have been a little late to implement. I hope you younglings read this and start working hard on building these good habits this year. You're going to need them.
So you guys still enjoy the frisbee part of the show? I know not many of you can relate to, or even understand half the terminology in these posts, but I hope they are at least .. insightful? Ultimate is a true sport that requires athleticism and extensive strategy. Just because it isn't always played at the highest competitive level doesn't mean that it isn't. Anyhow, ultimate and Asian-American men are probably two things I try to change everyone's opinion on the most. I'll keep giving you anecdotes from the "Year of Food Training" as I've come to call it. Blu Sushi Lounge has proven as hilarious as I could have hoped.
EP #6
So I plugged away at it; quitting smoking, conditioning, hitting the gym, learning to lay out, studying the game, losing weight, and here I am ... still not a defensive oriented player.
Though I am a more advanced version of Panda (we like to call it Uber-Panda or Panda 2.0), I still wouldn't put myself on starting D-line. But that doesn't mean I don't play good defense, that just means it's not my strong suit. Every offensive player worth his salt can get the disc back if need be. I hope you young, athletic defenders out there read this, because the reason I can defend you is not because I'm faster it's because I'm smarter.
"Old man tricks" is a term used to describe a set of skills a player of veteran experience possesses. It is a term used to describe a player who is able to get open/play defense via deception, trickery, and knowledge of the game and field. This a term used to describe me. Old man tricks don't always belong to just post-college, 30 and over players. It mainly applies to someone who relies on their brain rather than their brawn when playing ultimate.
Handler defense. This is one of the most underrated and most difficult aspects of the game. Being able to put consistent pressure on a team's best handlers will eventually win you the game. To frustrate an opponent's ability to get a reset is a priority. But the first thing you have to realize, is that your opponent will be getting open on you. The important thing is to contain him and make him go where you want him to go.
It can be broken down in a few steps:
1) Upline cuts are unacceptable, STOP THE UPLINE. A successful upline cut gives the handler a power position and the best hucking opportunity, downfield cutters will strike at this moment. In high-level club ultimate, giving up an upline cut in the backfield will be a huck-to-score 60-70% of the time. Even if your mark comes around and makes the handler holster the huck, you are out of position and open to be broken. SO DON'T GET BEAT UPLINE.
2) Contest the dump/reset. You can stop an upline with somewhat ease by positioning yourself up the field, but to contest the dump is much harder. So many people just let the handler have the back reset easily and give up a huge swing. You have to be tight enough to contest a badly thrown dump (if it floats, is not out to space enough, etc.). A good handler will get open on this option most of the time, but it's a percentage game. If you are close enough to D a small error, then you are close enough to ...
3) Cut off the swing. This supposed good handler will get open on the back dump most of the time. If you can force him to lose yards, lose midfield position, or clear out for the next handler cut than you've succeeded on step 2. Now you must cut off the swing. You have to come all the way around and stop the O/I around swing. This swing resets their whole offense, it can't be allowed to go off. If you can force a handler to get a dump, but no swing 20 times in a row the offense will eventually make a mistake. In fact 20 times in a row would be remarkably consistent on the offense's part.
4) Cut off the break. The next look the handler has is the I/O break up field. Because you're going to be slightly out of position to stop the around swing (and that's if you're quite agile) a good thrower will quickly throw downfield to the breakside. Now that look is a) not always there because it's a hard communication between handler and cutter, and b) a hard throw in general, prone to turnovers, especially in wind. So if you've gotten to step 4 and that's the only option your handler has, then you as a defender have won.
Good handlers will beat you upline occasionally, will beat you on step 2, 3 and 4 often. The point is being able to force them back and take the hardest look most of the time. As I previously mentioned, it's a percentage game with handler defense. They will get open, but if you can force them to the worst position, to take the hardest throws most of the time, you will get turnovers and affect the game. It may not be glorious or attention-grabbing but it's EXTREMELY important. (Thanks to CK @ Force Flick for schooling people in handler D)
Now all the handler defense in the world won't save you if an offense can fundamentally get downfield cuts all the way to the endzone. Though cutting defense is definitely not my strong suit, I can definitely dominate an inexperienced player, or someone that is not using their brain. There are plenty of young, athletic cutters who just like to run deep and catch Frisbees, but I can prevent them from getting open because of positioning.
