The search for the right kitchen

I expected that my first stage might not pan out. I arranged several stages in the course of a week so I would have the opportunity to compare them and figure out exactly what I was looking for in a work environment and from a chef.

My next stage was at The Breslin. Located in Midtown at The Ace Hotel, the Breslin is a British love child between Michelin star Chef April Bloomfield and Ken Friedman. The Breslin specializes in large format meals featuring roasted suckling pigs and whole lambs. I was prepared to walk into the kitchen, take orders, put my head down and work. I arrived early in the morning where I reported to the chef de cuisine, slipped into my whites and got to work on the morning prep list. Across from me, a butcher prepared a whole hog for the afternoon's suckling pig reservation and next to me, another cook made breakfast. 

The kitchen was huge. I worked in the prep kitchen, below the open kitchen upstairs in the dining room. About six people were assigned to prepping vegetables and as cooks arrived throughout the morning, some of them butchering and others working on other projects. I was asked to cut large quantities of vegetables and make the cumin aioli that is served with The Breslin's lamb burger, which is credited as on the city's best. The kitchen and crew were very focused and professional. Everyone tested their blades before getting to work, sharpening and honing their steel for desired sharpness. 


As I looked around the large prep table where 10-15 cooks organized their stations, I noticed that there was also an even ratio of males to females. I had wondered if a kitchen lead by a female chef would employ more females than the average male-dominated kitchen, and it appeared that in the case of The Breslin, that was true. The female cooks were strong. They were sassy. Even in their whites, they were hip, and all of them had tattoos and forearm scars. These chicks were badass. 


When I left my second stage, I was definitely interested. I had received great instructions and the kitchen was organized and professional. I admired how fresh each piece of produce was, and I was in awe of the large walk-in dedicated to whole hogs, large slabs of beef and lamb and a variety of offal. Sweetbreads, trotters, tongues, livers, hearts —They were all there, and it seemed like each part of the animal was being used at The Breslin. Unfortunately, I didn't have full-time availability with school and I got the impression that I needed more experience to work in a Michelin star restaurant.

Next stage: Resto, a German gastropub, headed by Chef Bobby Hellen. I staged there twice after I was contacted by Chef Hellen. I met him at the school's career fair, and he seemed interested in working with my school schedule.  What I liked most about staging at Resto was that Chef Bobby was present in his kitchen. He touched every plate before it left the small kitchen, ensuring each dish looked the way he wanted. With a small expo line and a couple ranges, Chef Hellen and two cooks turned out food while other cooks prepped downstairs. Chef Hellen was young, calm, collected, focused and mentoring. While I didn't learn anything particularly new at Resto, I did realize that it was important to me that the chef, where I worked, be present and invested and that the kitchen be on the smaller side. 


Which is what I found on my third stage at Paulino's under the instruction of Tony Liu. Paulino's, located several blocks away from FCI, was looking for a part-time cook for some days and evenings. I hadn't eaten there, but I walked past the place every night after school on the trek back to the East Village. When I met with Chef Liu, I was a little nervous. Here was a chef that had worked with Gray Kunz of the former Lespinasse, Daniel Boulud of Daniel, Floyd Cardoz of now shuttered Tabla, Mario Batali of Babbo and done extensive networking and traveling in Europe. Surely he was intense having worked his way through such kitchens, but to my surprise, he was not. He friendly was personable. I mean, the man asked me some serious food questions, but he was cool. 


What Chef Lui was doing as the executive chef at a casual Italian eatery and pizziera, I didn't know, but it became more apparent as I spent the afternoon throwing pizza dough. I took warm rounds of dough that had been left to rise and shaped them into pizzas, tossing them with my knuckles to ensure the dough did not break. The knuckles are the secret. Finger tips can puncture the soft dough, so it's important to be gentle and move your hands precisely. After a few fails, I had the pizza thing down. I was tossing, topping with the necessary ingredients and sliding the pies into the wood-fire oven. The cheese bubbled as the flames licked the crust from afar, creating charred pockets of air. After rotating the toasted pies, I'd then maneuver the pizzas out of the oven, run a slicer through each on and send them to the expo line. Everyone working at this restaurant had great energy, including Chef Lui, who I later learned was also the executive of Morandi, another Keith McNally restaurant. McNally also owns New York City favorites Balthazar and Pastis.  


I didn't end up working at any of these restaurants. Why would I spend my time working for free in all of these places to not end up taking a job at any of them? Surely, I must be crazy right? A lot of my classmates thought so. The Breslin and Resto needed someone available for full-time employment, which I didn't really have with school. I was offered a job at Paulino's where I could have worked the early bird shift through lunch, but decided against it because I craved more than pizzas and roasted chickens. As much as I enjoyed my time there, I was being directed elsewhere when I reflected. I wanted to see a kitchen with some real "wow" factor. 


