On leaving that restaurant, and looking for others

Leaving was bittersweet, as we can say about so many things in life. It's hard to know if I made the right decision. I return to the restaurant often, on Sundays and Mondays (the Chef and owner's days off), to eat the food my friends make for me. It's delicious.   I get jealous when I look at something new and think, “oh what's that!” and “how did you do this one?”. I wonder if there was more for me to learn there, or if I'm better off not lingering so as to get a better impression of the industry and make a decision about my life.

Deciding to leave was complicated. About a month and a half before I put my notice in the Chef asked me if I saw myself still working there in six months. I said I did. And I was honest. Though at that time there were parts of my job that frustrated me and parts that I got along with. Between that moment and when I put in my notice I grew increasingly frustrated with the management, and perhaps with my own imperfections as a line cook as well. A friend who cares a lot for me gave me some good advice which I took: He told me that if I didn't see myself moving on from my frustration then it was time to go. Keeping myself in a tortured limbo was not a healthy option. I nodded, took in a deep breath and exhaled a sigh. Shortly thereafter I put in my notice, over a month, as it was a difficult time to be looking and coincidentally another cook chose that moment to quit as well.

In retrospect I know I did the right thing. But now that the fun of unemployment is waning and my next rent check looms overhead, the uncertainty leaves me melancholy and a little scared. What if my knife skills are not developed enough to impress my next potential employer? I've heard from a chef that when you watch someone for the first time, you'll know in about five to 10 minutes the level of their knife skills and efficiency, and can judge them accordingly. Having only one year experience leaves my knife skills yet still at the middle-back of the pack. Furthermore I've adopted the stance that it's better to do it right and not chop off my thumb, than to blaze through midway chopping off part of my thumb (lesson learned that one day...). My skills, executed correctly and quickly, will be there one day, after a lot more practice.

And while I'm asking myself daunting questions – what if my cooking skills are not enough for my next employer? There is still so much for me to learn, so many of the basics for me to acquire. It makes me nervous. Even dropping off my resume at potential employers is nerve-wrecking because the kitchen is unfamiliar and professional in a way that the kitchen I came from wasn't. The chef or sous-chef glazes over my resume trying to find the one line where I list that yes, I was once a cook for a period of time somewhere. Maybe I should delete all other details from my resume and make the pertinent information easier to find? What a barren resume that would be.

Writing about myself I am naturally critical (we are all often our own worst critics). And I realize that after expressing these anxieties to some of my former co-workers and friends they were quick to boost my cooking esteem and reaffirm that I could hang tough with the best of them. So in light of their faith in me and that feeling in the pit of my stomach that says, “no, you can do this, really”, I'd like to think I still have a chance.

I will continue my search for my restaurant match. All I want is a nice kitchen to take me under their wing; a place that treats their workers well and has a chef that I can admire, look up to, and try to emulate. Wouldn't you know those are harder to find than you think, and especially harder to break into if your resume reads one year experience. But persistence pays off, as my friend Chris told me. “You may hear 1,000 no's before you hear a yes.” I hope not. But I'll get there.  

The madeleine

I love living in California, specifically the East Bay. I spent the majority of my life here, and all the other places I've lived no matter how glamorous or interesting can't compare to the way my heart feels when I know I'm home. There is something warm and reassuring about living around the places I frequented in my youth. I love food also, obviously. Nothing will make me feel as good and comforted as one of my grandma's spicy dill pickles or my mom's tuna-less tuna noodle casserole (in fact, just noodle casserole, though the name sticks). It doesn't matter that the noodles are gushy and it's made with Campbell's cream of mushroom, or that the pickles are very lumpy and don't taste like anything you'd find in the supermarket today. They will always be the standard to which I judge pickles and casseroles, and the closer anyone comes to mimicking this imperfection the fuzzier I will feel inside. And that right there is one of the reasons I love food. In every family in every home people gather around the dinner table on a semi-regular basis (if not for holidays) and share their food and make traditions. Food facilitates some of our fondest memories and therefore it holds an extra power in our brains. Food, even in isolation, can unleash those memories and good feelings, consciously or without conscious effort

Today I am thinking about food and fuzzy memories because I translated my cousin Martine's madeleine recipe from French. This is the recipe she gave me after I spent a day at her house in the French countryside making and eating various treats. She boasts her madeleine's to be the best of anyone she knows. Having many French relatives is the reason my parents decided to enroll both me and my brother in French classes, instead of the ever-popular Spanish. And because of my long-time affinity for the French language I took a class on Proust my senior year of college (Proust, being the one who put madeleine's on the map! Linking them to what he calls involuntary memory). Therefore, whenever I see a madeleine I think of Proust and involuntary memory.