Let's just talk horizontal stack. Ho-stack cutter D is a very one-on-one operation. Vert stack depends on handler and team defense a lot more, so yeah ... ho-stack.
The defense you're going to play depends on the position of your cutter. If they are in the primary lanes in the middle of the stack, then you have your work cut out for you (pun ... unintended .. I suck). But the exterior lanes can be exploited for their weakness in position.
Let's say the disc is centered, the handler's primary looks are the 2/3 mid lane cutters. The cutter on the far breakside can't do much. They can't cut across the 2/3 lanes to get in to position, so for him to get the disc there has to be a break throw or a deep shot to space. The best place to position yourself in my opinion is a few yards off your man, shading him deep. A deep look to this cutter is actually the preferred look so you can't risk letting a huge throw get around you, so play him deep. But you can play off a few yards and "allow" an under. As long as you watch what's happening up field with the handlers, you can prevent a gain. The only way the disc is going to the breakside guy is if the disc swings all the way around to the breakside handler (or a break throw, but let's assume our marks are tight). If you see the disc swinging all the way around now you have to be ready to attack the under that's coming. The deep look will rarely come from a swing, and if it does it won't be the best throw. So 80% of the time it will be an under cut that allows a great angle for a lay out D attempt.
Now let's talk about the 4 spot, the cutter trapped against the line (forcing forehand). This cutter has a decent under look, but a bad deep look. So that means you should shade under. Obviously this will have to depend on respective skill/athleticism as to how much you can cheat in, but you can give a few steps deep if you're quick. The most important thing here is that if your cutter does get the disc, to force him as much to the sideline as possible, and to put a huge trap mark on (what we in Chicago, call the "hardest" mark). The deep look to this cutter is a bad look. It has to be an exceptional throw to go out of bounds, come back in to catch the cutter in stride. If it even comes back in play at all, it will usually come in high, at which point you can contest it, or too far out and low where it cannot be caught. So stop the under here, and force them outwards toward the line.
The primary cutters are going to be a tough place for the defense. The beauty of the horizontal stack is that the under and deep options are kept open. So the primary cutters will probably be the strongest cutters and they have several places to go. This is where athleticism and decision making will have to be utilized to the fullest. If you've got yourself a tall, fast cutter that likes to stretch it deep, you'll have to force him under and try to contest an in-cut. If they have weak throws (as tall, deep receivers tend to have), then you can hope and probably get turnovers that way. If they're not terribly fast, or if you think you can beat them in the air with confidence, force them deep. These cutters tend to be mids for their offense, getting under and doing damage with smart throws. If you force them out of their comfort zone deep, then the handlers will be less likely to throw to them, and you can get turnovers that way. If you have an exceptional cutter who can go deep, and move the disc under (ex: Kurt Gibson, Will Neff, etc.) well ... you're going to have a tough time, but that's what makes them good players.
These are just guidelines. Defense depends on knowing good habits, smart positioning and being flexible. You could play defense strictly by these guidelines and have decent success, but the only true way to dominate is to account for your opponents' strengths and weaknesses. This is an experience thing. The ability to evaluate your opponent just by watching them for a point or two, and then adjusting your defensive measures accordingly. Quick I/O forehand break? Adjust to a wide inside mark, play physical on stopping the backhand around break, get the foul called. Cutter is faster than you? Body him up, get in his way, keep some contact with him so you know where he is at all times. Huge thrower? Straight-up mark, downfield defenders have to be alert and know that all options are open, that a goal could be coming when the disc is in his hands. There are thousands of adjustments to be made in any given game. In a match of equal athleticism and talent, this is the difference maker. As I heard someone on Sub-Zero once say, "Johnny Bravo is a team like Sub Zero, fast and with good skills, but with way more intelligence."
