...Pronounced, "stAAH-ge". :) As I mentioned a few posts back, a stage is an apprenticeship in a kitchen, effectively equating to willing slave labor. It's working for free, not for the monetary gain, but for the education and occasionally to audition for a job. For the longest time, I refused to consider staging anywhere- couldn't afford it, and couldn't see a point. I'd learn what I needed to know eventually, right?
Well, while that could have been true, thank god I don't have the patience to find out! After I met J, my decision to start a bar really solidified, and I realized I needed to learn more... Like, *now*. Patience still really isn't my thing. So I thought about it, weighed the pros and cons, and threw away 2 weeks of pay to go work at Richard's again. I'm infinitely glad I did. Turns out you learn faster when you're willing to work for free. ;)
Honestly, I am looking for secondary employment- I can't afford not too, too many leftover debts to repay. However, if another stage presented itself, I would snap it up in a heartbeat.
I tried college once upon a time. Frankly, I hated it. I hated being in classrooms, hated schoolwork, and especially hated homework. Could never really commit myself. Life without a degree certainly isn't easy, but from all of the news stories I'm seeing lately, apparently it's not so easy even with the degree. One thing cooks seem to agree on, though, is that culinary school students tend to be the worst hires. I am not saying all are, I do have classmates that went to culinary college. But the fact is that most of the graduates I've worked with are completely unwilling to shut up and learn, and don't work according to what their chef, their new boss, is telling them. There needs to be classes in humility and common sense. That could help.
Actually, that could help a lot of people. Fuck, can we get that in a high school curriculum somewhere?
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Dependency, but Not Really
"This place will make you an alcoholic."
"Hm?" I responded, not quite hearing the server speaking to me.
"This place," he reiterated, flicking his eyes up to glance at the walls, "will make you an alcoholic."
I laughed. "What makes you think I'm not one already?"
I am, in fact, a functioning alcoholic. There are factors I could blame, I suppose, like genetics or yes, kitchens; but really it was all my decision. I'm not nearly as bad as I used to be, either. Compared to when I was 19, I am much closer to complete sobriety now than I ever was then.
I enjoy alcohol. It was definitely an acquired taste, but one I leapt into rather enthusiastically. And it's not just liquor, or beer- I can appreciate just about anything with an ABV content.
The biggest difference I've noticed in my drinking is why I drink. I drank in my earlier years because I was miserable. I hated my job(s), hated where I was, hated myself for my shitty decisions. These days, I have a better handle on things. I have good friends, I have a great job, I have someone I care about a great deal. My reasons for drinking now are usually just social, or I could use a nightcap. The old me would be ashamed of my tolerance now.
And don't get me wrong, it definitely wasn't an easy transition. I honestly can't see myself ever being completely sober. When I get upset or stressed, I still crave vodka/waters and Jack Daniels neat. But I'm learning how to deal with those feelings in slightly less destructive ways. I can't preach to anyone about their bad habits, nor do I ever want to. But I don't ever want people to feel bad for me and the decisions I've made. They taught me everything, and I really wouldn't have everything I've got now without shitloads of terrible decisions and drinking.
Will this place take me back to my old ways? Probably not. At this rate, I'm behaving far better than I ever have. Cheers~
"Hm?" I responded, not quite hearing the server speaking to me.
"This place," he reiterated, flicking his eyes up to glance at the walls, "will make you an alcoholic."
I laughed. "What makes you think I'm not one already?"
I am, in fact, a functioning alcoholic. There are factors I could blame, I suppose, like genetics or yes, kitchens; but really it was all my decision. I'm not nearly as bad as I used to be, either. Compared to when I was 19, I am much closer to complete sobriety now than I ever was then.
I enjoy alcohol. It was definitely an acquired taste, but one I leapt into rather enthusiastically. And it's not just liquor, or beer- I can appreciate just about anything with an ABV content.
The biggest difference I've noticed in my drinking is why I drink. I drank in my earlier years because I was miserable. I hated my job(s), hated where I was, hated myself for my shitty decisions. These days, I have a better handle on things. I have good friends, I have a great job, I have someone I care about a great deal. My reasons for drinking now are usually just social, or I could use a nightcap. The old me would be ashamed of my tolerance now.
And don't get me wrong, it definitely wasn't an easy transition. I honestly can't see myself ever being completely sober. When I get upset or stressed, I still crave vodka/waters and Jack Daniels neat. But I'm learning how to deal with those feelings in slightly less destructive ways. I can't preach to anyone about their bad habits, nor do I ever want to. But I don't ever want people to feel bad for me and the decisions I've made. They taught me everything, and I really wouldn't have everything I've got now without shitloads of terrible decisions and drinking.
Will this place take me back to my old ways? Probably not. At this rate, I'm behaving far better than I ever have. Cheers~
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Purity?
I despise purists. Frankly, I find them to be annoying, rude, and for the most part out of touch with reality. What really gets me is when I encounter them in my line of work, mostly because the industries I've worked in are exactly the kind that embrace the oddball and strange. To retain 'purity' in those industries is to willingly stagnate and kill your business in a musty corner.
I first recognized this bullshit working in alcohol. I admit, I used to be a huge beer snob. But after months of drinking high-quality, high-alcohol, high-priced beer at bars, I started to question my own snobbery. After all, regardless of my feelings on macro brewing, I had once drank Bud Light, hadn't I? And while it might not be my first choice, if it is what is available, am I really going to turn my nose up? No. There is a time and place for every beer, and people who are going to get their panties in a twist about it are going to come off as pompous asses more often than not.
More recently, I've noticed this purist attitude among fellow cooks. And not towards anything understandable, like ingredients- I could forgive that. No, towards uniforms, of all things.
Really?
The standard uniform for chefs in many upscale restaurants and corporate places are whites- an outfit comprised of a chef coat, 'checks' (baggy, elastic-waisted pants), non-slip shoes, and a chef's hat of some sort (there are different styles available, of course). This uniform is built on functionality, and to minimize safety hazards in the kitchen. That's great, I support that. However, not every kitchen requires that specific uniform- does that make the place any less of a restaurant? No! Absolutely not!!! I have worked in a large variety of places, both mediocre and excellent, and never once has what the staff looked like influenced the quality of food. So long as we passed health code, there was never an issue. What mattered was our attitudes being in that kitchen in the first place, and whether we were proud of the product we were putting out. THAT made the difference between cafeteria-style slop and a beautifully plated rinsrouladen.