In Prousts novel, A La Recherche du Temps Perdu, or In Search of Lost Time, when the narrator eats his tea-soaked madeleine on the most ordinary of all days, the taste (not sight) takes him back to a time in his life he no longer thinks about. It is the moment where something as insignificant as a not-so-special cookie floods him with memories of his past that were near forgotten. It is literally a bite out of childhood. Let me quote the passage from the English translation:

“...one day in winter, on my return home, my mother...offered me some tea, a thing I did not ordinarily take. I declined at first, and then, for no particular reason, changed my mind. She sent for one of those squat, plump little cakes called petites madeleines,”...I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses...And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory...And suddenly the memory revealed itself. The taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray...when I went to say good morning to her in her bedroom, my aunt Leonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane. The sight of the little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind before I tasted it; perhaps because I had so often seen such things in the meantime...And as soon as I had recognized the taste...the whole of Combray and its surroundings...sprang into being...”(48-51)

Mind you Proust says nothing in such concision, and he probably goes on about madeleine's for 50 pages or so (maybe I'm exaggerating a little). I just took the heart, cropped from 4 pages. But even with that you can close your eyes and imagine how the scene went down. Or better yet you can feel it someday, unexpectedly, when you make your mom's casserole or spoon out some canned peaches. However, to give you an idea I am providing you with this similar clip from Ratatouille! It is the scene where Ego, the pretentious critic, dines at Gusteau's restaurant to update his critique, ahem review... (watch the first minute): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JDK2azVSE5Q

Ego, the snob of all snobs, is humbled by a modest portion of rataouille. This scene, like Proust's famous madeleine, reminds us of the importance of food, beyond sustenance, as a symbol and function of our identities. Food connects us to our past, our community, and our family. And it makes us feel warm and fuzzy, accordingly.

For 16 madeleines: 

2 big eggs

130g flour + 5-6g baking powder

130g sugar

130g salted butter


1. Melt/soften butter and let cool.
2. In a bowl – beat eggs with a wisk, add the flour + baking powder, and the sugar. Mix all quickly.
3. Once the dough is smooth, mix in the butter.
4. Put a spoon of dough in each madeleine mold, buttered and floured if necessary. Put them in the middle of the oven, at 270C (518F) for 4 minutes, and lower the temperature to 210C (410F) and let cook another 4 minutes. (The cooking time may vary depending on how big your madeleine molds are).
5. Unmold quickly.

Cous Cous the long, fluffy way.

I noticed my food blog has an awful lot of writing about me and not a lot of food - so I thought I'd add my culinary adventures to the mix. A few weeks back I invited a friend from the restaurant over to embark on a Moroccan culinary quest: To make couscous, vegetables, and merguez. This savory combination takes me back in time to 2007, the year I spent in Paris, France on exchange. A good friend of mine in Paris was Moroccan and his family owned a Moroccan restaurant (Le Miz Miz, 6 Rue Moret, 11e). I often miss the light fluffy couscous his mother prepared - it was dissimilar to anything that comes from an instant box and kind of seemed like some magic recipe I would never replicate or conquer. It was served with a spicy mix of vegetables and sauce, and of course I would order Merguez on the side (spicy beef sausage). In approaching Moroccan night at the house - I emailed my friend back in Paris for some recommendations, and to learn to make cous cous "like your mother." I was expecting a reply with a simple recipe and some tricks of the trade. But he replied with something unexpected - to make couscous you need a couscoussière, or in other words - a couscous making contraption, pictured above (steamer). Well crap. This put a damper on Moroccan night. Nevertheless, I had faith I could come up with something, so I went forth and bought the medium grain couscous from the Middle East market (not fine, and not the kind from the instant box) which he advised. He sent me a recipe from a Moroccan food website and gave me some really useful footnotes (http://www.cuisinedumaroc.com/modules/sections/recette-viewarticle-58-couscous.html).

