Man, oh man. I had a wonderful week off of school. I cooked every day. I went downtown almost every day. The East Village area is really coming along well. Which is good, yes? Yes. Especially since my newest project (I'm secretly referring to it as Project Fucktonofwork) involves designing and planning a restaurant inside and out, from start to opening, complete with budget, decor, kitchen, and interior design.
Today, some of my fellow classmates and I went to scout out commercial property in the area. We settled on a really awesome place at 921 Market, which offers us just over 4,800 square feet of real estate right smack near the division of the Gaslamp and East Village districts. Blocks away from the ballpark, right under luxury condos (which are, surprisingly, mostly occupied), and near shopping.
You know, all the planning that a new restaurant involves is staggering. I mean that. I never could've possibly imagined how much work goes into all of this. My only worry at this point is that I'm going to get so carried away that I'll end this project wishing that I had the means to make this a reality. We've got a really great idea and I'll share more details with you (not that anyone reads this, right?) as the project continues. Right now I don't have enough time to begin going into much detail. 2 weeks. 4 students. 1 restaurant. Combine that with the fact that one of my partners doesn't want to put in any work and another has me worried... well, let's say that I'm just shy of freaking the fuck out. Whelmed? Overwhelmed. Beyond overwhelmed. Thank god one of my partners has her head on straight and is capable of taking this seriously.
I've got a kitchen full of equipment to shop for. I should be buying lottery tickets, but my cynical side says not to waste money on them.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
dealing with disappointment
Every cook I know deals with disappointment differently. Yours truly would formerly throw huge fits, melting down and screaming and thrashing the cookware (and this was before I started cooking with stainless), getting so completely lost in the fury and anger that I wouldn't be able to regain focus for days. This is no way to cook.
But what is failure? There's no such thing as a perfect plate. The day you think you've reached perfection, you should probably quit while you're ahead. Perfection is something I (and most cooks, I'm sure) strive for each and every time I fire up the burner and start cooking. So does that mean that failure is a lack of perfection? Is failure something that occurs between the outset of cooking and the end of the dish, only to find that it didn't quite come out the way you wanted? Maybe you oversalted. Maybe you under or (god forbid) overcooked that steak. Maybe you had this ideal tucked away in your mind, this vision of what you wanted as the end result and you didn't quite reach it.
Step back. Breathe.
Now, what have you learned? What would you, could you, and absolutely should you do differently next time? Learn. Cooking is an ever-evolving process. At least, it should be. Let's face it (and this has been said before), we're not curing cancer. It's only food. Besides, there's already a cure for cancer, and it's Chuck Norris' tears. The problem is that Chuck Norris never cries. And neither should you. No crying in the kitchen. No temper tantrums, well, not over the food. Other cooks, yeah, they get under your skin. But you're the only one responsible for your cooking. And for your behavior before, during, and after.
So, rather than feel pushed down or upset or angry or flat-out pissed off about a result that you hadn't anticipated, try learning from it. Maybe being disappointed isn't always a bad thing. It makes you a better cook in the long run, right?
notes:
But what is failure? There's no such thing as a perfect plate. The day you think you've reached perfection, you should probably quit while you're ahead. Perfection is something I (and most cooks, I'm sure) strive for each and every time I fire up the burner and start cooking. So does that mean that failure is a lack of perfection? Is failure something that occurs between the outset of cooking and the end of the dish, only to find that it didn't quite come out the way you wanted? Maybe you oversalted. Maybe you under or (god forbid) overcooked that steak. Maybe you had this ideal tucked away in your mind, this vision of what you wanted as the end result and you didn't quite reach it.
Step back. Breathe.
Now, what have you learned? What would you, could you, and absolutely should you do differently next time? Learn. Cooking is an ever-evolving process. At least, it should be. Let's face it (and this has been said before), we're not curing cancer. It's only food. Besides, there's already a cure for cancer, and it's Chuck Norris' tears. The problem is that Chuck Norris never cries. And neither should you. No crying in the kitchen. No temper tantrums, well, not over the food. Other cooks, yeah, they get under your skin. But you're the only one responsible for your cooking. And for your behavior before, during, and after.