I recently saw a photo online of a guy butchering a pig in a hoodie, jeans, a hat, and an apron- accompanied by some of the most annoying commentary from one or two of those uniform purists, calling the butcher 'unprofessional' and generally just being asses about it. I have two problems with that whole notion- one, the commenters weren't his employers. They have no say as to what is considered 'professionalism' in that particular restaurant, and no right to judge based on their own lofty, self-righteous standards. Two, who in the fuck do they think butchers the pigs at the local farms? For anybody with that farm-to-table boner I've met, they insist on local products. Well, I have yet to meet a farmer who slaughters a pig in chef whites. If it's good enough for the supplier to wear jeans and shit, it's perfectly acceptable, in my mind, for the ones using the product to do the sane. Don't even get me started on the history of clothes and butchery, I've already been on quite the tangent this morning.
On a similar note, there was another variety of uniform purism that caught my attention- a female line cook on Reddit was looking for advice on where to get better-fitting checks. She didn't like how the current style marketed looked on her, a completely fair analysis, as they are currently designed to give anyone wearing them a serious case of potato-butt. Being that there are ways to make kitchen-safe pants without making them heinously unattractive, I had expected more empathy for the woman. Ha! Silly me, this is the Internet! Instead she was told to suck it up and be a professional, or go get a desk job. I call horse shit. The restaurant industry is already one where women on the line find themselves getting harassed more often than not- a sad fact that is slowly changing, but hasn't quite yet. So forgive us if we want to do little things here and there to make ourselves feel better about how we look- it's not vanity, it is us ensuring we don't have that stupid, annoying thought of, "ugh, I look awful" distracting us from the job we need to do.
I work in one of the best restaurants in the southeast. I wear blue jeans and eyeliner to work. Does Chef care? No. He is more concerned with me getting my job done, and to the standards that he put forth. So, to all of the purists out there, get a life. Whether it's beer, uniforms, or any other stupid inconsequential matter; you're just making yourself look backwards and overly stuffy. Life's too short to get in a tizz over crap like that.
And on that note, I'm done. Rant over.
(Pic is me, making fried chicken two years ago in 4" heels. Suck on that, haters.)
I first recognized this bullshit working in alcohol. I admit, I used to be a huge beer snob. But after months of drinking high-quality, high-alcohol, high-priced beer at bars, I started to question my own snobbery. After all, regardless of my feelings on macro brewing, I had once drank Bud Light, hadn't I? And while it might not be my first choice, if it is what is available, am I really going to turn my nose up? No. There is a time and place for every beer, and people who are going to get their panties in a twist about it are going to come off as pompous asses more often than not.
More recently, I've noticed this purist attitude among fellow cooks. And not towards anything understandable, like ingredients- I could forgive that. No, towards uniforms, of all things.
Really?
The standard uniform for chefs in many upscale restaurants and corporate places are whites- an outfit comprised of a chef coat, 'checks' (baggy, elastic-waisted pants), non-slip shoes, and a chef's hat of some sort (there are different styles available, of course). This uniform is built on functionality, and to minimize safety hazards in the kitchen. That's great, I support that. However, not every kitchen requires that specific uniform- does that make the place any less of a restaurant? No! Absolutely not!!! I have worked in a large variety of places, both mediocre and excellent, and never once has what the staff looked like influenced the quality of food. So long as we passed health code, there was never an issue. What mattered was our attitudes being in that kitchen in the first place, and whether we were proud of the product we were putting out. THAT made the difference between cafeteria-style slop and a beautifully plated rinsrouladen.
I recently saw a photo online of a guy butchering a pig in a hoodie, jeans, a hat, and an apron- accompanied by some of the most annoying commentary from one or two of those uniform purists, calling the butcher 'unprofessional' and generally just being asses about it. I have two problems with that whole notion- one, the commenters weren't his employers. They have no say as to what is considered 'professionalism' in that particular restaurant, and no right to judge based on their own lofty, self-righteous standards. Two, who in the fuck do they think butchers the pigs at the local farms? For anybody with that farm-to-table boner I've met, they insist on local products. Well, I have yet to meet a farmer who slaughters a pig in chef whites. If it's good enough for the supplier to wear jeans and shit, it's perfectly acceptable, in my mind, for the ones using the product to do the sane. Don't even get me started on the history of clothes and butchery, I've already been on quite the tangent this morning.
On a similar note, there was another variety of uniform purism that caught my attention- a female line cook on Reddit was looking for advice on where to get better-fitting checks. She didn't like how the current style marketed looked on her, a completely fair analysis, as they are currently designed to give anyone wearing them a serious case of potato-butt. Being that there are ways to make kitchen-safe pants without making them heinously unattractive, I had expected more empathy for the woman. Ha! Silly me, this is the Internet! Instead she was told to suck it up and be a professional, or go get a desk job. I call horse shit. The restaurant industry is already one where women on the line find themselves getting harassed more often than not- a sad fact that is slowly changing, but hasn't quite yet. So forgive us if we want to do little things here and there to make ourselves feel better about how we look- it's not vanity, it is us ensuring we don't have that stupid, annoying thought of, "ugh, I look awful" distracting us from the job we need to do.
I work in one of the best restaurants in the southeast. I wear blue jeans and eyeliner to work. Does Chef care? No. He is more concerned with me getting my job done, and to the standards that he put forth. So, to all of the purists out there, get a life. Whether it's beer, uniforms, or any other stupid inconsequential matter; you're just making yourself look backwards and overly stuffy. Life's too short to get in a tizz over crap like that.
And on that note, I'm done. Rant over.
(Pic is me, making fried chicken two years ago in 4" heels. Suck on that, haters.)
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Words and Weirdness
I've noticed I have the weirdest habit. Usually, I only do it when I'm speaking with people, but I've noticed it's started to carry into my writing. Occasionally, when I'm listening to various accents, they'll creep into my own speech; and while you can't necessarily "hear" accents on a page, the vocabulary used can certainly infer different moods and vocalizations. For example, I am watching 'Ms. Pettigrew Lives For A Day' while I write, and while I'm not typing in 1930's British slang, I can see myself using more formal language, and I'm thinking in a distinctly British accent.
So if you notice any difference, it's guaranteed that's due to whatever I'm listening to. I can't write without background noise, but it definitely leaves it's own mark! Cheers~
So if you notice any difference, it's guaranteed that's due to whatever I'm listening to. I can't write without background noise, but it definitely leaves it's own mark! Cheers~
Noshing
Grocery shopping has definitely changed for me lately! Used to be I couldn't go to the store without getting every processed, fatty, sugared, salted, greasy thing I could get my twiggy little fingers on. And don't get me wrong, I'm still happiest when I can sit around and munch on Hormel pepperoni slices. But this evening, after getting overly hormonal and hungry, I popped out to the store.
Roaming the store, I couldn't find anything I wanted to snack on more than vegetables and ridiculous stuff like that. :) I guess this is a side effect of the kitchen I've wound up in- Chef has a very seasonal farm-to-table operation, and there are a plethora of veggies kept on the line. All night long, I'll snack on the errant carrot or 2 (or 5), radishes, and feta cheese; my body's so used to it now it actually craves them. Which works out, as I usually go to a local farmer's market for produce on the hella cheap.