Alright well... I've been meaning to get all that off my chest for a while. I wanted to give my 2 cents to NUT during the season on handler defense, but it may have been a little late to implement. I hope you younglings read this and start working hard on building these good habits this year. You're going to need them.
So you guys still enjoy the frisbee part of the show? I know not many of you can relate to, or even understand half the terminology in these posts, but I hope they are at least .. insightful? Ultimate is a true sport that requires athleticism and extensive strategy. Just because it isn't always played at the highest competitive level doesn't mean that it isn't. Anyhow, ultimate and Asian-American men are probably two things I try to change everyone's opinion on the most. I'll keep giving you anecdotes from the "Year of Food Training" as I've come to call it. Blu Sushi Lounge has proven as hilarious as I could have hoped.
EP #6
Thursday, September 10, 2009
The Post-College Body
I like to consider myself an observant person. I will usually notice subtle changes to your appearance or how you're feeling if I know you well enough. I won't always mention it if you find yourself disagreeing, but trust me ... I know (insert creepy, silent stare). Ahem.
That being said, I am woefully ignorant of my own body and how I feel. Some days I have seemingly limitless energy, and this energy supports a high-octane feeling of well-being. Other days I feel like hell and have to drag my dead-weight body out of bed, my misery only barely dulled by strong coffee. Not only do I usually not figure out that I'm feeling like crap until I have a slip-up, but I always have a hard time identifying why I feel that way. And that goes the other direction too, I usually am blissfully unaware of why I am feeling awesome. This is not a post-college phenomenon. But now that I have more a routine and there's less cheap alcohol in my life, my day-to-day state of being is made more apparent.
I don't think there's always a concrete reason as to why I feel one way or the other. My energy levels can be affected by very minor events (these include Disney songs coming up on shuffle, sharing eye contact with someone pretty [now that I live in Boystown ... very flattering], getting to cut onions, getting to saute onions, coming across the smell of a good taqueria). And the same goes for the negative. So the choice of conclusions before me are either I am very much unaware of myself or that I am so capricious that slicing sulfurous vegetables can jack me up.
Damn.
I mention this because I think physical energy and awareness is now oh-so-important to me succeeding in my career, or anything for that matter. Whereas in college I could eke by on a few hours of drunken sleep because I could sleep it off later, now there is not so much free time to recover. There is not so much leeway to be less than 100%. I could just get myself a poor grade (and I often would) and still graduate. Now I would risk letting down a kitchen full of people, or a dining room full of customers because my mind is hazy. So I've taken to getting my heart rate up at least once a day, exercising and getting regular sleep. I feel this keeps me up and focused so when the chef gives me a laundry list of things to do I can remember them and execute them. Or when I wait tables I can recite the specials in a coherent and tantalizing manner so that the customer can't help but get one of those.
For example, on a slower night when I'm not stuck to my station the chef will have me run his random kitchen errands. He'll start a creative project and then let me finish it, checking in on me here and there to make sure I haven't slipped up.
1) Pork shanks just came in. Experiment. Seasoned flour (dried rosemary, tarragon, salt/pepper), dredge them and saute, brown nicely. Cool off, prepare braising liquid.
2) Veal stock, rosemary, lemon, a little water, mirepoix - bring to simmer and start braising. Middle oven, about 275-300 for a few hours.
3) Find the couscous, warm it up, keep it hot.
4) Sauvignon Blanc poached pears, bring to boil, reduce to simmer for 5 min., off heat.
5) Apricot nectar, reduce by half.
6) Dice strawberries, apples, carrots.
7) New salad tonight, you're doing the mise-en-place: romaine hearts, fresh apple slices, grilled apple, whole grain mustard dressing, candied walnuts
8) Caramelize the pineapple with brown sugar/cinnamon/little cayenne ... I don't care how, just get it brown; broil it, convection oven, I don't fucking care just do it.
And the night will start off something like that. He'll only tell me once, and I can ask him to remind me but he gets pretty annoyed and looks at me like I'm retarded.
I've found when I'm hungover or tired this usually goes very poorly.
So I keep healthy not just to avoid getting fat and staying in shape for ultimate, but so I can perform at a high level. So I don't look like a chump. So I can learn.
