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!

Coming to a truce with my calling

 Graduation day with Chef Alain Sailhac

To cut to the chase, finding my career path has been challenging for me. I'm intrigued by a variety of areas within the restaurant industry and I can imagine myself succeeding in most of them. Deciding which one will ultimately make me the happiest is another matter — A matter that has introduced me to insomnia.

I haven't written about this due to a combination of factors; The biggest being that I simply wasn't ready to share my feelings and observations during my last three months in the concrete jungle. It wasn't easy accepting that something I planned didn't come to surface, and even harder to acknowledge what was really in my heart. Everyone at home knew I was going to culinary school and thought I was on the verge of landing my dream job at a culinary publication.

I moved to New York City just over a year ago. It was August 9, 2010. I packed my belongings into five boxes, ditched my other things in a storage, and left Kansas. I cried when I said goodbye, took a nap on the plane and woke up to look out the window before landing. There, the towering buildings penetrating the sky; Me, the girl from the Midwest, looking down to the cracks between buildings, aware I might be swallowed alive.

Last time I wrote, I was in the middle of level 5 at The French Culinary Institute. I had just completed my menu project (which I received "Best Menu Project" for during graduation) and I was beginning to see the light at the end of my EXTREMELY expensive culinary tunnel.  I was essentially working two jobs, going to school and externing on weekends. I had absolutely no time to spend on my blog, let alone sleep for that matter. I was determined to inhale all that New York City had to offer, especially since I knew in my heart that I might not be staying.

With that said, I should probably rewind some more. I moved to New York City, specifically, to break into culinary media. I knew it was going to be hard work and I was ready to show my motivation. As long as food was the subject, I was ready to alphabetize manilla envelopes and organize office supplies to get into the biz. After I adjusted to my school schedule I applied for several editorial internships and accepted a full-time editorial intern position with Food Arts magazine. I checked content for accuracy, made phone calls, assisted with advertising, organized archives and ate at way too many Midtown delis. After working seven hours everyday, I left with my change of clothes and either went up or down the 6 line, depending on if it was a school night or another evening of work. I worked all day on Saturdays and on Sundays I occasionally had a personal day where I slept, cooked and drank too many glasses of wine. 

The internship was a pivotal experience for me. It was after two months at Food Arts that I came to the great realization that I wanted to be in a kitchen, atleast for a little while. I applied for a test kitchen internship at Saveur magazine and was invited to come in and cook for an afternoon with their staff, and after that experience I was completely jazzed. The kitchen manager invited me to be a summer intern at the magazine, but it was full-time and unpaid. The real kicker was that I couldn't have a part-time job because it isn't unusual for the test kitchen staff to stay late. You can't have other commitments. The reality of this killed me. I just couldn't do it unless I lived in a cardboard box in Union Square.

I went back to the drawing board. As much as I was learning at Food Arts, I was feeling a little restless. I also knew from the beginning that this internship wasn't leading to a job because there wasn't room on their staff. I was also completely broke. Sure, this isn't unusual for an intern. All interns grow restless and survive on cheap noodles and pizza. The thing is, all I could think about was cooking in a commercial kitchen. After researching restaurants for the magazine, each of them inspiring me with their photos and menus, I thought to myself, "Could I be a part of something like this?" This question lead me to my career advisor's office, where I made the decision to apply for kitchen jobs.

For me, my heart and focus have always been dedicated to the creation of plates. Whether it was the ex-murderer Crip flinging a cheap ribeye into the window at Martini's Steak & Chop House when I was a 16-year-old server in Salina, Kansas, or as culinary student searing and plating a crispy duck breast in the L'Ecole kitchen, my attention has always been on the food and the hands preparing it. I want to tell stories of people creating great food and share recipes from the culinary brilliance of others. This is still at the core of the inquirer that I am. Part of me wondered, though, did I have a story I wanted to tell others with food on my own? Did I crave authentic cooking experiences? Should my editorial career be on hold?

I fed my curiosity and made some changes. I started staging around the city, trying to find the right fit. A culinary stage is when a cook works in a kitchen for a brief amount of time, usually for free, in an effort to network and learn new techniques. It's also custom to stage for jobs. It gives the cook and the chef a chance to see if there's good working chemistry. Staging in several places around the city was crucial. Not only did it prevent me from working in the most dysfunctional kitchen I've ever witnessed, but staging ultimately lead me to a kitchen where I really was able to observe and learn from true masters of their craft. I will save my stories about staging for another post, as several of them are rather involved.

