In many ways the relationship between the front of the house and the back of the house is a tricky one. It's a committed relationship, yes, but there are times when both parties involved feel exhausted, uneasy, irritable, confused, and unfortunately, cheated.
Today I wanted to break up with my manager. Of course I don't mean this literally, but I was upset that I was getting my butt kicked during brunch and he was no where in sight to alleviate the situation. When I sent a search party out, busily taking orders as guests poured in, one of the bussers reported back that my manager said I needed to go find him myself. This message heightened my frustration. I had no time to run up and down stairs to find him, who did he think he was? He cut all the servers and left me to flounder on my own? What nerve!
Today's feelings were not unique. There are plenty of instances when servers make the cooks upset, when the chef de cuisine wants to rip the manger a new one, when dishwashers want to scream at the bussers shucking filthy plates in a disorganized manner, and when hosts feel like they will combust if one more table walks five minutes before close and the manager says they're welcome to sit. Restaurant relationships run a turbulent course.
I'm no relationship expert, but we all know some relationships work better than others. Factors such as compatibility, communication, and life experience usually play a role and they all contribute to eachother in some form. When people share common values, goals, and a respect for one another, communication is generally a little easier, and when communication is open and healthy, problems are more easily solved and avoided.
This is all more easily said than done.
Like romantic relationships, restaurants experience the same bumps and bridges. Though my experience with relationships and restaurants are limited at age 23, I've spent some years observing the dynamics of both bad romances, and more often than not, woes sprout from troubles in the realm of communication. Sometimes the parties involved in a relationship have different communication styles and other times there just isn't enough communication happening. Communication can be passive, assertive, and aggressive, and it's not easy finding a balance.
So why can't people in the front of the house and the back of the house just talk it all out? Because they don't completely understand eachother, just like men and women don't completely understanding eachother. And unlike a romantic relationship, make-up sex doesn't exist. Men and women are different and front and back of the house are different. In heterosexual relationships, there's different hormones, anatomy, live experiences — the list goes on forever. With restaurants, people have different skill sets, educational backgrounds, cultural upbringings, and job descriptions. Let's not forget language barriers either...
Sure, some people are incredibly fortunate to understand and relate to the other side, whether it's the opposite sex or the other side of the house, but even people who really "get" the other side don't completely get it. Of course everyone in a restaurant wants a smooth service, but each person benefits in a different way and every level of restaurant hierarchy has different priorities.
Example: The chef de cuisine and the floor manager both want to sell food that people like. Simple enough, right? Not entirely. They share the common goal of delivering good food to the guest, but they both report to different bosses with different goals. The chef de cuisine ultimately reports back to the executive chef, and the executive chef doesn't just care about the guest liking the food, he cares about whether or not the chef de cuisine is organizing a kitchen that delivers consistent plates, operates within budget, and that labor costs are kept under control.
Does the floor manager share these goals? Yes, but there's more to it. The floor manager wants as many covers as possible because he/she reports to the general manager, who reports to the real stake holders: The owners. More covers equals more business, which equals more cash-money. Without the dough, there is no restaurant. To achieve more covers, the floor manager has to push servers to turn tables, which means food better be arriving to the tables quickly.
This is all fine and dandy, but sometimes the kitchen can't pump food out as quickly as the front of the house would like, and when they do rush the food, you run the risk of mistakes. The temperature might be off, the salad might look disheveled, or maybe the guest asked for a substitution that was not honored. Now the manager has to offer the guests new food, discounts, complimentary dessert... you get the picture. All of these things costs money, and before you know it, the kitchen is losing money and the restaurant might lose repeat business if the situation isn't promptly corrected.
So what's my point? It's not easy and it was never meant to be, but it can be a healthy relationship if people communicate and understand the needs and goals of the other side. I lost my cool today with my manager. I was overwhelmed and I vented my frustration. I should have considered that he was managing two floors on his own and completing the weekly liquor inventory, but I didn't. I was thinking about myself, which is easy to do when feeling vulnerable. We all do it.
At the end of a rough day, when feeling depleated of energy and ready to walk out, it's important to remember why you got into it — the relationship or the restaurant — in the first place. In romantic relationships, it's love, and in restaurants, it's hospitality. The rest will come with patience.