And it's had wonderful effects so far. My body runs on a shockingly regular and light amount of sleep (6-7 hours, as opposed to like 9-10 while in school), I feel great, I feel stronger and faster for ultimate, I feel more focused and driven for food. Even though I don't always know why I feel one way or the other, I've generally found sticking to a routine and being a creature of habit has produced more good days than bad. The next step is eating better. Working in a kitchen is obviously conducive to eating a lot, and sometimes unhealthy stuff. We get a family meal around 430 but that's it. So my dinner usually consists of light snacks throughout the night. I work at the apps station a lot so I eat a sort of canape. Focaccia crostini with some antipasti toppings. Sicilian roasted red peppers (garlic, focaccia breadcrumbs, capers, olive oil, red peppers), smoked fontina cheese with pesto and sun-dried tomatoes, a little Italian chicken salad. The goal is to make the whole body more efficient.
I'll have to let you know how it works after the weekend. I feel pumped up for this tournament, my first seriously competitive one since Regionals. I feel I've improved my stamina and can play Sam Kanner-esque defense for a point or two. Perhaps I've gotten better at frisbee since leaving Frisbee House? Let's see. Here we go, NURD!
EP#6
That being said, I am woefully ignorant of my own body and how I feel. Some days I have seemingly limitless energy, and this energy supports a high-octane feeling of well-being. Other days I feel like hell and have to drag my dead-weight body out of bed, my misery only barely dulled by strong coffee. Not only do I usually not figure out that I'm feeling like crap until I have a slip-up, but I always have a hard time identifying why I feel that way. And that goes the other direction too, I usually am blissfully unaware of why I am feeling awesome. This is not a post-college phenomenon. But now that I have more a routine and there's less cheap alcohol in my life, my day-to-day state of being is made more apparent.
I don't think there's always a concrete reason as to why I feel one way or the other. My energy levels can be affected by very minor events (these include Disney songs coming up on shuffle, sharing eye contact with someone pretty [now that I live in Boystown ... very flattering], getting to cut onions, getting to saute onions, coming across the smell of a good taqueria). And the same goes for the negative. So the choice of conclusions before me are either I am very much unaware of myself or that I am so capricious that slicing sulfurous vegetables can jack me up.
Damn.
I mention this because I think physical energy and awareness is now oh-so-important to me succeeding in my career, or anything for that matter. Whereas in college I could eke by on a few hours of drunken sleep because I could sleep it off later, now there is not so much free time to recover. There is not so much leeway to be less than 100%. I could just get myself a poor grade (and I often would) and still graduate. Now I would risk letting down a kitchen full of people, or a dining room full of customers because my mind is hazy. So I've taken to getting my heart rate up at least once a day, exercising and getting regular sleep. I feel this keeps me up and focused so when the chef gives me a laundry list of things to do I can remember them and execute them. Or when I wait tables I can recite the specials in a coherent and tantalizing manner so that the customer can't help but get one of those.
For example, on a slower night when I'm not stuck to my station the chef will have me run his random kitchen errands. He'll start a creative project and then let me finish it, checking in on me here and there to make sure I haven't slipped up.
1) Pork shanks just came in. Experiment. Seasoned flour (dried rosemary, tarragon, salt/pepper), dredge them and saute, brown nicely. Cool off, prepare braising liquid.
2) Veal stock, rosemary, lemon, a little water, mirepoix - bring to simmer and start braising. Middle oven, about 275-300 for a few hours.
3) Find the couscous, warm it up, keep it hot.
4) Sauvignon Blanc poached pears, bring to boil, reduce to simmer for 5 min., off heat.
5) Apricot nectar, reduce by half.
6) Dice strawberries, apples, carrots.
7) New salad tonight, you're doing the mise-en-place: romaine hearts, fresh apple slices, grilled apple, whole grain mustard dressing, candied walnuts
8) Caramelize the pineapple with brown sugar/cinnamon/little cayenne ... I don't care how, just get it brown; broil it, convection oven, I don't fucking care just do it.