After several stages for positions, I decided it was going to be more valuable for me to find a part-time extern position where I could still keep a front of the house job. This also meant I could spend time in a high-caliber kitchen, learning from chefs with a lot of experience. As much as I wanted extern full-time, it just wasn't financially possible. I learned that at the magazine. For those of you who don't know, an extern is a kitchen intern. Like other business models, kitchens cut labor costs by hosting externs. In exchange for training, the chef takes a student or recent graduate under their wing. In some cases the experience leads to a job. Well, I guess I shouldn't make it sound so mutually beneficial. I've heard of some kitchens abusing their externs and taking the help for granted. In my experience, however, the chefs I ended up working for were very much a mentoring group.

At Dovetail, John Fraser's Michelin-stared and New York Times 3-star restaurant, I found the right fit. Located on the Upper West Side on the corner of 77th and Columbus next to a Shake Shack, Dovetail was the definition of elegance without being stuffy and pretentious. Fine dining? Yes, but in a slightly more relaxed atmosphere. The service staff was polished and very knowledgeable, but the restaurant itself wasn't the white table cloth joint with a bunch of talking heads kind of place.

The kitchen at Dovetail is wonderful. It's the perfect size, although I know the cooks would argue that they definitely need more space to prep. In regard to other kitchens in the city, however, I have to argue that it's a nice size because if you stand in the middle of it, you can see everything that's going on in the other stations. And the food – The food at Dovetail is beautiful! Simply beautiful. Though the portions are small, every plate is executed with precision and grace. I'll touch on this more when I write more in-depth about specific restaurants I've experienced.

So I started externing at Dovetail on weekends and transferred to another Fig & Olive location where I functioned as a serving captain several nights a week and served during the Midtown lunch rush at Momofuku Má Pêche. I didn't sleep. I didn't have a life. I wasn't always pleasant. I didn't have a whole lot of money. But you know what, I value the last three months the most. I worked really, really hard.

Around the beginning of July I made the official decision to move back to Colorado. Though I had toyed with the idea for awhile, a big part of me contemplated trying to make a life in New York City. I had roommates, potential apartments lined up and a general direction in terms of where I would look for work. It was around this time that I also got word that my grandfather, a man who had been battling cancer for over a year, was dying. It was conveyed to me that I may not have the chance to see him again.

December 2010

People who know me well are aware how important my grandpa Hal was to me, and will always be for that matter. He was the man who was present when my single mother was struggling and my father was completing his training as a surgeon. My grandfather spent a great deal of time getting to know me as a young girl and influenced much of my development into a young woman. I was living in New York City for nearly the entire duration of his illness. Christmas 2010 would be the last time I would grip his hand and offer him hope of a future.

The combination of feeling extremely overworked, homesick and distant (from family and from myself, really) made me decide that I needed to move to Colorado, especially if I was going to pursue a cooking career, which is very demanding of time.  So I booked my ticket and began cutting ties. This proved to be more difficult than I imagined. Even as I reflect, here in this moment, I deeply miss people in New York City. I've written it before, but New York City is the place where I really got a true taste of the world, right here in the United States. I met people from all over the world, all of them pursuing a dream, even the most simple dream of freedom to work and provide.

Two days after my graduation from The French Culinary Institute I reunited with my family to spread my grandfather's ashes. We stood together, friends and family, looked out to the mountains on a clear Colorado afternoon, and released our feelings of grief with his ashes. It was the most peace I had felt in months. He is missed dearly, but I feel his presence everyday as I struggle to find out who I am and what I'm destined to do.

So what am I doing now? You'll have to wait for my next post. I have many kitchen stories I'm itching to tell though.

The Menu Project

An Evening of Honey

Honey Tasting Notes

Bee Raw Honey sources raw and unfiltered honeys from artisanal beekeepers

around the United States. Each honey was selected and paired according to its

flavor profile.

Sweet Yellow Clover Honey, Colorado

Delicate and sweet with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg

Orange Blossom Honey, Florida

Citrus flavors with an amber hue and a tangy finish

Basswood Honey, New York

Warm and mild with herbal notes

Sage Honey, California

Mild with Mediterranean bouquette of herbs and light peppery finish

Buckwheat Honey, Washington State

Stout and complex with notes of moss and malt

Twim Spruce Apiaries Honey Comb, Climax, New York

The Mezedes

In Greece, meals often begin or are completely comprised of small appetizers called mezedes. They are served both hot and cold and enjoyed with a glass of Greek ouzo or wine. The purpose of the mezedes course is much like a cocktail hour, allowing guests to socialize and warm up for the meal to come.

