Middle Eastern Eating

To accompany my fascination with food, I follow a lot of chefs on social media, and constantly keep my ears to the ground for local and national food news. That being said, I also drink a lot and occasionally forget details or entire places and recipes I want to try, and that will occasionally end with me trying a place I had forgotten about. It becomes a weird, fun game of pseudo-dé ja vu. And I really win when it turns out that what I've tried is a pet project of acquaintances of mine!!!

Story time. I had never tried Shawarma before. Hell, I had only ever heard about it because of the Avengers movie. I have woefully little experience with middle eastern cuisine- my family, being career military, is not necessarily as open minded about that particular region. My first encounter with anything resembling that style of food was through a chef I used to work with in a Spanish restaurant and they let him do more Moorish-style cuisine. I learned about sumac and harissa, and was interested, but I didn't know where to find more stuff like it.

Now, a few nights ago I was jonesing for some tacos. I was also feeling incredibly lazy, and didn't want to go too too far for them. But as 8pm drew closer, and tacos steadfastly refused to appear, I hauled myself off the couch and ventured out into the Atlanta evening. I headed to Krog Street Market, knowing of a "Mex-Tex" restaurant there called Superica, but I wanted to check out the various other stalls to see if there were more enticing options to be had.

When I got there, half of the market was already closed for the evening. Lucky for me, the few stalls that weren't already closed were the more food-focused! No tacos, though. I was about to give up and just nab a sandwich from Fred's Meat and Bread (my second fave sandwich place), when Yalla caught my eye. Both Fred's and Yalla are projects of Chef Todd Ginsberg and his partners. I've accidentally been following Chef Ginsberg's career with my stomach ever since I first encountered him at Bocado. He's always headed kitchens with really solid menus, but I have to admit- Yalla is my favorite so far.

I ordered a Chicken Shawarma Pita, and was given a monstrous pocket half the size of my head. And it was LOADED. Chicken, spices, hummus, pickles- so many delicious things the pita literally couldn't hold the weight. As I chowed down, hummus and sauces tore through the bread and dribbled on to my hands. Usually, with something that large, I don't finish my meal. I pack it up, politely infer I'm saving it for later, and wind up throwing it out blocks away from the establishment. With the Shawarma, though... I couldn't get enough. I used a fork to shovel everything that had fallen out into my face. I licked my fingers and hands clean. And when the last bite was gone, I knew I could never go back to basic, boring pita sandwiches again, and tacos found themselves totally demoted in my pantheon of favorite foods. I have no idea how authentic Ginsberg's Shawarma is to "real" Shawarma. Frankly, I don't care either. I am now firmly in the "happy pita" camp.

GA on my mind

Part of my finding my footing here in SoCal has been finding the local food community. I moved here to be with a friend, and I love her to pieces, but she and her family are meat-and-potato-eating lawyers. I've been having to push to get them to try anything new and fun. So figuring out where farmer's markets and the like was really challenging for the first two months. Thankfully, I stumbled on the farmer's market one morning, which helped, and then I got my current job working with the catering company. The chef has been a godsend, he really has- he's not only taught me a lot, but more importantly, he filled me in on where to get the freshest seafood in the city. It's gotten me so excited! I can actually play with food I want to eat again. I haven't been able to do that since I lived in Atlanta. Even better, here in California,  I am literally making more money with two scantily part-time jobs than I did having 3 simultaneous jobs on the East Coast.  I can afford to go to specialty stores and blow $20 on a 12oz bottle of olive oil (my mom nearly had a heart attack when she heard I did that!). Even better, I am able to afford to take a trip back to Atlanta and spend most of my trip at my favorite hotel, the Georgian Terrace. California is a wonderful, wonderful place.
But, as much as I love this coast, I think I'm going to go back east in a couple years. See, while California has really helped me focus on my life and what I want, I've realized that what I want is still in the Southeast.  I'm staying here long enough to sort my life out and become a proper adult, but afterwards I fully intend to go back and fight for the life I want. California is paradise, but the South? The South is home.

Study Hard!