...Or I could just be full of crap with that last theory- a pint of cookie dough ice cream and beer have been my bosom buddies tonight. Cheers~
Roaming the store, I couldn't find anything I wanted to snack on more than vegetables and ridiculous stuff like that. :) I guess this is a side effect of the kitchen I've wound up in- Chef has a very seasonal farm-to-table operation, and there are a plethora of veggies kept on the line. All night long, I'll snack on the errant carrot or 2 (or 5), radishes, and feta cheese; my body's so used to it now it actually craves them. Which works out, as I usually go to a local farmer's market for produce on the hella cheap.
...Or I could just be full of crap with that last theory- a pint of cookie dough ice cream and beer have been my bosom buddies tonight. Cheers~
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Free Time Crazies
I am probably the very definition of a workaholic, and this ridiculously cold "spring" weather is not helping with my free time crazy.
For the record, I despise free time. That is not the same as days off, mind you. Free time is the absence of anything necessary, useful, or engaging for me to do. Days off are generally well-earned days off of work that I may use to accomplish errands, hang out with friends, or travel. I love days off. I can't handle free time. I get antsy, think too much, and sink into an incredibly low, foul mood. It gets worse when I can't go outside and enjoy the weather.
Work keeps me feeling sane. When I'm at work, I am required to focus on what I'm doing and how well I'm doing it- there's no time to worry about the inconsequential bullshit that would hound me otherwise.
Today, Atlanta got flurries. Of snow. I was miserable all morning until I had to go to work. Being there felt so much better! Now that the night is over, I feel calmer. Almost peaceful. I just hope I can find something to do with my free time tomorrow, oi.
For the record, I despise free time. That is not the same as days off, mind you. Free time is the absence of anything necessary, useful, or engaging for me to do. Days off are generally well-earned days off of work that I may use to accomplish errands, hang out with friends, or travel. I love days off. I can't handle free time. I get antsy, think too much, and sink into an incredibly low, foul mood. It gets worse when I can't go outside and enjoy the weather.
Work keeps me feeling sane. When I'm at work, I am required to focus on what I'm doing and how well I'm doing it- there's no time to worry about the inconsequential bullshit that would hound me otherwise.
Today, Atlanta got flurries. Of snow. I was miserable all morning until I had to go to work. Being there felt so much better! Now that the night is over, I feel calmer. Almost peaceful. I just hope I can find something to do with my free time tomorrow, oi.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Stimulation
It's been a busy night. Saturdays usually are. Somehow I've been lucky the past two nights, and the morning cook has actually done the prep lists I've left him. I struggle to seem busy while my fellow line cooks actually prepare their stations.
About 7pm, we actually start cooking. We have a crapload of reservations, but they're behaving and flowing in steadily.
8:30pm rolls around. One of the owners brings a round of whiskey shots, the first time I've seen this happen here. A food runner gives me an espresso shot immediately after. I feel good. Really good.
12:30am hits. We're just finishing cleaning, and slamming beers in the walk-in. We need the medication after 240 covers that night.
1am. I've been sitting at the bar with my coworkers, coming down off the adrenaline high with more beer and a cigarette. I'm proud. We kicked ass tonight.
Tonight is cooking in a nutshell. Adrenaline, caffeine, nicotine, and alcohol all feed into each other; occasionally balancing out, and ultimately fueling the fire. I can feel myself passing out. I've earned my days off.
About 7pm, we actually start cooking. We have a crapload of reservations, but they're behaving and flowing in steadily.
8:30pm rolls around. One of the owners brings a round of whiskey shots, the first time I've seen this happen here. A food runner gives me an espresso shot immediately after. I feel good. Really good.
12:30am hits. We're just finishing cleaning, and slamming beers in the walk-in. We need the medication after 240 covers that night.
1am. I've been sitting at the bar with my coworkers, coming down off the adrenaline high with more beer and a cigarette. I'm proud. We kicked ass tonight.
Tonight is cooking in a nutshell. Adrenaline, caffeine, nicotine, and alcohol all feed into each other; occasionally balancing out, and ultimately fueling the fire. I can feel myself passing out. I've earned my days off.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
The Social Network? Whaaa?
So I made a Facebook page for fun extras; like photos, recipes, and realtime updates.
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Andi-Wredonkulus/497329943659963?ref=hl
Also, follow me on twitter! @AndiWredonkulus
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Andi-Wredonkulus/497329943659963?ref=hl
Also, follow me on twitter! @AndiWredonkulus
No Words...
Worst feeling in the world?
Starting a shift off slow, exceptionally slow. Sipping on your water to stave off boredom. Drinking half a gallon of water in an hour.
AND THEN THE RUSH HITS.
Three hours. Nonstop. There you have it. Worst feeling ever.
Luckily, it goes hand-in-hand with the most incredible feeling of relief when you finally get a 2-minute window to hit the head.
It's the little things.
Starting a shift off slow, exceptionally slow. Sipping on your water to stave off boredom. Drinking half a gallon of water in an hour.
AND THEN THE RUSH HITS.
Three hours. Nonstop. There you have it. Worst feeling ever.
Luckily, it goes hand-in-hand with the most incredible feeling of relief when you finally get a 2-minute window to hit the head.
It's the little things.
Friday, March 22, 2013
Sweetness
I have spent days scouring and calling food specialty stores in the city of Atlanta. Cook's Warehouse, William-Sonoma, various farmer's markets and grocery stores, even Restaurant Depot. Not ONE of those places carried the cake decorating equipment I needed. I went to Michael's, and what happened?? TWO LARGE AISLES OF EVERYTHING ANYONE COULD EVER WANT TO BAKE WITH. Frustrating, but ultimately worth it.
I am not a baker, nor a pastry chef. With good reason. I can make the actual product all right, but when it comes to decorating... Well, patience has always been the virtue that kicked my ass. I recruited my younger brother to help me knead fondant, and we proceeded to spend about two hours sweating and stretching and pulling that awful-smelling sugar brick until it was workable. Covering and stacking the layers, I then got to play with color dust! Color dust can be brushed onto pastries to give them extra flair, and a little 'wow' factor. I was using it to make my beast of a cake shimmer!
The whole mess turned out better than I expected! I mean, next year I won't be bothering with it (massive alcoholic jello mold, anyone?), but I'm glad I pulled it off. Happy birthday to me!