Lamb Meatballs, Cumin, Cucumber Yogurt, and Mint

Sardines, Lemon, Garlic, Olive Oil, and Thyme

Feta, Sweet Yellow Clover Honey, and Cracked Peppercorns

Mediterranean Olives

First Course

Eggplant Tart with Honey Goat Cheese, Kalamata Tapenade, Sorrel Pesto, and Bee Pollen

Sweet Yellow Clover Honey, Micro Dandelion, and Balsalmic

Domaine du Grand Moulin Sauvignon Blanc

Touraine, France, 2009

 

Second Course

Seared Sea Scallop with Citrus Orzo, Lemon Buerre Blanc, and Fennel-Mint Salad

Basswood Honey, Blood Orange, and Citrus Zest

Sigalas Asirtiko Athiri

Satorini, Greece, 2009

Third Course

Roasted Chicken with Wild Mushroom Ragout and Tarragon Honey Mustard Sauce

Sage Honey, Rosemary, and Pancetta

Vital Vineyard Pinot Noir

Willamette Valley, Oregon, 2009

Fourth Course

Braised Lamb Shank with Sunchoke Puree and Red Wine Honey Reduction

Buckwheat Honey, Thyme, and Garlic

K Vintners Milbrandt Syrah

Wahluke Slope, Washington, 2008

Fifth Course

Sheep’s Cheese, Honey Comb, and Calimyrna Figs

Cacio De Roma, Istora A.O.C., Fiore Sardo

Le Dauphin de Guiraud Sauternes 2004

...So why honey?

          It was my first visit to Kalustyan’s in Flatiron that really nailed the theme of my project. I had heard chefs from school mention the place and I fully expected to find a variety of spices, but let’s just say my expectations were well exceeded. As I browsed the aisles, awe-struck by the variety of everything from rare grains to European mustards, I eventually found myself in front of the honey shelf. Never in my life had I seen so many honey varieties. I actually never considered the existence of various kinds of honeys from all over the world. I thought I was a well-informed culinarian by buying local honey, nevermind true artisanal honey.

            As I stood before the honey mecca, I studied each bottle, noticing that each brand and flavor came from a specific location. Truffle honey, raspberry honey, clover honey, star thistle honey, blueberry honey, sage honey — these were all new honeys to me, and I all I wanted to do was open a box of crackers and try all of them.

            I began to think about the variety of ways I had enjoyed honey in the past, whether it was drizzled on a warm crepe, smeared on a thick slab of cornbread with sweet cream butter, stirred into sweet and tangy barbeque sauce, layered between delicate sheets of phyllo dough to create baklava, or poured over feta cheese with cracked pepper. My mind began to consider other possibilities with honey, and within a matter of minutes, I knew I had the theme for my menu project —honey.

            I wanted to narrow my focus more by selecting a region of the world to gather inspiration. Greece was the first country that came to mind, so I began researching Greek meals and took notes on the common ingredients found in Greek dishes. I never had the intention of finding a Greek cookbook or attempting to mimic a Greek restaurant here in the city. I didn’t expect to write a menu that was even fit for a Greek restaurant. I only wanted inspiration, and that’s just what I found during my research.

            In Greek cuisine, and Mediterranean cuisine in general, the idea is to let the quality of the ingredients shine. Joyce Goldstein, food writer and authority, really conveyed this to me in her cookbook The Mediterranean Kitchen. “In the Mediterranean,” she states, “food is tied to nature, to season, to ripeness. Simple food, simply prepared, with the best fresh ingredients, food that reflects the environment of the sun-earth-sea, a regional cuisine and not overly refined.”

             Furthermore, cultures of the Mediterranean value time around the table with friends and family. Diane Kochilas, author of MEZE, a cookbook devoted to Greek appetizers, presents a variety of small plates meant to be enjoyed family style before the meal or as a meal. In Greece, the beginning of the meal is often enjoyed with ouzo or wine and a variety of mezedes. The Greek people never drink on an empty stomach, so drinks and food always come together. Meals are savored and enjoyed over a series of courses, moving cold to hot.

            During my research I observed that most recipes utilize the vegetables, herbs, and seafood that are readily available in the region. Meats like beef and lamb are generally reserved for special occasions. I knew I wanted to implement common Mediterranean ingredients like lemon, olive oil, olives, fennel, thyme, figs, and cheese in my menu, and I knew I wanted to craft a menu for a special occasion. As I began to craft my recipes, I imagined an audience of friends gathering to enjoy company and a meal reminiscent of the Mediterranean.

            In order to successfully complete this project I needed a firm understanding of honey. I read an article published in The New York Times on April of 2006 written by Dana Bowen titled, “Blossom to Table: Honey Grows Up.” Bowen interviewed chefs using honey in their menus like Gabrielle Hamilton of Prune and Bobby Flay of Mesa Grill. She also interviewed Zeke Freeman, former chef and founder of Bee Raw Honey in New York City, which is a national distributor of artisanal honeys produced by private beekeepers in the U.S.

            Freeman explains that U.S.D.A. Grade A honeys are based on the quality of the honey’s hue rather than the actual flavor. He says that commercial honey is heat-treated and filtered, which can rob a honey of its natural flavor profile and nutrients. This fact alone made me decide that I was only going to use raw, unfiltered honey for my project. I also decided that I wanted to explore the flavors of Be Raw Honey, so I decided to further narrow my project’s focus by using that line of honey.