Clarity is one of the greatest gifts a person can be given. It's such a fluid notion, that when you can actually get a handle on it, it feels magical. It took me years, but within the past few years I knew I wanted a career in the restaurant industry. It definitely wasn't my life goal as a child, but a passion I grew into. And even more recently, I managed to narrow it down even further. That is big for me- after 25 years of putzing around, I finally have a direction to truly pursue. While I have been saying I want to own a brewpub, I always assumed it would be in a chef/owner role. Something recently occurred to me.

I am a solid cook. I'm not the best chef, nor do I have any desire to be a top chef. The time and sheer energy required behind the line is not something I honestly want to pursue. I love reading my cookbooks, learning about foods and technique, but at the end the day? I am way more interested in creating and running a successful establishment. I won't be Top Chef, but I can damn sure be a Top Restauranteur!

To accomplish that, I'm devoting my next few months earning certifications to improve my job chances in the restaurant field. I'm going for my Cicerone (for beer), WSET (for wine and spirits), and CSW (for wine exclusively). Hopefully I can parlay that into a bar position, and if not, I'll go to school for business management classes. It'll be strange, decreasing my hours working, and spending time studying. I haven't done that since... Hell, I didn't even actually study in high school.

Beyond the pursuit of knowledge, I will admit I am seriously motivated by a hefty dose of spite. It's not healthy, but I'm definitely still harboring a lot of anger over what happened on my trip out here last year. But is it really so bad, when I'm finally finding a healthy way to focus that anger? I just want to be more successful than I originally thought I could be. And if that means hella nerding out for a year or two? I'll do it. I'm pretty certain I can get my level one CSW months sooner than I anticipated originally. I've already got a much better understanding of the Bordeaux and Burgundy regions of France than I thought.

Spite. God it makes me happy.

My Night to Remember

*February 20, 2015*

*5:42pm

There is something to be said for a "devil-may-care" attitude. It winds up creating experiences out of a generally lackluster Friday night. Which is why now, after 3.5hours of SoCal traffic and 3 cigarettes later, I am in Anaheim, California, about to attend a Culinary Institute of America alumni reception/unveiling of a new commercial kitchen. Or something like that. I'm certainly not a CIA alum, and I don't honestly know what's going on  at the moment, Chef Thomas Keller just tweeted about this last night and invited industry professionals in the LA area to attend. So I said screw it and showed up.
I look at this as either a great networking opportunity, or an inspiration for... Something. I've been exercising a lot of patience lately, and I need a little reminder that everything will work itself out. I had my interview for the James Beard Women in Culinary Leadership Grant on Wednesday, and won't hear back for another few days, so I'm really looking forward to this also being a great distraction for me.

6:30pm

Just met Thomas Keller. Night is fucking MADE*

February 23, 2015

That was such an amazing night for me. I am so happy I went! Now, it was awkward at first, as I was a solid 20 years younger (at least) than the majority of the attendees. But as the night went on, and the wine flowed, and Chef Keller introduced himself to me, I began to loosen up, and really take in the event. Turns out that, beyond being an alumni reception, it was also unveiling the new showroom for the Hestan commercial kitchen equipment. I have never been in a room so full of industry professionals who actually knew what the hell they were talking about. And the equipment itself? I was very impressed. Most commercial ovens I've worked with, you have to baby the door so it doesn't fall off after repeated use. The Hestan oven? I watched 3 adult men stand on the open door and use it as a temporary stage. That was freaking awesome.

It was a great night for inspiration. I left that night, rejuvenated and excited for where my career will go. I may be stuck in limbo right now, but I was able to take that night, and go crazy at the farmer's market the next morning. I've been making my mustard, pickles, salmon tartar... I'm happier. And the busier I keep myself, the less I'll panic about the grant! :D

http://www.hestancommercial.com

~Romance~ and Reality

For the first Valentine's day in 12 years, I am not working. For the umpteenth Valentine's day, I am dateless. One would expect me to be bitter, like so many of my cynical friends. But I am an eternal optimist, and a romantic. Or sucker, whatever you want to call it.

As a general rule of thumb, restaurant industry folks don't celebrate Valentine's day on the 14th. If they have a significant other in the first place. For the ones that do, they go out a week earlier or later, or do something sweet like cook dinner or whatever else is vomit-inducingly adorable. For the single ones, we generally go get blackout drunk after the shift and wind up in bed with a stranger, a coworker, or strange coworker.