And the night will start off something like that. He'll only tell me once, and I can ask him to remind me but he gets pretty annoyed and looks at me like I'm retarded.
I've found when I'm hungover or tired this usually goes very poorly.
So I keep healthy not just to avoid getting fat and staying in shape for ultimate, but so I can perform at a high level. So I don't look like a chump. So I can learn.
And it's had wonderful effects so far. My body runs on a shockingly regular and light amount of sleep (6-7 hours, as opposed to like 9-10 while in school), I feel great, I feel stronger and faster for ultimate, I feel more focused and driven for food. Even though I don't always know why I feel one way or the other, I've generally found sticking to a routine and being a creature of habit has produced more good days than bad. The next step is eating better. Working in a kitchen is obviously conducive to eating a lot, and sometimes unhealthy stuff. We get a family meal around 430 but that's it. So my dinner usually consists of light snacks throughout the night. I work at the apps station a lot so I eat a sort of canape. Focaccia crostini with some antipasti toppings. Sicilian roasted red peppers (garlic, focaccia breadcrumbs, capers, olive oil, red peppers), smoked fontina cheese with pesto and sun-dried tomatoes, a little Italian chicken salad. The goal is to make the whole body more efficient.
I'll have to let you know how it works after the weekend. I feel pumped up for this tournament, my first seriously competitive one since Regionals. I feel I've improved my stamina and can play Sam Kanner-esque defense for a point or two. Perhaps I've gotten better at frisbee since leaving Frisbee House? Let's see. Here we go, NURD!
EP#6
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Front of the House vs. Back of the House
My apologies for the hiatus. A week of starting work at Blu, moving, and working in the kitchen kicked my ass. But here I am, ready to rock, living in Chicago at the Buckingham Palace, ready to start anew.
Now that I live in a real person apartment, I feel I can finally get a rhythm going and start really setting the eyes on the prize. Don't get me wrong, I had a great time living at 912, and a great time living at Frisbee house. But the time has come for me to move on from living with 11-13 people under one roof. And the time has come for me to get out of Evanston. Oh wait...
Yeah two jobs in Evanston. Not really leaving that college bubble yet. Oh how I dread serving you NU punks at Blu. Students just tip poorly, I don't blame you but it's the facts. The past two weeks have made me realize a few things about serving.
I haven't waited tables for years, and to be doing it for a job I guess is okay. The money can be good, and the job has relevance to my career, but it can just be a huge pain in the ass. Trying to placate a customer who clearly just wants nothing more than to bitch and moan at every given opportunity takes supreme patience. It's easy to keep a smile on when you're serving a nice customer. It's disproportionately harder to keep that smile genuine when dealing with a serious jerk. So here I am, at the juxtaposition of the restaurant business; front of the house vs. back of the house. Both are absolutely crucial to a successful restaurant. In fact, many people, myself included, believe that a restaurant with great service and mediocre food wins out over a place with stellar food and mediocre service.
Why is that? Well that's the heart of the restaurant experience I guess. People go to restaurants to celebrate, to relax, to have a good time mainly. The food can sometimes be secondary to that experience. People want to feel waited on and treated well, to let someone else take over the reins for an evening. An impeccable wait staff can really do wonders to compensate for kitchen mishaps, or poorly executed food. After all a restaurants profits really depend more on regulars and repeat customers than experimental newcomers. To earn regulars, to keep regulars, you need a well-oiled front of the house.
But then you ask the dangerous question; which is easier? Both sides love to argue that their job is harder, and me being a cook at heart definitely makes me a little biased. But I'll try to analyze this as objectively as I can.
Let's start with front of the house. You make more money, or at least you usually make more money. You work less hours (fact not opinion), you get to shower, dress nice, smell good and converse with customers, really use your people skills. You get AIR CONDITIONING. You get to see firsthand how a customer is enjoying their meal, their whole experience. You get thanked in person and get the satisfaction of knowing your customer is happy if you do your job right. That gratitude is manifested in cold, hard cash.