1. Improvise. Sometimes the cake doesn't come out of the pan as planned...
2. Expect the unexpected. You can make a butternut squash purée in an hour unless the squash is cut into small cubes. The oven doesn't care that the dish is due and the squash isn't ready, and neither does chef.
3. In good pairings, wine makes food taste better and food makes wine taste better! What a nice relationship.
4. I don't really fancy organ meat ("offal"), but I have faith that there are a lot of chefs out there preparing organ meats in some delicious ways. Chef April Bloomfield at The Spotted Pig already changed my mind about chicken livers, and chefs at The American and at Del Posto have confirmed my belief that foie gras is an irreplaceable luxury. I know the practice behind foie gras is cruel — there's no denying that — but if a server offers to let's say, ladle foie gras over a crispy duck breast, I'm afraid that I'm just not prepared to turn it away.
5. The term "venison" applies to meat of deer, elk, caribou, moose, antelope, and pronghorn. The USDA classifies meat from deer, elk, bear, moose, rabbit, alligator, and armadillo as red meat.
Flounder "My Way" - Panko pecan-crusted flounder with citrus beurre blanc, wilted spinach, & butternut squash purée
6. Veal is meat from a male calf that is 2-3 months old and it's delicate, tender, and pale in color because the calf's movement is completely restricted and its diet is monitored. This is a just a reality.
7. I now know more about custards, frozen desserts, crusts, and soufflés than I ever thought I would as a classic culinary arts student.
8. The difference between all purpose flour and cake flour is a BIG one. As a novice baker I used AP flour in place of cake flour all the time because I didn't want to spend the extra money, but it's a small difference in price that's worth it. Gluten, a network of proteins in flour and grain, is largely responsible for the shape and texture of a baked item. AP flour has a protein content of 11-12 percent and cake flour has a protein content of 8-9 percent. What does this mean? The type of flour used and how it is manipulated will yield pretty specific results. If you're serious about baking, knowing your flour and purchasing flour specific to your baking needs will make a huge difference.
9. Chilling dough and batter does matter. In the past I would rush chilling times specified in recipes, but I now understand that chilling is important because it allows the gluten networks to relax.
10. Appreciate handmade puff pastry! It took someone a little bit of time to make.
Apple tarts and a pear-almond cream tart
11. White chocolate is a chocolate impostor. It isn't chocolate at all. It's made out of sugar, milk soils, and cocoa butter.
12. In the words of Eldridge sous chef Nick Haxton, "I'm your chef, not your dietitian," but a food professional should know a thing of two about nutrition.
13. Sheep's milk has the highest fat content (7.5 percent) compared to goat's milk (4 percent) and cow's milk (3.7 percent), but reindeer (17 percent) and fin whales (42 percent) have the highest milk fat contents. Reindeer milk, anyone? How about cheese made from human breast milk? New York chef Daniel Angerer did just that earlier this year with his wife's breast milk. Check out the New York Post March 2010 article.
14. Making ricotta is easy. All you need is milk, citric acid, and salt. Food Lab blogger J. Kenji Lopez-Alt posted a nice tutorial on SeriousEats.com.
15. Gnocchi is versatile, easy (to my surprise), delicious, and can be easily edited for seasonal purposes. Spinach or squash can be added to the dumplings, the sauce served with the gnocchi can be light or heavy, and gnocchi can be served as a side dish or main course.
Roasted beet salad with endive, watercress, pears, Roquefort, & walnuts
16. There really is beauty in simplicity.
17. Real, French-style scrambled eggs ("oeufs brouilles") shouldn't take less than 15 minutes to make. They're cooked over medium-low heat with constant stirring and the final product should be soft, creamy, and thick.
18. The truth about sugar substitutes is that they're awful. Thank you, Chef Tim. Read this article. Raw sugar all the way!
19. Desserts are cheap for most restaurants to make, so why do you think restaurants send out birthday treats and "apology desserts?" It's cheaper than sending another entrée or booze.
20. At the end of the night, despite what went wrong or didn't get chef's approval, I'm still doing what I love.
After I read Sam Sifton's September 4-Star review of Del Posto in The New York Times, I knew this was a place I was only going to hear more about, and definitely a place I couldn't afford.