Coming from an industry standpoint, relationships are HARD. It's so easy to get caught up in the "hit it and quit it" transient mentality, thanks to the weird hours and staff turnover, that actually connecting with someone is difficult to maintain. I thoroughly enjoyed the hookup culture, and the one quasi-serious relationship I had with a chef was one of the most emotionally fulfilling I had ever had. Being single is infinitely easier in the long run. And right now, it's what I need.

I'm trying to finally focus my career, solidify myself as an adult, the whole nine yards. My application to James Beard Foundation Women in Culinary Leadership grant has actually managed to get to the interview stage. If I get it, it would be a massive step for me career-wise. I am so excited for that. I'm really ready to focus. And, if all goes well, maybe next year I'll be in a stable place where I can focus on making a relationship work. Or, you know, kicking ass again solo.

In the meantime, this year, my best gal pal and I are going chill with a $3 bottle of wine and chill with some good ol' crockpot cooking.

Humanist Rant

I was elated. I hopped out of the Schwartz,  the battered old piece of shit van that it is, and squealed for joy. *I* had just fixed a major wiring problem!  All by myself!  (Ok, sure, a wire had just jiggled loose and I reconnected it, but considering that one wire controlled everything electronic in the thing, starter motor included? I am fucking proud of that!) I had parked outside of work, and was about to warn the owner that the van was staying put for a few days until I was able to take it to a repair shop next Tuesday.  One of the bartenders saw me first.

"Holy shit!" He exclaimed, clearly shocked, "You're a girl!"

"Last time I checked!" I am wearing a skirt and knee-high black boots today with a flattering turtleneck sweater. Not the usual jeans-tshirt-apron-bandanna look he was used to.

"Are you sick? On the run? Do you need an alibi?"

Sigh.

That one little convo has been repeated in my life more than anything should be. It has only recently began to bother me because frankly, after 11 years' in this industry,  why is it still surprising? 

I recently read 'Blood, Bones, and Butter' by Chef Gabrielle Hamilton, and finally found a chef I can relate to out of the countless memoirs I've read. She, like myself, got into this industry by accident. She, like myself, has stayed because we don't know how to really do anything else  (well, she's an amazing writer, but she's also got a few years on me. Lucky her.). And she,  much like  myself, could not figure out why in the fuck being a woman in commercial kitchens is still a discussion point.

It dawned on me today, and this spans all industries,  that people have ceased to discern the difference between People and Careers. Van living has driven home a personal belief of mine that I do not ultimately want to be defined by my Career, but by how I have lived. The trouble with this, however, is I am constantly being evaluated by my feild of work. I am a Cook. I am a Server. I am a Beer Store Clerk. I am a Manager. I am a Chef.

No.

I am a Human Being. You are a Human Being. Everyone is a Human Being.

Yes, certain stereotypes can be made in various career feilds. However, at the end of the day, if I choose to wear skirts and pick flowers or do other girly shit, it is because I AM A HUMAN BEING THAT ENJOYS THOSE THINGS. I am an accidental chef out of a passion for food and a decent dose of spite acquired by working in the industry. The discussion should not be, "How has being a woman in ex-and-such feild affected the status quo", and it definitely shouldn't be a pissing contest between genders. The discussion needs to be, "As a human being, are you capable of the work, and do you enjoy it?" Otherwise, it opens the door for overblown Michelin-starred assholes to discredit an entire portion of the workforce (I'm not bothering to link that article because frankly, fuck that guy) and for shit like GamerGate to be a thing (Google it if you want to lose your faith in people entirely ).

I am a chef. I am also a girl, a friend, a lover, a collegue, a bit obscene, and polite to people whom I respect. I will continue to live exactly as I deem fit, career be damned. And I hope, for all that is right in the world, People figure out that They are worth far more than whatever price their Career has assigned them.

Mt. Everest

I am insane. That is the only explanation. Tomorrow is my last day at the brewpub I was farting around at, and Saturday is my first full day as "chef".

Literally.

Full day.

As in, today being my first day off training, and knowing that we are losing a cook at the new job Sunday, I took it upon myself to make a first draft of the schedule for next week.

I also learned today that the restaurant owners are Nepalese Sherpas. That have climbed Everest. Twice.