But then again, when things are going badly it can be real bad. When a customer gets pissed off, or wants to send back a dish it's you who has to grin and take it. To weather the verbal assault, to settle the anger, to alleviate the awkwardness. You have to make things right and it's not always concrete on how to do it. Every customer is different, is fickle and requires a different approach. Sometimes it's not even your fault but your income will be afflicted by it either way. No matter who you are, having someone be pissed at you never feels good. Messing up an order, not serving as you know you should, or god forbid spilling something is a terrible, terrible feeling.
Back of the house. The good? You get a fixed salary, and a steady job. A lot of waiters have to supplement their jobs with second jobs. You can usually sit pretty with one. You can learn a lot, the physical act of cooking can be both rewarding and fun. You get to flex your creative muscles here and there, and best of all you don't really have to deal with shitty customers if you're a line cook. You just keep your head down and do your job, and if you love that job like I do then it's great.
Oh but there's plenty of bad. The kitchen is a fierce place. It. Is. Hot. You will be gross and sweaty by the end of it, reeking of some kind of animal flesh and covered in a just perceptible film of grease. You work long ass hours doing manual labor and a lot of the times it's in a state of high stress and panic. On a busy night you are in an insane frenzy of cooking that can easily go horribly awry. You just have to rely on your muscle memory and most basic brain functions to go at that speed. If you fuck up a dish, if it gets sent back? Damn, that's a bad feeling too. And all the while some fat guy is yelling at you to go harder, faster no matter if you're doing well or not. You can injure yourself, you WILL injure yourself at some point, and generally it's thankless. You are a faceless, non-existent entity, simply an extension of the chef's creativity and genius. You are an integral part of the machine, but like so many obscure parts in a car engine, most people don't know what you do until you're gone.
The funny thing is, being a chef blends those aspects together. Most chefs these days present themselves in the dining room occasionally, or at least put their faces on websites so people know who's making their meal. So Blu can really help me out a bit here, I can get some more serious experience knowing what it takes to make the front of the house work. But which do I prefer? Which do I think is genuinely harder? Being a cook of course.
Those conditions sound pretty bad, but that's something you can love about cooking. I don't know how to quantify it so well, but all of that actually sounds good to me. It is truly a labor of love, and I feel bad for cooks who hate their jobs and do it solely for a living. It is truly a back-breaking job, and a spirit-breaking one at that if you don't derive any pleasure from it.
So here we go, establishing my life rhythm downtown, embarking on my culinary adventure to learn everything about restaurants. I'm playing catch up to the greats. I want to be great. So this year will hopefully be enough time for me to play some ample catch up. Grant Achatz unabashedly said, "I want to be famous. To be famous means you're the best." Well, Chef Achatz, you certainly are famous. Everyone knows who you are, and when I went to your cooking demo I seriously wasn't expecting a full house, standing-room only event where everyone knew you and wanted to see your magic. So you changed me then. You showed me firsthand the power of food, and I want to reach your level. Hopefully I will see you soon enough.
EP #6
Now that I live in a real person apartment, I feel I can finally get a rhythm going and start really setting the eyes on the prize. Don't get me wrong, I had a great time living at 912, and a great time living at Frisbee house. But the time has come for me to move on from living with 11-13 people under one roof. And the time has come for me to get out of Evanston. Oh wait...
Yeah two jobs in Evanston. Not really leaving that college bubble yet. Oh how I dread serving you NU punks at Blu. Students just tip poorly, I don't blame you but it's the facts. The past two weeks have made me realize a few things about serving.
I haven't waited tables for years, and to be doing it for a job I guess is okay. The money can be good, and the job has relevance to my career, but it can just be a huge pain in the ass. Trying to placate a customer who clearly just wants nothing more than to bitch and moan at every given opportunity takes supreme patience. It's easy to keep a smile on when you're serving a nice customer. It's disproportionately harder to keep that smile genuine when dealing with a serious jerk. So here I am, at the juxtaposition of the restaurant business; front of the house vs. back of the house. Both are absolutely crucial to a successful restaurant. In fact, many people, myself included, believe that a restaurant with great service and mediocre food wins out over a place with stellar food and mediocre service.