But when you really want something, you naturally find a way to justify it. Two weeks ago I was tossing ideas around for places to take my mother for her birthday during her visit to the city, so I asked my managers at work for suggestions. They had been eating out a lot, so I knew they'd steer me well. "Del Posto! Hands down!" One of them said, raving about how attentive the captain had been during the service and how perfect the bottle of Barolo paired with his meal. He could have talked about the bottle of Barolo for hours had I not needed to return to my tables. "I'll make you a reservation, they'll remember me," he said, urging me to commit to the five course meal.
I waffled. Would it be worth the $95 prix fixe price? Would I even be able to get a reservation? My manager's voice spoke to me from the same shoulder as my indulgent conscious. Make the reservation... You'll regret it if you don't... The voice haunted me. I shook the voice and weighed my decision. For one, it would be in celebration of my mother's birthday. I could take her elsewhere, but for all I knew I'll be lucky enough to spend a year in the city and then I might end up somewhere else, so why not treat her to the best? After all, the woman did sacrifice her body for me and she's spent the last 23 years putting me before herself, so she deserves the best. It would also be an educational experience for me. To know great food, you have to eat great food, right? I could eat cereal for a few weeks, and besides, I rarely have to buy food between work and school. Furthermore, it was highly recommended by two of managers and both of them have a good deal of dining experience. When someone who works in restaurant management says it's the best service they've ever had after working in both Los Angeles and New York City, I'm prepared to trust their judgment. I had decided — I was making reservations.
My manager was more excited than I was when I told him I had decided on Del Posto. "Really?! Oh my gosh, you're going to have the time of your life! Let me call and make the reservation! I'll get you with Augustine! He's the best! I wouldn't be surprised if they bring you something special! You must get the Barolo! It's such a steal!!! When do you want to go?" He paused to take a breath and picked up the phone. I told him a Sunday would work well with the schedule. He caught his breath and waited for the host to answer. When a host answered, his voice lowered several octaves to sound more official. "Yes, this is ----, I dined at Del Posto two weeks ago and I'd like to send another guest your way on Sunday, November 14." He waited while the host checked the books, covering the phone to whisper, "I think I got you in, you SO owe me!!!" He then returned to his official business-like voice, "Ok, thank you very much." Click. "I got you in!!!"
I was now committed and I decided I would keep the dinner date a secret. I told my mother to pack a nice outfit for a fine meal and left it at that. In the weeks leading up to the meal I occasionally visited the Del Posto site, looked at the menu, and scoured the chef biographies. Del Posto, which is the first Italian restaurant to earn a 4-Star review from The New York Times since 1974, is a joint effort between New York restaurateurs Mario Batali, Lidia MatticchioBastianich, and Lidia's son Joseph Bastianich. Del Posto is their Italian love child, swaddled in Italian luxury. The restaurant serves lunch and dinner, offering two prix fixe options for those visiting for dinner. The Del Posto team has worked together to create a number of video demonstrations for both swooning and educational purposes, all of them available onthe restaurant's YouTube page.
When I told my mother on Sunday night where we were going, I'm not sure she knew what to expect. I told her it was aMichelin Guiderated restaurant and that I was lucky to get reservations on such short notice. We wore our Sunday best and made our way to the Meatpacking District.
We checked in with the host and made our way to the bar where we sat on kush leather bar stools. Tea lights flickered everywhere from each stair of the staircase to the individual table tops on both floors of the restaurant. I studied the extensive bar, glancing down at the menu of classic cocktails. The European bartender approached us dressed in a charming suit, ready to make us a concoction that would transport us into everything that is Del Posto. I ordered my mother a Manhattan made with Maker's Mark and a Hemingway Daiquiri for myself. The Manhattan was in perfect balance, accented by a bitter cherry. My cocktail was the last tart tinge my tongue would taste for the next three hours. We were about to be walked to a table where umami—a Japanese word for the fifth "savory" sense—would be redefined. As we inhaled the soft ambiance of the dining room and listened to the pianist play Cole Porter, another suited man greeted us. "Buonasera," he said, bowing his head slightly. "Whose birthday are we celebrating tonight?" I gestured to my mom, who at this point was glowing from the combination of happiness and bourbon. "Happy birthday," he said with a stiff yet welcoming smile. He then bid us farewell. "Enjoy, ladies. Buonasera."