I am not a baker, nor a pastry chef. With good reason. I can make the actual product all right, but when it comes to decorating... Well, patience has always been the virtue that kicked my ass. I recruited my younger brother to help me knead fondant, and we proceeded to spend about two hours sweating and stretching and pulling that awful-smelling sugar brick until it was workable. Covering and stacking the layers, I then got to play with color dust! Color dust can be brushed onto pastries to give them extra flair, and a little 'wow' factor. I was using it to make my beast of a cake shimmer!
The whole mess turned out better than I expected! I mean, next year I won't be bothering with it (massive alcoholic jello mold, anyone?), but I'm glad I pulled it off. Happy birthday to me!
In Vino, Veritas
So I went to a wine tasting event today! Or yesterday, I suppose, as it's now after midnight. It's a huge trade show a local art museum sponsors every year, tied in with an auction. I was returning for my second year, as I fully intend to keep learning about wine even if I don't necessarily sell it anymore.
I spent the majority of the event hanging out with a friend of mine, Daniel- he's one of the few friends I have that has a similar appreciation for wine as I do. We were having a grand old time, venturing from booth to booth, and I happened to run into my old supervisors from the retail job. One I had expected awkward, stilted conversation with, and I wasn't disappointed. The other, however, was much colder to me than I had anticipated. We had been friends back in the day, or at least I thought so, and seeing him today he was far more brief with me than I expected.
Really, I could be completely over-analyzing the encounter. I have a habit of doing that. But it wouldn't be the first time I was treated differently by old friends because of my choice to take a paycut and get back into the kitchen. C'est la vie, I'll just let it be, and it'll all turn out in the end.
I spent the majority of the event hanging out with a friend of mine, Daniel- he's one of the few friends I have that has a similar appreciation for wine as I do. We were having a grand old time, venturing from booth to booth, and I happened to run into my old supervisors from the retail job. One I had expected awkward, stilted conversation with, and I wasn't disappointed. The other, however, was much colder to me than I had anticipated. We had been friends back in the day, or at least I thought so, and seeing him today he was far more brief with me than I expected.
Really, I could be completely over-analyzing the encounter. I have a habit of doing that. But it wouldn't be the first time I was treated differently by old friends because of my choice to take a paycut and get back into the kitchen. C'est la vie, I'll just let it be, and it'll all turn out in the end.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Melody of Life!
I love music- almost any music, really. There is a time and a place for any song! Most of it depends on my moods. When I cook, you can catch me listening to Josh Groban or Disturbed; unless I'm at work. Then I'm inexplicably humming Disney musicals.
J enjoys long car rides with me, because I also happen to be a country music fan and he finds my ability to sing along wit just about any song on the radio hilarious. Martina McBride, I am not, but I am enthusiastic!
The movie of my life would have the most confused soundtrack ever when it comes down to it. But hopefully it'd be fun to listen to! My current favorite songs I'd put on it would be:
Everybody Else, 'Meat Market'
Dean Martin, 'Ain't That A Kick in the Head?'
Uncle Kracker, 'Smile'
Josh Groban, 'So She Dances'
Sara Evans, 'As If'
Martina McBride, 'My Baby Loves Me'
Billy Joel, 'Our Italian Restaurant'
Queen, anything by them. Fucking love queen!
Chicago soundtrack, 'Cellblock Tango'
Macklemore, 'Thrift Shop'
Aerosmith, 'Sweet Emotion'
Bon Jovi, 'You Give Love (A Bad Name)'
Iron Maiden, 'Bring Your Daughter to the Slaughter'
Little Mermaid, 'Kiss the Girl'
J enjoys long car rides with me, because I also happen to be a country music fan and he finds my ability to sing along wit just about any song on the radio hilarious. Martina McBride, I am not, but I am enthusiastic!
The movie of my life would have the most confused soundtrack ever when it comes down to it. But hopefully it'd be fun to listen to! My current favorite songs I'd put on it would be:
Everybody Else, 'Meat Market'
Dean Martin, 'Ain't That A Kick in the Head?'
Uncle Kracker, 'Smile'
Josh Groban, 'So She Dances'
Sara Evans, 'As If'
Martina McBride, 'My Baby Loves Me'
Billy Joel, 'Our Italian Restaurant'
Queen, anything by them. Fucking love queen!
Chicago soundtrack, 'Cellblock Tango'
Macklemore, 'Thrift Shop'
Aerosmith, 'Sweet Emotion'
Bon Jovi, 'You Give Love (A Bad Name)'
Iron Maiden, 'Bring Your Daughter to the Slaughter'
Little Mermaid, 'Kiss the Girl'
Walk the Line
It's the oldest opening question when you're at a bar- "What do you do?" A general inquiry to suss out what you've chosen to do with your life. It also provides insight as to where your mental situation may be, and future prospects. After all, if you're in the dating game, you wouldn't want to saddle yourself with an unemployed bum, right?
I am a line cook. Generally, that means I need to explain a bit more to the random people I meet. The layman doesn't realize that cooking professionally is more complex than just, "make food". There's catering, private cooking, cooking instructors, chefs, etc.
Line cooking is what happens in restaurant kitchens- it's a team effort to put together meals for the guests. There's generally different stations to focus on different plates- it's just about impossible for one person to put together hundreds of plates together by themselves in a night.
I love line cooking. In a good restaurant, it's fast-paced, challenging, and keeps me on my toes. And when I have the opportunity to get a bit more creative, it's ludicrously fun.
At the end of a good night, I am exhausted. I would have been on my feet for at least 8 hours, in constant motion. Lifting, chopping, wiping, reaching into fridges. I'm sweating from the heat and the pressure, and my focus is laser-sharp. It's a tough environment, but it's never boring. It's perfect for my short attention spam, constantly evolving and changing. My hands are marred with burns, scars, and calluses. My nails are short out of necessity, and never polished. My hair is pulled back and tucked under a skull cap, making me look like an adolescent boy if it weren't for the eyeliner I wear.
Women on the line is a rarity- for whatever reason, they aren't as prevalent in professional kitchens. Many that ate, though, feel the need to overcompensate with an excessively macho attitude. I did that myself for the first half of my career. I wish that there weren't any gender distinction in kitchens, that we could just gain respect as just cooks instead of male vs female cooks. However, at the moment it's an unavoidable divide, and I'd rather celebrate the fact that I *am* a girl, and I *am* kicking ass at what I do. It's tough, but worth every ass-kicking night!
I wonder why the stereotype even exists? The "pro cooks=men/home cooks=women" one? Honestly, I would think moms would make the best professional cooks- they're used to being on their feet long hours, multitasking all the time, and to be frank, used to a lot of whining. Thoughts, everyone?
I am a line cook. Generally, that means I need to explain a bit more to the random people I meet. The layman doesn't realize that cooking professionally is more complex than just, "make food". There's catering, private cooking, cooking instructors, chefs, etc.