You know what else I learned? In order for my schedule to be what any other businesses consider normal full time, I need 2 more cooks. Otherwise? I am looking at.... oh, 70+ hours a week. I'm scheduled to come in at 3 on Saturday. For us to be properly prepared? I am getting my ass in there at least at 1pm. Probably earlier. I will have to be Nepalese Sherpa strong for the next few weeks. Now, on the plus side, I will be making goddamn bank. But there is being prepared for something, and then being pummeled with reality. Can I do this? Absolutely. No problem. Without question. Will I be OK?

...Well, right now I'm just going to relish the serenity of this quiet night, and silently apologize to my body and liver for the hell it is about to endure.

Yes, Chef?

So I've found myself in the increasingly odd position of being hired as an executive chef for a sports bar. Made odder by the fact that the restaurant itself was advertising a line cook position on Craigslist (Two major red flags right there by any sane person's standards). On the one hand, I'm excited for the opportunity. Haven't done this before! On the other hand, I've read too much Anthony Bourdain. This can only end in tears. What am I thinking??? I know I am a solid line cook with a palate that has potential. But as for a full-blown, calling the shots chef? I can imagine it, maybe, when I hit my thirties. But right now I am a mid-twenties homeless ball o' nuts trying to sort myself out.

I took the job, of course, because I need to be able to survive California cost of living. Will this be a good thing? Eeeeeh... remains to be seen. Personally, I am uncharacteristically pessimistic about it. I've been in the industry too long and seen too many fuckups to kid myself. But at the same time, that goddamned little optimist in the back of my head that prevents me from being a total bitter cynic is rooting for a decent outcome. She's a bit of an idiot. It will be a learning experience, for sure. And after some of the "chefs" I've worked for? Well, I can't possibly fuck up *THAT* bad.

Forays into Viticulture

Ever felt like you've gotten into a dick-punching contest with Murphy's Law? That could very easily sum up my trip thus far. Getting out to California became the single most aggravating task I have ever brought upon myself. Long driving hours, heartbreak, desert, storms, sunburns, broken promises- you name it, it happened. However, I am lucky enough to have a handful of the most supportive, caring, sympathetic friends a girl could ever ask for- they helped me back up when I was sobbing in a shitty motel on I-5, and I will never forget that.

As it stands, there is extremely limited time and access to the Internet in order to post everything.  So, posts are going to wind up being clustered together and dated, like so...

9/5, late-night

I finally made it to the vineyard! Drove into the winery about 10pm, met some of the crew, and immediately got put to work sorting grapes. It was a great change of pace from driving all day! What we were doing was examining grapes that had picked earlier that day and were on the conveyor belt headed to a machine that destemmed and filtered out grapes that were too small. It was up to human intervention to filter out leaves, unripe or rotten grapes, and raisins. I felt a bit like Lucy Ricardo on 'I Love Lucy' sorting bon bons. I tried a couple grapes, and they were incredible- sweet and softly  supple. They were pinot noir, the specialty of this vineyard.
Heading to the vineyard itself, where I am staying,  is about an hour and a half away from the winery and up a mountain. Because of my laaaaate arrival, I couldn't really see any of the drive up- just enough to realize that the dividing lines are just guidelines up here instead of steadfast law. :)

9/6

Day one! We woke up at 5:30 am to begin picking. During the harvest,  I was given the job of runner- while the regular workers picked, I'd go around and exchange full bins for empty ones. I knew I was going to be hurting later 2min into the job- full bins weigh 45-50lbs each! We spent a solid two, two and a half hours picking in the early morning fog. Grapes are best picked in the early morning before the sun hits- it helps preserve the flavors in the skins.
After picking, we returned to the winery. Here, I parted to start the second half of my job here- as chef! I headed to the next town over, Healdsburg,  to begin shopping for dinner supplies for the next few days.  I was also given the best news any chef can get: "You have an unlimited food budget. Feed us, and feed us well." The freedom that allows me? Incredible! I tore through the store with abandon, picking up fresh butchered meats and screamingly in season produce. I had decided to make the first night's dinner a taco night, to ease into things a bit and guage how my cooking would be recieved.
Taco night turned out well enough, I mistimed a few things and had to improvise a bit; but meeting everyone was a lot of fun and I got to witness a cool wine aficionado game they play every night- Guess the Wine. We do a blind tasting of two bottles, one white and one red, and we try to guess the grape varietal, the area of origin, the vintage, and the producer. It is a reallt educational experience!
We returned to the winery late that night to catch a few z's before returning to the fields early the next morning.  I remember hitting the sack and having some of the sweetest dreams I've had in years. This is easily one of the best decisions I've ever made.