           

            In Bowen’s article I also learned that each beekeeper cultivates honey from different flowers specific to certain regions. My menu features honey from different flower varietals found in Colorado,  Florida, New York, California, and Washington. I also found several other honey-related products during my shopping. In my recipe for roasted chicken I rubbed the chicken with a honey powder I found at Savory spice market in Denver, Colorado. In my recipe for the eggplant tarts, I sprinkled local bee pollen that I found at The Union Square Green Market from Tremblay Apiaries in Van Etten, New York. My cheese plate for the dessert course also features real honey comb from Twin Spruce Apiaries in Climax, New York.

            Bees have been cultivating honey for a long, long time. Long before chefs like Hamilton decided to pair chestnut honey with Berkshire country ribs and Greek beans. According to beeduction.com, the first record of people keeping bees dates back to around 3000 BC in Egypt. Bees were not brought to America until somewhere between 800-900 AD. While the dates are arguable between sources, it’s agreed that ancient cultures used honey as a natural sweetener and healing tool.

            Another source I consulted was Eric Ripert’s latest cookbook Avec Eric. In his cookbook he devotes an entire chapter to honey, which features his own research and recipes. One of the more compelling quotes from this chapter identifies the real importance of bees as pollinators. “It’s important to recognize that, while the bees are flying from flower to flower collecting pollen, they are at the same time fertilizing the plants that will continue to grow and create fruit and vegetables. Without pollinators, like honeybees, vegetation would die, including all the fruits and vegetables that we eat” (Ripert 104). Along with Ripert’s research, I noticed his recipes included notes of citrus, tarragon, cumin, mustard, and figs. I, too, used these ingredients in my project.

            Hopefully my menu accurately communicates the versatility of honey. It pairs well with soft feta and olives, tart lemons, sunkissed oranges, fennel with a delicate taste of anise, earthy mushrooms blended with herbs, succulent wine-braised lamb with mossy buckwheat, and salty sheep’s cheese with sweet figs. It can exist in the background of a dish, giving wonder to sweet undertones, or it can elevate a rich sauce, making it sing with light perfume. Honey is a natural, uncomplicated, and valuable tool in the kitchen.

Bon Appétit!

            

Decisions

I've never been good at making decisions. I waffle A LOT. I've even been known to walk around a store for an hour holding an item I'm interesting in buying only to ditch it right before I reach the register. I can't commit if it doesn't feel right— not even to a garment.

So when posed with the question of whether to stay in New York City or move home, I'm pressed with a lot of emotional conflict. On one hand I feel as though this city has opened my mind to all that is possible, and on the other hand it has shown me that living here can feel pretty damn IMpossible. I've been making this life work and I'm having a great time, but I am homesick for my family and I can't imagine myself turning into a real New Yorker.

Every detail to this life has me losing sleep. Where will I live? Who will I live with? Where will I work? Will I make my ends meet? Will I ever get ahead? Will my degrees come in use? Will I ever be able to see my family? Can I really image another bitter-cold winter? Is my coat going to fall apart (because I'm pretty sure I can't afford another one right now...)? How long will I be sleeping on a futon? Should I sell my car back home? Will I ever have my own room with walls? Will my friends come visit me? Do my parents really support my starving artist dreams? ...Am I even good enough to be here?

Self doubt is my diagnosis. It sounds silly... I mean, heck, I've made it this far. What's there to really doubt, right? Doubt just consumes me lately. I have I've always considered myself to be pretty level-headed and practical, but I've also been known to act on impulse and live in the moment. I want to live on the edge and go with the current, but I can't stand not knowing what's ahead. I always have to have a plan, but I love the idea of not having a plan, and I trust in fate, but I also think it's complete bullshit.

So what should I do?

I'm reminded time and time again to simply listen. I know there's a voice within speaking to me, even if it's a murmur. Lately I feel as though the voice has urged me to stay and gain as much New York City experience as possible. My conscious tells me this is the right direction, but my heart is telling me I'll be happier when I'm closer to my family and my body is telling me to stop kicking it's ass in this tough environment. It wants a regular schedule, a normal diet, and an exercise routine. But then again, that's not exactly the kind of lifestyle I picked with this whole cooking gig. Maybe with the editorial direction, but certainly not with cooking, atleast while I'm working and in school.

But ya know, what do I have to lose? As long as I'm moving forward towards the goal of personal betterment, that should be good enough, right? As long as I'm pursuing my passion for food and my goal of eventually being able to entertain, nurture, and hopefully inspire others with my food in my own establishment one day, that's something.

Well, here's hoping it's something.