Line cooking is what happens in restaurant kitchens- it's a team effort to put together meals for the guests. There's generally different stations to focus on different plates- it's just about impossible for one person to put together hundreds of plates together by themselves in a night.
I love line cooking. In a good restaurant, it's fast-paced, challenging, and keeps me on my toes. And when I have the opportunity to get a bit more creative, it's ludicrously fun.
At the end of a good night, I am exhausted. I would have been on my feet for at least 8 hours, in constant motion. Lifting, chopping, wiping, reaching into fridges. I'm sweating from the heat and the pressure, and my focus is laser-sharp. It's a tough environment, but it's never boring. It's perfect for my short attention spam, constantly evolving and changing. My hands are marred with burns, scars, and calluses. My nails are short out of necessity, and never polished. My hair is pulled back and tucked under a skull cap, making me look like an adolescent boy if it weren't for the eyeliner I wear.
Women on the line is a rarity- for whatever reason, they aren't as prevalent in professional kitchens. Many that ate, though, feel the need to overcompensate with an excessively macho attitude. I did that myself for the first half of my career. I wish that there weren't any gender distinction in kitchens, that we could just gain respect as just cooks instead of male vs female cooks. However, at the moment it's an unavoidable divide, and I'd rather celebrate the fact that I *am* a girl, and I *am* kicking ass at what I do. It's tough, but worth every ass-kicking night!
I wonder why the stereotype even exists? The "pro cooks=men/home cooks=women" one? Honestly, I would think moms would make the best professional cooks- they're used to being on their feet long hours, multitasking all the time, and to be frank, used to a lot of whining. Thoughts, everyone?
Meat meat meeeeeaat
I am not a vegetarian. In any sense of the word.
There are days where I'll happily chow down on apples, raw carrots, rabbit food like that- but I looooove exercising my canines. Meat is one of my favorite things on the planet!
I prefer my murder medium-rare, hedging on the rare side, but I'll eat it almost any preparation. So far, my favorite meat dishes in Atlanta are:
Proof & Provision's meat sampler plate- you get to pick how many cured meats you want to try!!! So tasty, too- and no annoying vegetable rubbish cluttering the plate.
Cardamom Hill's Oxtail dinner entree- melts in your mouth. Like whoa. And the sides were unique, creamy, and wonderfully balanced the rich, rich ox seasonings.
Miller Union's Beef Carpaccio- paper-thin slices of super-rare beef. It does have leafy shit all over it as a garnish, but it's super tasty!
Mmm. Meat. Where would we be without you?
There are days where I'll happily chow down on apples, raw carrots, rabbit food like that- but I looooove exercising my canines. Meat is one of my favorite things on the planet!
I prefer my murder medium-rare, hedging on the rare side, but I'll eat it almost any preparation. So far, my favorite meat dishes in Atlanta are:
Proof & Provision's meat sampler plate- you get to pick how many cured meats you want to try!!! So tasty, too- and no annoying vegetable rubbish cluttering the plate.
Cardamom Hill's Oxtail dinner entree- melts in your mouth. Like whoa. And the sides were unique, creamy, and wonderfully balanced the rich, rich ox seasonings.
Miller Union's Beef Carpaccio- paper-thin slices of super-rare beef. It does have leafy shit all over it as a garnish, but it's super tasty!
Mmm. Meat. Where would we be without you?
Got Milk?
Hijacking a quote from 'Apron Anxiety' (by Alyssa Shelasky) that was hijacked from 'Daily Blender'...
"I would be displeased and scared shitless if my little girl started talking about wanting to be a chef. I guess it could be worse. She could talk about wanting to go OUT with a chef." ~Anthony Bourdain
For the majority of my romantic life, I have always seen myself as ending up with someone structured, vivacious, fun, dependable, impetuous, and with high standards. Essentially, a mess of contradictions like myself. I've dated a wide variety of guys to try and find that mix, too- bookworms, jocks, artists, geeky goofballs, felons, frat boys, and coworkers. Ultimately, I figured out that the people I was most likely to find that eclectic mix in was either going to be a Marine or a chef. I grew up as a military brat, so the idea of odd schedules and deployments never fazed me- it was all a part of the package. However, I'm not exactly in a military city, so chefs have been my most attractive option. I'm just wondering- why?
I want someone dependable. Chefs, as a general rule of thumb, are not. Working in restaurants, I never get to celebrate holidays and birthdays on time anyway. Being with J, if we want to do anything, we have to pray we have a day off at the same time. And even then, our dates will be interrupted by calls from his sous chef, his purveyors, and his front of house staff at least two or three times. I understand this. I do. I don't get mad, because one day, that will be me. But it's a bit disheartening at the same time. Worse are the days we make tentative plans, and he has to cancel last minute because of a restaurant emergency. Again, it doesn't change how I feel about him, it's a chef fact of life and I get it. But why do I stay and willingly let myself get disappointed?
Maybe, it's because when we're together, he acts like I'm the only woman on the planet. We can go loaf around and talk for hours, or just be quiet and enjoy each other's company. He can make octopus shit jokes in front of a group of young kids and their grandmother, and we'll both find it inappropriate and completely hilarious. When he is here, he's a chivalrous gentleman and a sweetheart. When he's not, he still finds time to text me once or twice a day, and doesn't mind me polluting his inbox with inane bullshit.
I can handle the disappointments because I know, at the end of the day, he makes it worth it. It's like I've spent my life drinking shitty skim milk, and then someone gave me a big glass of chocolate milk. Sure, it can spoil like any other milk, but at the end of the day, it just tastes so much better- why would I ever go back to skim milk?
"You do something to me- that I can't explain-- so would I be out of line- if I said, 'I miss you'?" ~Incubus, 'I Miss You'
"I would be displeased and scared shitless if my little girl started talking about wanting to be a chef. I guess it could be worse. She could talk about wanting to go OUT with a chef." ~Anthony Bourdain
For the majority of my romantic life, I have always seen myself as ending up with someone structured, vivacious, fun, dependable, impetuous, and with high standards. Essentially, a mess of contradictions like myself. I've dated a wide variety of guys to try and find that mix, too- bookworms, jocks, artists, geeky goofballs, felons, frat boys, and coworkers. Ultimately, I figured out that the people I was most likely to find that eclectic mix in was either going to be a Marine or a chef. I grew up as a military brat, so the idea of odd schedules and deployments never fazed me- it was all a part of the package. However, I'm not exactly in a military city, so chefs have been my most attractive option. I'm just wondering- why?