Binge in the City, Parte Tres

So by now, it was 6pm on a Saturday that I didn't actually have to work. I'm buzzing, I'm full, and Nathan and I aren't ready to call quits on the night just yet. So what is the logical course of action? Catch a movie!
There's been a film out for a couple months now called "Chef". It's the story of a high-profile chef who dicks up his fine dining career and then proceeds to open a food truck. Both Nathan and I had been wanting to see this film for-freaking-ever, and now the golden opportunity arose! The trick was, because it is an independent flick done by and starring Jon Favreau, it was only showing in a small, small handful of theaters. We managed to find one by my place with a 7:15 showing, and headed over.
That movie? Everything I ever wanted in a food film and more. The interactions between the kitchen and front of house staff was accurate, the depiction of home life was mostly on point, and the food? Goddamn. This movie had me craving Cuban sandwiches for a week! Not only was it a solid story, the star-studded cast and the fact that chef Roy Choice produced and mentored the film just created a winning combination. I could seriously watch this 12 more times and still be ecstatic. My favorite part? The fact that NONE OF THE SPANISH WAS SUBTITLED. If you know Spanish, you get an extra layer of comedy to everything. If you don't? Well, it won't take away from the movie, but you seriously took the wrong classes in high school. Also the cornstarch scene is amazeballs. ;) Bonus? If you hang out through the credits, Roy Choi teaches you how to make the best grilled cheese ever.
Afterwards, both of us dying for a Cuban, Nathan and I tried to find a Cuban restaurant open at 10pm on a Saturday night in Atlanta. Verdict? Nada. So, we headed to the Victory Sandwich Bar in Decatur (www.vicsandwich.com). They were serving a sandwich they called "The Castro" (haha punny). Essentially a Cuban sans mojo sauce. It, and a couple of their fun cocktails, did the trick. We called it a night, and my amazing foodie weekend ended. I couldn't have imagined a more perfect weekend.

...well, maybe if I had gotten laid. That'd been cool.

My Fixation

I am obsessed with food. I suppose I could also be called a "foodie", but I would hope not in the insufferable, annoyingly hipster, douchey sense it has come to be associated with.

I have a love affair with flavors, textures, and smells. There is nothing more beautiful to me than a well-designed menu, nothing more erotic than a gorgeous plate presented in an appropriate setting.  An inventive cocktail,  or an exceptionally well-made classic,  send my tastebuds into a complete tizzy.

But it's not just fine dining that gets me drooling more than Pavlov's dog. I also have a soft spot for the chwap, the greasy, and the "clearly-going-to-put-me-in-an-early-grave". Food is an adventure, the Final Frontier I otherwise wouldn't get to explore if I were to wait on space travel. It is because of this I have an exceptionally low tolerance for picky eaters.

Before everyone gets all up in arms about "respecting people's preferences" and all of that hoopla, let me explain- picky eaters piss me off so much because I WAS ONCE ONE MYSELF.

I decided I hated any food that came out of the sea or from a pig, onions, tomatoes, pickles, peppers, stroganoff, horseradish, anything that looked weird, and anything made with anything from that list. As well as a few things I'm forgetting,  I'm sure. I lived in Maine for eight years and refused to eat seafood. I didn't believe people who told me, "Oh, your tastes will change as you get older!"

I'm not entirely convinced that's the whole case. To be fair, yes, my tastes have changed, but I think early exposure could be a big difference too. I had a pretty standard hot dogs-and-grilled cheese menu growing up, and when new foods were introduced, it was always an overly intense and overwhelming experience.  These days, I go to restaurants and see children devouring sushi and sweetbreads and offal of all kinds. Part of it is probably the celebrity chef/foodie culture that has been developing over the past few decades. People are seeing all of this food porn floating around, and passing it to their kids. It's awesome to see... and twice as maddening to see pickiness rearing it's ugly head. With SO MUCH available from so many other cultures, how can anyone not be curious?!

Try everything twice, just in case the first time got fucked up.

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'