So, rather than feel pushed down or upset or angry or flat-out pissed off about a result that you hadn't anticipated, try learning from it. Maybe being disappointed isn't always a bad thing. It makes you a better cook in the long run, right?
notes:
- "boneless" short ribs don't quite turn out right. more connective tissue = more collagen = more delicious
- calphalon makes a tri-ply stainless steel that is every bit as good as all-clad, but with more comfortable handles
- men don't cry. only women cry. men WEEP! (just not in the kitchen)
- did I mention more bones = more collagen = more delicious?
- 6 hour lamb belly confit is my new hero
Friday, March 19, 2010
(dis)respect
So we're a few months in at school and everyone is all settled in and we're all the best of friends and we study together and cook together and share recipes and talk about food. I mean, that seems normal, right? Yeah, that's what I thought, too. Turns out I was wrong.
I can't for the life of me fathom why anyone would choose to attend one of the top ranked culinary schools in the world and NOT take it seriously. I mean, if your plan is to sleep in, smoke as much weed as possible, come to school hungover, unprepared, with no recipe cards, having done no studying... why fucking bother? Just quit and stop dragging me down. You're not only making yourself look bad, but I worry about where you'll end up if you manage to graduate. You're going to make the school look bad. In turn, that means you'll make ME look bad, and I'm working my fucking ass off because this is my life. I'm 30 goddamn years old. I don't have time to fuck around with this anymore. I waited until I was almost 30 to make the gut-wrenching decision to change everything about my life and give up a career I'd started almost 10 years prior to follow my dream. So? I'm taking it seriously. You should, too.
Have some respect. Don't show up bragging about how drunk you got last night. Or how much coke you scored after the bar closed. Or how much pot you smoked this morning to come down off your high. Or how you feel sick. Or didn't study. Stop making excuses for yourself and just quit. Because I'm tired of it. And I can guarantee you, "Uh, what are we doing today? What's a bearnaise again?" only flies when you're paying for the privilege of coming to class. Any chef worth working for would put up with your shit for 30 seconds before kicking you so hard in the ass that you can't find work within 100 miles.
But, at the same time, I want to thank you. Thank you for preparing me to work with morons like you who will surely get stuck and settle for mediocrity. Let's face it, every kitchen needs a prep bitch. Or a no-talent hack of a mouth-breather who never gets a chance to hit the line, even on a Wednesday when you're only averaging 30 covers. Thanks for getting the hell out of my way so that I can move up. Thank you for giving me insight into real "stupid" so that I know how I should phrase it when you wake up one day and ask how I became sous chef and you're not even being put on the line.
Thanks. Now go mince 5lbs of shallots for me. I've got work to do. Asshole.
I can't for the life of me fathom why anyone would choose to attend one of the top ranked culinary schools in the world and NOT take it seriously. I mean, if your plan is to sleep in, smoke as much weed as possible, come to school hungover, unprepared, with no recipe cards, having done no studying... why fucking bother? Just quit and stop dragging me down. You're not only making yourself look bad, but I worry about where you'll end up if you manage to graduate. You're going to make the school look bad. In turn, that means you'll make ME look bad, and I'm working my fucking ass off because this is my life. I'm 30 goddamn years old. I don't have time to fuck around with this anymore. I waited until I was almost 30 to make the gut-wrenching decision to change everything about my life and give up a career I'd started almost 10 years prior to follow my dream. So? I'm taking it seriously. You should, too.
Have some respect. Don't show up bragging about how drunk you got last night. Or how much coke you scored after the bar closed. Or how much pot you smoked this morning to come down off your high. Or how you feel sick. Or didn't study. Stop making excuses for yourself and just quit. Because I'm tired of it. And I can guarantee you, "Uh, what are we doing today? What's a bearnaise again?" only flies when you're paying for the privilege of coming to class. Any chef worth working for would put up with your shit for 30 seconds before kicking you so hard in the ass that you can't find work within 100 miles.
But, at the same time, I want to thank you. Thank you for preparing me to work with morons like you who will surely get stuck and settle for mediocrity. Let's face it, every kitchen needs a prep bitch. Or a no-talent hack of a mouth-breather who never gets a chance to hit the line, even on a Wednesday when you're only averaging 30 covers. Thanks for getting the hell out of my way so that I can move up. Thank you for giving me insight into real "stupid" so that I know how I should phrase it when you wake up one day and ask how I became sous chef and you're not even being put on the line.
Thanks. Now go mince 5lbs of shallots for me. I've got work to do. Asshole.
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