I want someone dependable. Chefs, as a general rule of thumb, are not. Working in restaurants, I never get to celebrate holidays and birthdays on time anyway. Being with J, if we want to do anything, we have to pray we have a day off at the same time. And even then, our dates will be interrupted by calls from his sous chef, his purveyors, and his front of house staff at least two or three times. I understand this. I do. I don't get mad, because one day, that will be me. But it's a bit disheartening at the same time. Worse are the days we make tentative plans, and he has to cancel last minute because of a restaurant emergency. Again, it doesn't change how I feel about him, it's a chef fact of life and I get it. But why do I stay and willingly let myself get disappointed?
Maybe, it's because when we're together, he acts like I'm the only woman on the planet. We can go loaf around and talk for hours, or just be quiet and enjoy each other's company. He can make octopus shit jokes in front of a group of young kids and their grandmother, and we'll both find it inappropriate and completely hilarious. When he is here, he's a chivalrous gentleman and a sweetheart. When he's not, he still finds time to text me once or twice a day, and doesn't mind me polluting his inbox with inane bullshit.
I can handle the disappointments because I know, at the end of the day, he makes it worth it. It's like I've spent my life drinking shitty skim milk, and then someone gave me a big glass of chocolate milk. Sure, it can spoil like any other milk, but at the end of the day, it just tastes so much better- why would I ever go back to skim milk?
"You do something to me- that I can't explain-- so would I be out of line- if I said, 'I miss you'?" ~Incubus, 'I Miss You'
Real Kitchen Nightmares
There is always a point in any job I take where I dream about being at work. All. The. Time. Usually, it is about the time when I start to despise my job. However, it is a biiit different when I'm working in restaurant kitchens. Any cook can relate to this- the ticket printer. The constant chatter as orders roll in brings on a whole new kind of madness, one that doesn't go away with a career change- I dreamt of those damn printers even when I was in retail. The constant clicking, the whine of the paper wheel- I hear it EVERYWHERE. And now I have a new sound to add to my mental torment- egg timers. Every time I think I hear one go off, I get this momentary mini heart attack as I panic that I may have over-cooked a delicate dish. It is now a permanent neurosis I will live with the rest of my life. It's weird to consider...
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Connective Tissue
As I type this, I'm sitting watching Star Wars: A New Hope on VHS and drinking a beer that's gradually getting warmer. I smell like baking cake and fried chicken. It's been a good day.
I do a lot of things for odd reasons. For example, I only have this movie because I have a deep appreciation for nostalgia. I also happen to enjoy Star Wars, back when Han shot first. Memories, history- it all cycles around and makes me feel closer to people around me. Like today, I spent hours with a good friend of mine, baking a cake and making homemade fried buffalo tenders. We drank, reminisced, and made fantastic new memories over stupid YouTube videos. Hell, a big part of why I continue to cook is days like today- food gives me an excuse to invade people's lives for brief periods. I love cooking for my friends, and having theme parties that let me experiment with different menus rock my world. The cake I baked today is going to be for my birthday party on Sunday- it's sparkle themed. I can't wait to have all of my friends gather around, decked in all sorts of glitter and shiny shit, while we cook out and makes asses of ourselves in public. I'll have pics to share with y'all, promise! :)
...on a quasi-related note, WHY THE FUCK DON'T ATLANTA CULINARY SHOPS CARRY FONDANT?! I seriously called 7 different stores in this damn city before one of them was kind enough to tell me that Michael's, the CRAFT STORE, carried it. That is all kinds of fucking stupid, in my mind. Yeesh.
I do a lot of things for odd reasons. For example, I only have this movie because I have a deep appreciation for nostalgia. I also happen to enjoy Star Wars, back when Han shot first. Memories, history- it all cycles around and makes me feel closer to people around me. Like today, I spent hours with a good friend of mine, baking a cake and making homemade fried buffalo tenders. We drank, reminisced, and made fantastic new memories over stupid YouTube videos. Hell, a big part of why I continue to cook is days like today- food gives me an excuse to invade people's lives for brief periods. I love cooking for my friends, and having theme parties that let me experiment with different menus rock my world. The cake I baked today is going to be for my birthday party on Sunday- it's sparkle themed. I can't wait to have all of my friends gather around, decked in all sorts of glitter and shiny shit, while we cook out and makes asses of ourselves in public. I'll have pics to share with y'all, promise! :)
...on a quasi-related note, WHY THE FUCK DON'T ATLANTA CULINARY SHOPS CARRY FONDANT?! I seriously called 7 different stores in this damn city before one of them was kind enough to tell me that Michael's, the CRAFT STORE, carried it. That is all kinds of fucking stupid, in my mind. Yeesh.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Hours and hours and hours...
For the hundredth time in months, I find myself unable to sleep. It's a bit of a side effect of my lifestyle that I need to re-acclimate to. At the moment, it's primarily my job that I'm re-adjusting to- when I was in retail, I had a sleep schedule closer resembling normal people. Then for a couple months after leaving retail, I was kept awake by financial stress. Now, I'm back to sleeping, kinda. When I work, I work evenings. I go in around four, and get out... Well, late. By all accounts, I should be sleeping like a baby after the asswhoopings I've been getting on weekends. Then my days off try to make me think I'm normal. Ha.
There's something else that's been keeping me up, though. J. This is new for me. I love talking to him, and I spend an inordinate amount of time doing so. Texts, phone calls, any scrap of time is precious to me. See, he and I have a long distance relationship on top of us both being in kitchens. When I was younger, I tried many long-distance relationships that failed miserably. I swore them off. Then I met J. When we met, I had no idea who he was. He was just a guy in a bar (how we met is a story for another day). What attracted me to him, and continues to do so, is the fact that he gave me his time. Still does. Time is expensive! If you break it down monetarily, like a server does, minutes add up to hundreds of dollars. Hell, even cell companies charge obscene amounts for minutes.
I learned early that time is valuable. As a kid growing up in a military family, time spent with friends was short. You don't take the friendships you manage to retain for granted. So, when J showed me he was willing to invest his time getting to know me, it was the most romantic gesture I had ever seen. He even actually picks up the phone and legitimately CALLS. That is waaaaay too rare these days. Especially with him owning a place, but also opening a second? He takes time to talk to me, even with a full plate.
So I take time to daydream. Will this work out long term? I have no idea. But he makes me happy enough to hope that it will. Never underestimate the impact 5, 10 minutes can make. Those few moments to you can mean hours to someone else.
"You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams." ~Dr. Seuss
There's something else that's been keeping me up, though. J. This is new for me. I love talking to him, and I spend an inordinate amount of time doing so. Texts, phone calls, any scrap of time is precious to me. See, he and I have a long distance relationship on top of us both being in kitchens. When I was younger, I tried many long-distance relationships that failed miserably. I swore them off. Then I met J. When we met, I had no idea who he was. He was just a guy in a bar (how we met is a story for another day). What attracted me to him, and continues to do so, is the fact that he gave me his time. Still does. Time is expensive! If you break it down monetarily, like a server does, minutes add up to hundreds of dollars. Hell, even cell companies charge obscene amounts for minutes.