Each stage revealed something very important to me. My first nightmare stage showed me that I didn't want to be working and learning from people who weren't dedicated to their craft. At The Breslin, I observed cooks working very sustainability with whole animals and extremely fresh products. They were all professionals too. Each cook at The Breslin had worked hard for their position. At Resto, I saw how dedicated and involved Chef Hellen was with his staff. He was essentially functioning as his own roundsman.  I also liked that Resto was on the smaller side. 


I wanted to find a combination of all these kitchens: Professional, focused, sustainable, chef-driven and all on the smaller side. Of course, this had to come at a price. If I wanted to be in a Michelin kitchen on a part-time basis, I needed to extern. My next step was finding a Michelin kitchen that would take me on, understanding of my hectic schedule. 


Did I find? You bet I did. I found it at Dovetail, and I'll tell you all about it in my next post. 

My first kitchen nightmare:

"For me, the cooking life has always been a long love affair, with moments both sublime and ridiculous."  
 — Anthony Bourdain

I hadn't expected my first kitchen stage to end with a failed drug deal, but I knew I had to leave with the sous chef pulled a large cloth sack from the front of his pants, revealing a large stash of hash, narcotics and hallucinogens.


"I'll sell all of this by the end of the day," he said, looking up at me with inviting, very dilated eyes. "You want anything?"


I continued to peel the pathetic "local" carrots the restaurant was using for the pantry station, showing no interest in his unprofessional offer. I had known he was high from the moment he arrived to the kitchen, nearly an hour and a half late. His long, seemingly unkempt hair was still vertical and his clothes were wrinkled and disheveled. He staggered a bit when he walked and appeared disoriented in his own kitchen. The executive chef, an alum from my program, arrived minutes behind him, only slightly more in tune.


"I'm good," I said, glancing away from his goodie bag.


"What kind of drugs do you do?" he asked, baffled by my disinterest.


"Nothing, really," I said, peeling my final carrot.


"Nothing? Wow. That's odd in this business." He stuffed his bag back into his pants and retrieved his phone from his pocket. He began pulling up his pictures, scrolling through images of naked women and paraphernalia. "I have all of this at my house," he said, trying to capture my attention.


"Look, is chef around? I think I'm done for the day." I had been in the kitchen an hour before his arrival, and before that I had waited at the bar for 40 minutes, where a handsome bartender attempted to reassure me that a chef would be arriving shortly to greet me. Instead a dishwasher showed me a changing room and gave me instructions for prep.


"Oh yea? Ok, well... I'll find him. I'll tell him that I think you'd be a good fit here. We're a pretty busy kitchen, you think you could handle it?"


I smiled, humored that this man had barely touched food since he had arrived, let alone observed my skills. I had prepped his entire station before he even arrived and made his scallop ceviche as he texted and threw pans in the dish pit with an unnecessary intensity.


"I'm actually not interested in working here," I said, removing the gloves I had insisted on wearing after I observed the sous touching produce with unwashed hands; Hands that had been in and out of his pants, each unclipped nail with dirt and resin beneath it. "I'd just like to say goodbye."


The sous began looking for the chef, eventually arriving back to tell me that he was sleeping upstairs in the dining room. Not totally surprised, I changed and grabbed my knives. I went upstairs and met the chef at the staircase, who was in a sleepy daze.


"Chef, thank you for the invitation to come in and stage. I'm headed out."


"Yea, what did you think?"


"Well, I think you're kitchen is a mess and your sous chef is highly unprofessional. He's clearly high and he tried to sell to me. I'm not interested."


He looked stunned as he searched for words. "Wow, well, I'll be talking to him," he said, in an unconvincing, apologetic tone. Afterall, he was probably just as high as his buddy.


"Have a good service," I said as I headed for the door. I walked out, put my sunglasses on, and continued down the street, back to the East Village. I'm not naive to the fact that kitchens are often occupied by criminals and drug users. I've met plenty of cooks with a past and various addictions, but I don't want to be in a kitchen where my supervisors are unprofessional. Point blank. The stage was a nightmare, but it showed me the kind of kitchen I didn't want to be a part of, on any level.


My search for the right fit continued. I don't care if I work with ex-jailbirds, junkies or drug dealers — I mean hell, I probably work with some right now. While I was staging in New York City, I just wasn't looking to work somewhere where personal problems and issues tampered with my goals: to deliver great food, to learn and to constantly seek improvement.


My next stage... coming soon!