Right so here we go. The recipe was in French and even though I speak it, it took some deciphering and dictionaries to determine exactly what the processes were, which I combined with my friends advice and a little googling. What I deduced from the picture above is that the couscoussière is a pot below where you cook the meat and vegetable sauce, and the steam from this sauce cooks the couscous on the top pot with pores (the steamer is open, not closed). To substitute we used a rice cooker (steamer) lined with a lightly floured cheese cloth, though I'm sure you could also use a regular big pot for the bottom and a fine colander for the top. As you add the lukewarm water work the couscous with your fingers.

Making couscous requires that you steam and rest it at least twice. Take your uncooked couscous and put it in a bowl. Pay attention! This is the most important step. Slowly add lukewarm salty water to the couscous grain (not all at once, and not too much). As you add water mix the couscous with your fingers over and over, separating each grain, letting them expand with the warm water. Put the couscous in the open steamer. Cook for about 5-15 minutes, and then put it back in the bowl and fluff it with a fork (if cooked it will be like couscous from a box). Add a little water to moisten it and continue doing the same separating motion. It should never be soupy and avoid making it mushy as well. Wait a few minutes before putting it back in the steamer for 15-45 minutes, depending on how long it steamed the first time you can determine when it is done. Fluff and serve with butter!

Couscous with vegetable sauce and lamb sausage.

Couscous for lunch with caramalized onions.

Introduction to the Cordon Bleu culinary textbook and reflections

The introduction is really the most easily glossed over chapter. At first I even found myself flipping through the pages thinking what can I actually take from this? The section breezed through a short, French culinary history including Boulanger and Escoffier, and broke down the kitchen's organization and hierarchy, standards of professionalism, and keys to success. After reading much of the common sense advice presented in this chapter I started thinking about some of the culinary professionals I have met thus far in my culinary career and how they fit (or don't fit) into these criteria, and how even I can be balled up and tossed around these ideas.

Standards of professionalism in list form:

Positive attitude:  The paramount attribute to success. I learned this lesson early on in the kitchen. There were times in the kitchen when I wanted to quit, most definitely; when my moral was low. There were days when the chef thought, I am sure, that I would not be coming back. But every time I did. For example, to entertain your curiosity - there was the time the dishwasher and I had an argument that lasted almost 2 weeks over laziness in the kitchen (even though I don't speak Spanish nor him English - it was kind of a blowout), and the time something fell on my head and I burst into tears - not because it hurt so bad - but mostly because stress had been building up and it was a release of tension. I ran to the bathroom and dried my eyes, snapped out of it, walked back out and continued on like nothing ever happened. There are no excuses in the kitchen and certainly not for me - the newb who felt for so long like she had something to prove. Unnecessary drama surrounding me can only work to my disadvantage, and make our small domain uncomfortable. We spend so much time in close proximity to one another and rely so heavily on our interactions during evening service that any variation away from the norm exponentially increases the stress in the kitchen across the board. If I lose my humble demeanor and my go-getter attitude then there's no longer a point to my employment. The restaurant will invest in me so long as I invest in them, and as the chef said at many of our staff meetings - this can't be just a job to anyone here, and if it is then that person should probably leave. But anyways - I should say that for the most part I have a good kitchen attitude, I definitely wouldn't put myself on a pedestal of kitchen professionalism though.

Staying power (physical/mental stamina):  It took me 6 months or more to learn to stand on my feet all day, and when I'm exhausted I struggle with it yet still. Everyone in my restaurant has lost weight noticeably since their commencement of employment. Mentally, you must become accustomed to mundane tasks, or better yet - working incredibly efficient at mundane tasks so you can move onto something else (i.e. shelling beans, cleaning chard stems). You've got to hang tough. The chef does a good job of keeping it interesting, allowing us to change positions around the line every month or so. He said he used to get bored on the same station and wants us to find work as stimulating as possible.