I learned early that time is valuable. As a kid growing up in a military family, time spent with friends was short. You don't take the friendships you manage to retain for granted. So, when J showed me he was willing to invest his time getting to know me, it was the most romantic gesture I had ever seen. He even actually picks up the phone and legitimately CALLS. That is waaaaay too rare these days. Especially with him owning a place, but also opening a second? He takes time to talk to me, even with a full plate.
So I take time to daydream. Will this work out long term? I have no idea. But he makes me happy enough to hope that it will. Never underestimate the impact 5, 10 minutes can make. Those few moments to you can mean hours to someone else.
"You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams." ~Dr. Seuss
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Stockholm Syndrome
I have been in some facet of the hospitality industry since I was 14. Restaurants, mostly, but I did a small 2-year stint in alcohol retail as well. In that time, I've referred to it as a form of Stockholm Syndrome for a majority of it. Much of the time, I also treated it as just a job. So why have I bothered staying?
It's not the pay. Restaurant wages are among the worst I've earned. It's not the hours, either- who willingly gives up weekends and holidays? And it's DEFINITELY not the glamour- don't believe what you see in the media, restaurant work isn't remotely pretty when you're elbows-deep in shrimp shit and shells.
Part of it could be I don't feel qualified to do anything else. I mean, when you spend so much time doing one thing, it doesn't matter what other talents you may have, it's hard to convince yourself that other people would pay you for that. Or, that's been my experience, at least.
Ultimately, I guess it boiled down to passion for me. A passion I didn't realize I had, to be honest. Which is a bit funny to admit, as I am one of the first people to tell my friends to follow theirs.
It turned out I had developed a love of German food without realizing it. When I was in high school, I spent years both volunteering and working in a German restaurant in Brunswick, Maine. Back then, I didn't have any vested interest in food, and actually was a rather annoyingly picky eater. But, when you're a growing adolescent and haven't eaten in hours, sauerkraut gets incredibly tempting-smelling.
That restaurant, Richard's, was one of the first and few places I worked in where they insisted on doing things by a set standard. More importantly, it was a standard maintained on a surprising amount of common sense. It was a method I wound up taking for granted, especially considering some of the places I worked in later years.
Anyway, while I was there, I developed a taste for German food. I proceeded to then work in a few other restaurants that were more concerned with volume and relaxed feel- decidedly not fine dining establishments. I moved to Atlanta, gained an appreciation for eating well, and then got gobsmacked and disillusioned with the dining scene here. I got burnt out. I gave up, and went into alcohol retail. It was fun for a while, but I got restless. Then I worked a special Oktoberfest event.
My company had provided the beer for the event, and I was on hand to help explain what was there to the guests. A catering company had been hired to recreate authentic German food. I was looking forward to seeing what they did, and even offered to consult with the chef at the catering company.
It was the biggest travesty toward German cooking I had ever seen. I was furious. Atlanta barely has passable European cuisine anyway, and to try to pass this off as "authentic"?! I was offended to the core. I had been toying with the idea of starting my own German pub, and this was the final nail in the coffin. I was going to make it happen one way or the other.
I proceeded to call my old boss, Richard, and set up a stage (apprenticeship) back in his kitchen. It had been at least five years since I had worked there, and I wanted to refresh my memory. I went back to Maine for a couple of weeks at the end of January and got to work. It was rejuvenating! I had forgotten how nice it was to work someplace with high standards. I felt at home. And I realized how much I still needed to learn.
I returned to Atlanta, determined to find a good cooking job. No more retail, no more waiting tables, and no more half-assed over-hyped mediocre burger-slinging. It was tough- a lot of places that were hiring were the terrible TGI knockoffs I wanted to avoid. Then, one morning during a 3am bout of insomnia, I found a Craigslist ad for a line cook position at a place I had heard good things about. J had even recommended I apply there months ago, before the Oktoberfest fiasco. I sent in my résumé, and passed out.
Chef called me that afternoon to schedule an interview. I was over the moon! A couple days later, I went in for it. There was another applicant there. I got nervous- he was dressed in his chef whites, while I looked more as though I was going for a hostess position. My nerves continued to get rattled the longer we waited for Chef to arrive. Finally, it was time. And I had the longest, most intense interview of my life. I left feeling completely rattled, but also... Intrigued. I needed to work there, I could tell. They had standards! A good reputation! An more importantly, I could *learn* there. For the first time in my life, I began praying I could get the job.
Three excruciatingly long days later, Chef called me back for a one night stage to see if I'd fit. I went in the very next night... And proceeded to completely fuck up a simple hummus recipe. Then they put me on the line, an figuring I had nothing to lose, I threw myself into learning what I could. The whole while, I was mentally swearing at myself, sure I had blown it.
Closing time rolled around, and that's when Chef gave me some of the best news of my career- I got the job. I skipped home that night. Been damn near skipping ever since, too. I still get the jitters- it's a level of cooking I've never performed at, and some days I feel like I can't keep up. But ultimately, I'm finding myself happy that I'm getting my ass kicked every weekend. I'm getting a perverse thrill from the challenge, and it's doing wonders for my faith in the skills I had picked up in prior arenas. My hands will never be pretty and flawless again- but they will reflect my love for this industry, for the strength it gives me, and the lengths I'll go to for all of my goals- kitchen or otherwise.
So why do I stay in this industry? I guess I'm just that special kind of crazy. Cheers!
It's not the pay. Restaurant wages are among the worst I've earned. It's not the hours, either- who willingly gives up weekends and holidays? And it's DEFINITELY not the glamour- don't believe what you see in the media, restaurant work isn't remotely pretty when you're elbows-deep in shrimp shit and shells.
Part of it could be I don't feel qualified to do anything else. I mean, when you spend so much time doing one thing, it doesn't matter what other talents you may have, it's hard to convince yourself that other people would pay you for that. Or, that's been my experience, at least.
Ultimately, I guess it boiled down to passion for me. A passion I didn't realize I had, to be honest. Which is a bit funny to admit, as I am one of the first people to tell my friends to follow theirs.
It turned out I had developed a love of German food without realizing it. When I was in high school, I spent years both volunteering and working in a German restaurant in Brunswick, Maine. Back then, I didn't have any vested interest in food, and actually was a rather annoyingly picky eater. But, when you're a growing adolescent and haven't eaten in hours, sauerkraut gets incredibly tempting-smelling.
That restaurant, Richard's, was one of the first and few places I worked in where they insisted on doing things by a set standard. More importantly, it was a standard maintained on a surprising amount of common sense. It was a method I wound up taking for granted, especially considering some of the places I worked in later years.