We sat at a neatly clothed table where we were each gently pushed into our table at the same time. It was this moment where the show really began. Each member of the polished service team approached the table with a different offering. We were first greeted with water, and again with a tasting from the chef, and then by the captain, who stood with one of the most inviting smiles I've seen flash in a restaurant. "Would you like to see a wine list or your menu first?" He asked. When we requested the wine list he then offered the service of a sommelier, in the most non-assuming way possible. This man was everything you could possibly want in a server — kind, inviting, knowledgeable, patient— everything. He suggested a glass of Rossodel Soprano from Sicily for my mom and I selected a glass of crisp Vermentino from Toscana.
We were then handed the bound menu, where we were instructed to select a antipasti, two handmade pasta tastings, and a secondi course. My mother gave me her trust and told me to order our food. With her approval, I selected both the lobster salad with broccoli rabe and the carnecruda, which is basically an Italian steak tartar. For our pasta courses we selected the caramelledi Gorgonzola Dolce pasta with truffle butter and orecchietta stuffed with lamb neck ragu. For the secondi course my mom wanted the wood grilled lobster with artichokes and I decided on the seared duck breast.
A bread basket arrived with an assortment of fresh miniature loaves. Each piece of bread was warm to the touch and steam escaped when the crust was broken and pulled apart. By this time we had been graced with the presence of six different faces, all of them pleasant and extremely poised in their delivery. Then the first course arrived. Though beautiful, we agreed that this course was not memorable. The lobster was served in a cold and spicy diavola sauce and the cruda was your typical delicate tartar decorated with delicate greens. What I did appreciate about the cruda was that the mushrooms were cut to mimic the appearance of shaved Parmesan, which was a nice artisanal touch.
We then moved into our pasta courses. The caramelle arrived, each piece of pasta glistening like a freshly wrapped candy in a wrapper of silky truffle butter. They melted in my mouth. Soft Gorgonzola Dolce was within each little treasure, perfect in warmth and texture. We were then greeted with our second paste tasting, which was equally good. The pasta was a deep purple, almost to the depth of my mother's glass of red wine. Delicate, yet strong in flavor. The pasta tastings teased us both, making us wish there had been more on the plate.
When the pasta dishes left the table, the table was bare for a few minutes and each of us were already full. Before we could welcome the arrival of our secondi course we looked up to another new face. He pushed a royal chart towards our table with a polished and covered serving platter. Our captain then met him to reveal what was beneath the large serving lid. "This is a gift from the chef. Wild striped bass. We do hope you enjoy," our captain said with his famous smile. I watched as the flesh of the fish was gently pulled from the bones and plated. The man then put a glove on his hand to hold a fragrant black truffle, generously shaving it over each plate. Each truffle shaving fell like a feather making it's way to the ground. I was awe struck. What had we done to deserve this? When both men left there was silence at the table. I bowed my head to smell the essence of truffle and then took a bite of what was perhaps the most luxurious fish I've ever tasted.
"Lauren, do you think he did this because it's my birthday?" my mother asked.
Birthdays are special, but no chef sends birthday wishes in the form of fresh fish and shaved truffle to the table. This kind gesture was odd, but I wasn't about to ask questions. Maybe my manager had really made an impression when he called to make the reservation. I didn't know. Sometimes you just have to say thank you when something amazing happens for no apparent reason. The man who served the fish returned to the table, pulling his card from his jacket.
"Do let me know if you have any concerns about this evening," he said, placing the card next to me.
I definitely did not have concerns, only compliments, but at this moment I was in a truffle coma. As I sat, intoxicated with pleasure, the secondi course eventually made it's way to the table. A split lobster body sat before my mother and a crispy duck breast sat before me. The lobster was slightly overcooked, but the duck... the duck was another level. This duck was perfection on a plate. The skin was perfect. the temperature was perfect. The seasoning was perfect. Even the celery puree was perfect. If I could duplicate this duck breast in school, Chef would surely hand me my graduation certificate then and there. This duck was of true caliber. I'll probably dream about that duck breast for years to come.
