To gree or not to gree…

Nicely put, Dano. Since we’re on the subject of “service as a social experiment”, I’ve got a story for you. It’s not super metaphorical or deep or anything, just an interesting wow-you-kinda-called-it moment…

So D comes in to prep for this rather involved private party last week. It was this past Friday the 22nd actually. Well meaning husband wants to surprise his wife for her 30th birthday, around 25 people. Hubby’s trying to please everyone, so it takes quite a few tries to organize a family-style menu that finally includes a fully boned out, stuffed, 30-something pound turkey, mash, gravy, carrots & peas, beet salads, apple pies and vanilla ice cream, plus passed apps (mmm…homemade poppers using those mini sweet peppers) to start. It’s family style, so nothing is too intricate, but it’s gotta be right, and it’s a lot for one guy to run around and do in an afternoon, especially since D gets hauled off in so many directions over the course of a day.

The plan is that the guests arrive upstairs between 7 - 7:30 pm, and the guy comes with his wife for dinner downstairs for their “reservation” at 8pm. We tell them their table isn’t ready yet, would they like to go upstairs for a drink first…ta da, surprise, everyone is happy and eats like pigs. Except it totally didn’t happen like that at all.

D’s running around like a crazy person come 6pm, since half his day was spent watching the rest of us, hunting down lost invoices, sending back shit product, planning other menus, what have you…and it’s looking like he might just barely make it. The mad scramble we all know. We all glance to see if we can help, if only we could set ourselves up first…oh that friday pre-service dance…

6:30 then 6:45 rolls around, nobody in yet, thank god. Then 7…7:30. Ok, these guys are too cool for school maybe. D is an insane whirlwind, using up every last insert, spoon and towel to make this setup happen. And it does. And all is good.

8 hits, all the apps are ready, plus first course set up to go…and not one single person is here yet. No guests, no husband, no wife. Only after our host (who I think had last spoken to our guy – “looking forward to seeing you on the 22nd!”) called him to ask if he was on his way did we realize that – surprise!!! – the husband, that meatball, had thought the 22nd was a Saturday. And everyone, every single person he invited he had told the wrong date.

That meatball.

Talk about cooking for an empty room, huh?

The interesting thing to me, watching this, was that this food, source of all this stress, neatly collected into three pans and portioned on half trays, somehow became lifted from all its panicky-ness nearly the second we found out the party wasn’t coming. It was the very same food, but somehow all that adrenaline and worry - whoosh - transformed into simply a few ingredients in search of a meal.

And D, through all the running and hunger and lack of sleep, despite all that stress and frenzy, was genuinely was more upset about the fact that no one was coming to eat his food.

I know, this post is getting epic, but bear with my ramblings a touch longer. I guess what I saw that night was a big reason why I think so many of us started, and enjoy cooking for a living…it’s simply satisfying to do good work when you know there’s an audience out there, to immediately validate our efforts, to send (hopefully) their compliments, or better yet, a round of drinks, back to the kitchen. But like that “service as a social experiment” idea we started with, what happens when that audience might not be out there? How would your cooking change, if at all (and let’s be honest here), if there were no cleaned plates coming back, no instant feedback to note your work, your food?

I say this only because I’ve had to struggle with this new, surprisingly frustrating idea in my latest venture as an occasional food stylist. I’m almost used to the idea of “cooking” now just for looks. There’s no diner to season things for (in fact salt often makes things weepy and droop in photos, and mounting with butter is a bad idea unless you want your sauce to split under all the lights), no foodie out there to for which I need to make the plate even edible. It’s strange and awkwardly unnatural at times for sure.

And so I counter the question of why we do what we do, with another, if only to egg you guys on - who are we cooking for? Who do you cook for?

Why...

do we do what we do?

I am fully willing to accept that this is partially the self-interested curiosities of someone trying to come to grips with there own existence, but it's also the topic of many drunken conversations between fellow cooks. What is it that motivates people to put themselves through the shit, in the shit, to the left of the shit, eating shit, smelling like shit, feeling like shit, looking like shit, acting like shit, getting shit on, and providing an excellent meal for joe shit head who'd 'rather grab a Big Mac, cause it's value for money'. It feels like I just finished work, and I'm on my way to go make people brunch. I don't even eat brunch and yet I will happily (once I get in the kitchen) pound out another 60 covers on top of the 360 from last night. I know I'm not really bummed about this, although I don't know why.