Anyway, while I was there, I developed a taste for German food. I proceeded to then work in a few other restaurants that were more concerned with volume and relaxed feel- decidedly not fine dining establishments. I moved to Atlanta, gained an appreciation for eating well, and then got gobsmacked and disillusioned with the dining scene here. I got burnt out. I gave up, and went into alcohol retail. It was fun for a while, but I got restless. Then I worked a special Oktoberfest event.
My company had provided the beer for the event, and I was on hand to help explain what was there to the guests. A catering company had been hired to recreate authentic German food. I was looking forward to seeing what they did, and even offered to consult with the chef at the catering company.
It was the biggest travesty toward German cooking I had ever seen. I was furious. Atlanta barely has passable European cuisine anyway, and to try to pass this off as "authentic"?! I was offended to the core. I had been toying with the idea of starting my own German pub, and this was the final nail in the coffin. I was going to make it happen one way or the other.
I proceeded to call my old boss, Richard, and set up a stage (apprenticeship) back in his kitchen. It had been at least five years since I had worked there, and I wanted to refresh my memory. I went back to Maine for a couple of weeks at the end of January and got to work. It was rejuvenating! I had forgotten how nice it was to work someplace with high standards. I felt at home. And I realized how much I still needed to learn.
I returned to Atlanta, determined to find a good cooking job. No more retail, no more waiting tables, and no more half-assed over-hyped mediocre burger-slinging. It was tough- a lot of places that were hiring were the terrible TGI knockoffs I wanted to avoid. Then, one morning during a 3am bout of insomnia, I found a Craigslist ad for a line cook position at a place I had heard good things about. J had even recommended I apply there months ago, before the Oktoberfest fiasco. I sent in my résumé, and passed out.
Chef called me that afternoon to schedule an interview. I was over the moon! A couple days later, I went in for it. There was another applicant there. I got nervous- he was dressed in his chef whites, while I looked more as though I was going for a hostess position. My nerves continued to get rattled the longer we waited for Chef to arrive. Finally, it was time. And I had the longest, most intense interview of my life. I left feeling completely rattled, but also... Intrigued. I needed to work there, I could tell. They had standards! A good reputation! An more importantly, I could *learn* there. For the first time in my life, I began praying I could get the job.
Three excruciatingly long days later, Chef called me back for a one night stage to see if I'd fit. I went in the very next night... And proceeded to completely fuck up a simple hummus recipe. Then they put me on the line, an figuring I had nothing to lose, I threw myself into learning what I could. The whole while, I was mentally swearing at myself, sure I had blown it.
Closing time rolled around, and that's when Chef gave me some of the best news of my career- I got the job. I skipped home that night. Been damn near skipping ever since, too. I still get the jitters- it's a level of cooking I've never performed at, and some days I feel like I can't keep up. But ultimately, I'm finding myself happy that I'm getting my ass kicked every weekend. I'm getting a perverse thrill from the challenge, and it's doing wonders for my faith in the skills I had picked up in prior arenas. My hands will never be pretty and flawless again- but they will reflect my love for this industry, for the strength it gives me, and the lengths I'll go to for all of my goals- kitchen or otherwise.
So why do I stay in this industry? I guess I'm just that special kind of crazy. Cheers!
Sober St. Patrick's Day- an Introduction
For the first time in years, I am spending St. Patrick's day sober. Not intentionally, but crap happens. Today was supposed to be a gorgeous day, perfect for going outside and enjoying sunshine with my dogs. Instead, I have been granted clouds and brisk breezes, which has led to accidentally literally making myself ill with boredom. Which led to me starting a blog. Clearly a recipe for success! Well, here we are anyway.
They say to write what you know, so I suppose I should decide what that is.
Food.
I know about food. I'm a cook, and a total food nerd. I have shelves of cook books, chef memoirs, even cook comic books ('Get Jiro', anyone?). I get more excited about restaurants and industry news than I do about pop culture.
I also know a lot about dating. Specifically, long periods of shitty dating before finally meeting someone who meshes with me incredibly well. Extra-specifically, dating a chef. So I guess, by default, this blog will wind up being about my love affairs with food and, well, actual love affairs. Following still?
Now for our cast of characters- aside from myself, there will be at least two other people I can see myself writing about most frequently. The first is the guy I'm currently seeing, a fantastic chef who has been earning quite a bit of notoriety over the past two years (though I've only known him five months). The other is my boss, another excellent chef with a healthy heap of accolades. ...can you tell I like to surround myself with people with taste? For their privacy, I will refer to my guy as J, and my boss as Chef. It will just keep things simpler in the long run.
Aside from boredom, why am I bothering to start a blog? Well, I have been reading chef-related stuff all day, including the blog Desperate Chef Wives (http://www.desperatechefswives.com). Excellent material, all of it, but I was having a harder time relating. See, since I work in the industry, I wanted to find other women who could relate to my experiences- sharing similar hours, goals, ideology, and that sort of thing.
So, this is a perfectly selfish, self-serving blog. I want to find other lady line cooks like myself who happen to be dating "within the ranks", as Anthony Bourdain might say. So, here's to us, chickadees, wherever we may be hiding! And to the industry and fellow cooks we love so much.
They say to write what you know, so I suppose I should decide what that is.
Food.
I know about food. I'm a cook, and a total food nerd. I have shelves of cook books, chef memoirs, even cook comic books ('Get Jiro', anyone?). I get more excited about restaurants and industry news than I do about pop culture.
I also know a lot about dating. Specifically, long periods of shitty dating before finally meeting someone who meshes with me incredibly well. Extra-specifically, dating a chef. So I guess, by default, this blog will wind up being about my love affairs with food and, well, actual love affairs. Following still?
Now for our cast of characters- aside from myself, there will be at least two other people I can see myself writing about most frequently. The first is the guy I'm currently seeing, a fantastic chef who has been earning quite a bit of notoriety over the past two years (though I've only known him five months). The other is my boss, another excellent chef with a healthy heap of accolades. ...can you tell I like to surround myself with people with taste? For their privacy, I will refer to my guy as J, and my boss as Chef. It will just keep things simpler in the long run.
Aside from boredom, why am I bothering to start a blog? Well, I have been reading chef-related stuff all day, including the blog Desperate Chef Wives (http://www.desperatechefswives.com). Excellent material, all of it, but I was having a harder time relating. See, since I work in the industry, I wanted to find other women who could relate to my experiences- sharing similar hours, goals, ideology, and that sort of thing.
So, this is a perfectly selfish, self-serving blog. I want to find other lady line cooks like myself who happen to be dating "within the ranks", as Anthony Bourdain might say. So, here's to us, chickadees, wherever we may be hiding! And to the industry and fellow cooks we love so much.
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