Though the secondi course was fantastic, neither of could finish. Had we been wearing belts, they would have needed readjusting, and just when we thought it was over, we were handed dessert menus. As much as I wanted to order cheese for dessert, it just wasn't happening. Wanting to take advantage of all the courses, we made ourselves order the dessert. My mom selected the gelati tasting and I picked the polenta-squash cake with sage gelato. The gelati tasting arrived in a large bowl with a birthday candle, each scoop on top of the other, and the polenta-squash cake was a dainty portion as I had hoped, but just when we thought we could handle what was before us, they brought more! Our captain delivered a small wooden chest, each drawer sliding out to reveal an assortment of Italian sweets. There were galatobon-bons, candies, preserved fruits, fresh cocoa nuggets, and cookies. We were not prepared to turn this offering away, even though we should have, for the sake of our stomachs.
We left mesmerized by the degree of fine service and with memories of pure Italian extravenge.
"Organ meats—they don't go out of fashion," chef said, sliding his fingers over a glistening veal liver. He began separating the thin membrane from the red, fleshy mass that sat on his cutting board, pulling the sheen off like peeling skin from a sunburn.
Last night we cooked organs. We made crispy fried sweetbreads with brown butter caper sauce, lamb tongue with potato salad and ravigote vinaigrette, sautéed calf's liver, and sautéed kidneys. In all honesty, I was excited to try some of these organs for the first time, but that excitement began to dwindle when I took a bowl of lamb tongues out of the refrigerator.
"Begin blanching your tongues, guys," chef said, instructing us to put the tongues on the stove with cold water. They were tight and curled, slightly purple, and still attached with larynx tissue. Contrary to how I feel about tongues near my mouth, I knew I did not want these animal tongues anywhere near my face.
They began to simmer, changing from a reddish/purple color to a blue/grey color. There's no way around it—they were ugly. When I think fine food and dining, the image of tongue does not enter my mind, and I never thought I'd peel a tongue, let alone cook one. I actually never planned on eating tongue either, but I consumed it on accident last January on a visit to Angel's Share in NoHo with my father and my sister. What I thought was a skewered piece of poultry turned out to be beef tongue, and surprising, it was good.
Not this tongue... Oh no. After poaching the tongues for three hours they were tender enough to serve. They were peeled, sliced, and presented on a mound of créme fraiche potato salad drizzled with a vinaigrette of fresh herbs and hard boiled eggs. Sounds like a picnic dish, does it not? Maybe it appeals to some people, but all in all, I'm not too fond of poached tongue, especially served with potato salad.
Sweetbreads, the on the other hand, are pretty delicious.
"Not only are they, in my mind, the most delicious, but the most agreeable," chef said. "It's the closest to 'normal' protein." Sweetbreads, which are thymus or pancreas glands of cows and sheep, are spongy proteins usually sliced and fried.
Normal? Well, maybe. My introduction to sweetbreads was in August when I dined at L'Ecole, which is an arm of the FCI curriculum. After my roommate and I expressed some curiosity to our server, he brought us a plate of sweetbreads during our meat course.
Last night we prepared the sweetbreads the same way they are made in the restaurant with a brown butter sauce. The browned butter is spiked with lemon to preserve the nutty brown color and peppered with capers and minced parsley. We served the sweetbreads on top of goat cheese polenta and sautéed spinach.
As a rule of thumb, cooked organs should be served with a sharp sauce to cut the strong flavor, which often requires vinegar or in the case of sweetbreads, acid from lemon. It's pretty common sense actually. Distract attention away from a less desirable taste by masking it with a decadent sauce.
When we prepared the liver, the sauce was just that. Sautéed onions release one of my favorite aromas, especially when they're sauteed in butter. Add some demi-glace, vinegar, and some fresh parsley, and you've got a real keeper. Add in the liver... and you've got a real nasty marriage of flavors, or atleast in my mind. The liver ruined the sauce before the sauce could really make the liver.
After one success and two fails, the kidneys were either going to end the night with a pleasant surprise or solidify my belief that organs as a focal point of a dish just aren't for me. I specify focal point because I know organs create fantastic pâté, charcuterie, and sauces. Kidneys literally left me with a bad taste in my mouth. I never spit food out, but I just couldn't continue to chew something so awful. Maybe I have poor, unsophisticated taste, but I just couldn't do it, even if they were served with a sauce made out of brandy, demi-glace, and cream. Sorry, but no thank you.
The beginning of my relationship with organs isn't off to a great start, but I do have hope. In level four we'll be exposed to cooking brain and foiegras, which is fattened (diseased) duck liver. Until then, I'll enjoy cooking the "normal" proteins.