Ability to work with people, eagerness to learn: "There is more to learn about cooking than you will learn in a lifetime," it says in the book. I agree. There are 1000 ways to skin a cat.  You may think you know but...

A full range of skills: To be successful in this industry you need to not only be a good cook but able to run a business and manage people.  This is the part where I do the unspeakable and comment on the chef.  Where I work, the chef is limited by his ability to manage the staff; he is out of touch with the cooks who prepare the food.  Many times at the restaurant I felt like all the responsibilities he had given me were greater than the range of my ability - even when stretched.  As a result there have been many nights where I struggled to complete my prep, lagged setting up my station, or entered service with a cloudy mind (shuddering on the inside).  All the employees should feel like their tasks are surmountable, difficult fine, but surmountable.  No one should be put in a position where failure feels certain.  Just to juxtapose another scenario - before working at this restaurant I spent almost two months volunteering at another restaurant which had a daily changing menu.  Depending on who was working what station, the dishes would become harder or easier to prep and execute, tailoring the complexity of the station to the cook presumably so each cook felt able to accomplish the given tasks.  While this may not be the norm in many kitchens, I notice that in that kitchen the line cooks seem to stay at the restaurant longer on average, perhaps speaking to the sustainable kitchen environment.

Experience: "A diploma will not make you chef."  There's just no way around this, nor should there be.

Dedication to quality: "It costs no more to cook green beans properly than to overcook them...you must want to. It is not enough to know how." To be a good cook I imagine it must be running through your veins. I've seen some of my co-workers take short cuts or try to let errors slide, errors that we've all made but will you take the energy to correct them? This, like pretty much everything, relates to attitude. If this is just a job then it will be more difficult to push through the low pay and lack of benefits, the crazy hours, and the aching back to produce quality, delectable dishes 8+ hours a day. You have to internalize it, to want it to be good apart from any external factors - just for the sake of the food. Quality control is a HUGE part of the restaurant - and the more strict it is the more consistent experiences customers will have, and the higher your reviews will be. Aside from the occasional short cuts it's easy to be inspired at work. I've seen our cooks care deeply about the end result, plating beautifully even when tired and constantly checking for freshness and seasoning. It's easy to get the plate out - but to make it fantastic every time is what it's about.  

Rachael teaches herself to cook in 6 months or less

I want to learn to cook, learn the fundamentals.  Last night I watched Anthony Bourdain prance around Paris in his 100th episode and pretty much all around blow my mind.  One of the chefs who accompanied him talked briefly of the difficulties of success in this business.  He commented that without the fundamentals to build upon real success is harder to achieve. And then I started to think, this is the stage of my life where I decide if a cooking career is for me and it won't last forever. Sooner rather than later I'm going to have to make the decision if I will stay in food or if I will leave it. Similarly, I am a firm believer that success can be awarded through your own initiative, with or without school. While maybe I would thrive more at an institution, maybe I wouldn't.   Maybe the two years spent purchasing an introduction to cooking could be accomplished while being paid, working, and self education. Maybe? Right now I'm betting on the latter. Chef says that most culinary students don't actually know anything. I believe that smart people in school come out with a wealth of knowledge and connections, though much of this is accomplished through drive. Other people grasp some of the concepts and skills but overall spend too much for an education that goes in one ear and out the other.

As I feel the omnipresent voices in the back of my head nagging me to earn money and pick a career (or could this be mother?), I'm giving myself 6 months to be a full blown foodie to the max.  I'll be doing weekly or bi-weekly homework: self-assigned, researched, executed, and turned in on the blog. I need more than anything to push myself to give a career in cooking a fair shot. I must know that I did everything feasible at this time, where it is most appropriate, where food consumes my life. Whether I decide to stay in food or leave, this séjour will stick with me forever and I will definitely look back smiling with a warm heart on the good times and the rough times involved in this experience: on finally mastering the cheesecake, getting proposed to over a tasty Steelhead, chopping off my thumb, feeling the heat on the line, engaging with people I would have otherwise not had the opportunity to meet, and overall busting my ass. I won't regret one scar.