Perhaps there actually isn't anyone in the dining room. Stay with me here. Perhaps it's all one massive, bizarre social experiment designed to see how far you can push people in the name of 'passion', that self-righteous excuse for decimating our social lives, keeping us from loved ones, and ensuring that most every meal is eaten in a panic while standing (running) in that hour window between mise and service. The scientist's twist our fate like tiny pawns being forced mercilessly across a chess board, convincing us that it will be a slow night and then manipulating a walk in 15 (what the fuck are 15 people doing walking around) inspiring a sudden rush of early tables, bizarre and inexplicable allergies (cucumber?) and Mr.what's his fucking name whose wife only eat's Dom-poached dover sole. Sometimes the randomness of service feels so obscure that I feel this is a very valid concept.

To return to the original question. Why? A lot of people will cite the pitfalls of the alternative, that of being an office stooge or a criminal, or (dun dun dun) a server. I don't know if not doing other things is any reason to do something, but it's a start. Everyone like's to eat at restaurants so logically it should be fun to work at them right? We are all aware however that there is a fundamental disconnect between the frivolous joys of sitting to eat, and the painstaking satisfaction that is squeezed out of a solid service. So why? For me the most appreciable thing about working as a cook, or cooking as a work rather, is the brutally honest nature of our profession. Sad veg makes shit stock makes poor sauce. You can't hide bad food. Similarily peoples unsociable personalities are easily weeded out. If I worked in an office I couldn't tell someone to fuck off when I've had enough of them, but in a kitchen it can happen unconsciously. People who can't hack it get weeded out. You can't hide a bad personality either.

This is rambling, it's early, but I feel that it should be defined, or at least considered, as to what draws us to our commonality. Feel free to agree, disagree, or just gree.

daniel

When Ronnie's local 069 had a kitchen!

Real Irish Beef Stew on a department store shelf, awesome...WTF

It's bad enough I was in Target but this was amazing to see. I love how enticing they try and market this CRAP.
"Made with FRESH potatoes and carrots"
What da? how is this possible, it's sitting on a shelf. It's BEEF Stew sitting on a shelf.
I love the other product next to it too.
But it's only $2.29, what a steal.

eye hart speling

(hee hee, i'm such an ass for posting this, but G really is a terrible speller...)

Loves ya!

a thing of beauty...

...is a joy, well, at least on a thursday afternoon. I have fridge envy right now.

gorgatron

Has anyone else ever found these while cleaning fish? Hiding in the mouth?

Spooky.

staff meal #1

If you've ever wondered what cooks eat, after the shift, on their day off - or say on a lazy sunday to celebrate a good buddy's birthday, for example - here's one that ranks as one of my all time faves.

(I bow to you, CS, for the genius combination of pork/butter/brown sugar/more fat...and Dr. Pepper chasers! Damn.)

A happy birthday indeed.

welcome!

So here's a little experiment/idea that we'd like to try out.

In the last few years, I've spent many hilarious, frustrating, lovely, maddening, exhilarating, epic days and nights in the company of cooks and their ilk. And I've had the pleasure and the privilege of meeting some of the most stand-up, creative, (jaded, asinine, stubborn), amaaazingly solid boys and girls I'll ever hope to meet.

And when our worlds collide, when we get together for a few (...) drinks, or share a meal and a laugh and the stories start rolling out, I often think we gotta remember this! The nightmare services, the budding ideas and the finally realized dishes, arguments on which is worse - the trio or cinnamon stick garnishes, the glory of a "perfect" plate (whether giving or receiving) and the humiliation of stupendous fuck ups, the WTF of surprise fridge finds, Hall of Fame/Shame staff meals, sweet Tough Man Challenges...it all boils down to us loving what has been so rightly called, this thing of ours.

So here we are. I've invited some of my favourite kitchen boys and girls to share their stories/pictures/inspirations/nightmares about what makes them tick. (And what ticks them off - although it should be said that we're mostly about the love, right?) Yes. Bring the lovefest on.

I have a feeling this is gonna be a fun ride....here we go!