Why is that? Well that's the heart of the restaurant experience I guess. People go to restaurants to celebrate, to relax, to have a good time mainly. The food can sometimes be secondary to that experience. People want to feel waited on and treated well, to let someone else take over the reins for an evening. An impeccable wait staff can really do wonders to compensate for kitchen mishaps, or poorly executed food. After all a restaurants profits really depend more on regulars and repeat customers than experimental newcomers. To earn regulars, to keep regulars, you need a well-oiled front of the house.
But then you ask the dangerous question; which is easier? Both sides love to argue that their job is harder, and me being a cook at heart definitely makes me a little biased. But I'll try to analyze this as objectively as I can.
Let's start with front of the house. You make more money, or at least you usually make more money. You work less hours (fact not opinion), you get to shower, dress nice, smell good and converse with customers, really use your people skills. You get AIR CONDITIONING. You get to see firsthand how a customer is enjoying their meal, their whole experience. You get thanked in person and get the satisfaction of knowing your customer is happy if you do your job right. That gratitude is manifested in cold, hard cash.
But then again, when things are going badly it can be real bad. When a customer gets pissed off, or wants to send back a dish it's you who has to grin and take it. To weather the verbal assault, to settle the anger, to alleviate the awkwardness. You have to make things right and it's not always concrete on how to do it. Every customer is different, is fickle and requires a different approach. Sometimes it's not even your fault but your income will be afflicted by it either way. No matter who you are, having someone be pissed at you never feels good. Messing up an order, not serving as you know you should, or god forbid spilling something is a terrible, terrible feeling.
Back of the house. The good? You get a fixed salary, and a steady job. A lot of waiters have to supplement their jobs with second jobs. You can usually sit pretty with one. You can learn a lot, the physical act of cooking can be both rewarding and fun. You get to flex your creative muscles here and there, and best of all you don't really have to deal with shitty customers if you're a line cook. You just keep your head down and do your job, and if you love that job like I do then it's great.
Oh but there's plenty of bad. The kitchen is a fierce place. It. Is. Hot. You will be gross and sweaty by the end of it, reeking of some kind of animal flesh and covered in a just perceptible film of grease. You work long ass hours doing manual labor and a lot of the times it's in a state of high stress and panic. On a busy night you are in an insane frenzy of cooking that can easily go horribly awry. You just have to rely on your muscle memory and most basic brain functions to go at that speed. If you fuck up a dish, if it gets sent back? Damn, that's a bad feeling too. And all the while some fat guy is yelling at you to go harder, faster no matter if you're doing well or not. You can injure yourself, you WILL injure yourself at some point, and generally it's thankless. You are a faceless, non-existent entity, simply an extension of the chef's creativity and genius. You are an integral part of the machine, but like so many obscure parts in a car engine, most people don't know what you do until you're gone.
The funny thing is, being a chef blends those aspects together. Most chefs these days present themselves in the dining room occasionally, or at least put their faces on websites so people know who's making their meal. So Blu can really help me out a bit here, I can get some more serious experience knowing what it takes to make the front of the house work. But which do I prefer? Which do I think is genuinely harder? Being a cook of course.
Those conditions sound pretty bad, but that's something you can love about cooking. I don't know how to quantify it so well, but all of that actually sounds good to me. It is truly a labor of love, and I feel bad for cooks who hate their jobs and do it solely for a living. It is truly a back-breaking job, and a spirit-breaking one at that if you don't derive any pleasure from it.
So here we go, establishing my life rhythm downtown, embarking on my culinary adventure to learn everything about restaurants. I'm playing catch up to the greats. I want to be great. So this year will hopefully be enough time for me to play some ample catch up. Grant Achatz unabashedly said, "I want to be famous. To be famous means you're the best." Well, Chef Achatz, you certainly are famous. Everyone knows who you are, and when I went to your cooking demo I seriously wasn't expecting a full house, standing-room only event where everyone knew you and wanted to see your magic. So you changed me then. You showed me firsthand the power of food, and I want to reach your level. Hopefully I will see you soon enough.
EP #6
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)