I recall sitting in a nondescript classroom on my first day of college, an orientation sort of thing with 30 odd young adults and a few funny looking guys in white jackets and chef hats with some very uncomfortable looking neckerchiefs. Since I never stepped foot in that class again I assumed we were brought to a nicer class to welcome us to the world of chefdom....and there was cheese and fruit and wine, well this was a fine way to begin a new direction in life.
What came next, I realized many years later, was a small dose of the coming reality we were all about to immerse ourselves in. At the front of the room stood Chef Klaus, Chef Bobby, Chef Frank and Chef Gisbert along with the dean of the program, John Walker...also a chef but rarely in his whites. Class schedules were handed out and I was seriously considering dropping out at the thought of an eight hour class...WTF man? Turns out it was the Humber Room, the on campus dining room....oh, OK, I can handle that. And then the barrage began....dropping hints, anecdotes and stories designed to scare you and prepare you. One of the chefs asked how many of us ate our steaks well done. Almost all of us put our hands up..."by the end of your first semester you'll be eating them medium rare" he said. And he was right, and now I like my steak medium rare and I view anyone that wants their steak well done as someone not worthy of that meal I just prepared...eat a damn pot roast you twit if you want something well done.
Another chef asked us a more personal question, "how many of you have a lot of friends that you are close with from high school?" All of us put our hands up...of course, my buddies were everything to me well..."start saying goodbye to them, most of them won't be in your lives within a year" was his reply...while he stared out over us I'm sure he was looking for signs of defiance or disbelief. Again, he turned out to be right, unfortunately. You see, like anything that you want to do well at and to succeed in, being a chef requires hard work and commitment, and to go a little further, not unlike a doctor, it requires an almost total sacrifice to become good. And I'm not comparing chefs to doctors in any way, I'm just saying that the level of personal commitment is very similar...who do you think is cooking that nice Valentine's Day dinner you just over paid for? Meaning that gaggle of cooks are not out with their own beloved celebrating that made up event. Why do you think we change jobs every six months? Well, for some it's because they can't keep a job or there is something wrong with them, but for many it's because we want to learn more and experience everything. With a few exceptions, most of my friends drifted off...now maybe that would have happened regardless but being in the trenches did not help the cause at all. When you work 90 hours some weeks it leaves little time for a social life, well...maybe a different social life. Joining the other fluorescent lit cooks and servers, sitting on buckets and milk crates, sharing stories and meals, attending after hours parties and learning the ins and outs of the world viewed through our particular shade of glasses.
One of the chefs was trying to articulate the importance of butchery and he talked about the king of beef cuts, the tender tenderloin. Slowly pulling us into his little trap, you all know what a tenderloin looks like and you know where the tenderest part of a tenderloin is right? No? Really? Here, let me show you. The man drew a giant dick on the board...it was a tenderloin but all who know also know that a tenderloin looks dick like...he wanted us to giggle and be uncomfortable and it succeeded. It was the first salvo in what would become and continues to be the way of all chefs and cooks...relate anything and everything to body parts and sex. Quentin Tarantino in Reservoir Dogs..."dick, dick, dick, dick dick"...it really is that simple.
The talk was done let the food and wine begin. Right away the education began, "do you like wine" I was asked by Chef Frank in a small gathering of people. "I don't really know, I haven't drunk it much"...or ever at that point. "Take a sip"...OK, "Now, eat a grape and take a sip" Wow. "Now eat some cheese and take a sip" OK then...let the games begin. I now love wine by the way. The mentoring process was started with vigour on day one, it was a casual and warm embrace in joining the brotherhood. Tomorrow the real work and the reality of the business would begin. Results, expectations and consequences were rushing headlong towards us as we sipped our chardonnay and wondered if we really had to wear those stupid fucking hats.
I have no doubt they were comparing notes on us all afterwards, the system demands sacrifice and hard work and no one wants to waste their time on lost causes. Of the thirty kids that started, we were down to fourteen after the first year. At the end of it all, there were about eleven, and only three of us actually graduated as some people didn't show up for their electives. I have no doubt those chefs knew to a letter who would succeed and who would not...I think you just kind of know when you've been in the business long enough. I generally have a good idea of the type of person that will move on and be successful and the person that will remain a worker bee. And I'm not disparaging those people at all...I need them. I need the lifer breakfast cook, because I don't want to do it nor can I do it as well as they can at this stage of my life. It would be like watching a penguin trying to make breakfast for 30 people...funny and not so much with the graceful.
Chef Bobby had a small group of people around him as he was doing what the Irish do best, no not drinking his face off, telling stories. He told good stories but there always seemed to be an element of "look, I may be short but I can do this" to it...short mans syndrome maybe? But he was always threatening to rip our arms off and beat us with it and liked to brag that he was well endowed..."think of a wee boys arm with a fist"...seriously, what the hell man?
These were some of the men, and yes they were all men back then, that would help shape and form me into what I would become, and if you know what that is please let me know. Nearly thirty years later I remember so many of the things they had said and done that helped to teach me...I use some of their own mannerisms and sayings when I do my part in the business. In fact, regardless of who I am trying to mimic in an accent, be it British, Irish, or Japanese, I give all my voices a bad German accent to this day. When I or someone else sneezes I say "bless you, wipe the floor". When I am showing a classroom of eager moms how to hold a knife and how to guide food with their free hand, I always give them the middle finger as way of showing them proper hand placement. There are others...
Hard work? You betcha. But an incredible amount of knowledge, experience and laughs were shared in those two years. I still have my arms of course and a lifetime full of stories to tell that stem from those early steps in the world of things culinary.
Ciao
D
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