One of the cute and yet not so cute traditions of dating in your 40's (soon to be 50's) is the interview like process of the first meeting. You've managed to find someone that you find interesting and for some reason finds you interesting as well, so a decision to go for a beverage is made. Coffee or something a tad stronger being the usual choice. Honestly, it's a good way to get to know someone...breathe the same air and see if perhaps there is a desire for a real date to go on.
Good first dates can last a few hours, others are too long at ten minutes and I won't bore you with specifics of course but there is a certain familiarity to these nights out. The same kinds of questions are asked, the same information is solicited - all in an effort to see if maybe this person is somewhat normal, someone date-able. You may not know if this person is the one after this initial meeting but you should have a good idea if there is anything there to build on.
You talk about your career, your family and generally you stay on the fringes of anything deep. Well, if you're not me. As we all know I really don't care for the weather talk so if there is opportunity to talk about real stuff I'm there. I was once read somewhere that you don't talk religion, politics and sex on a first date. Whatever. If our conversation goes there it goes there.
Unsurprisingly it comes to what I do and questions around my field of work. How interesting it must be to be a chef or how did you become a chef and did you always want to cook type discussions. Do you want to know? I'll tell you.
I backed into this career. This was not what I grew up wanting to do. I did not cook at my grandmothers side wanting to showcase the food of Croatia as done by her. I was not struck by the culinary bug the first time I tried a bouillabaisse brimming with fresh fish and subtle saffron notes. No, this was really a second or third sort of "might as well" try this option scenario. Sorry to destroy the romanticism of it all but I told you I was going to be honest.
When I was young I wanted to be an architect. I loved the effect that drawing something in 3D with proper perspective gave. I would draw building after building in attempts to perfect my technique. I don't remember if I was any good at it but I was probably better than Costanza in his make believe world was. At some point that dream went away and I really don't recall any other sort of desire to grow up into something. For the longest time I simply did the young guy thing. In grade eight I had a desire to write, which I still do...hmmm, go figure. But it wasn't something to make a living off of, simply that I felt that I had something to say. And as this blog is evidence of, not much of anything really as it turns out.
At some point I developed a desire to be a film maker. I can guess that this stemmed from my thoughts that I had something to say. I wanted to be the next Spielberg, make you laugh, make you cry and maybe even make you think. So a plan was formulated, I was going to attend York University for their fine arts program. You can stop laughing now. The inescapable laws of declining returns meant that my initial output was not going to be enough to get me into the school. Said another way, my party hardy days during the previous years meant my grades were worth shit and out of the 400 applicants for the 60 spaces available I was not chosen. I have to tell you, it was a bit of a blow. The "fuck off" letters we would get from various institutions that we had applied to were never any fun. But I didn't want to go to school just for the sake of going.
So, I made the decision to take a year off from school to work and save money while taking night class to bump my grades up. Additionaly I volunteered at a local cable company to learn some skills and pad my portfolio. As a side note, somewhere out in the universe is actual footage of me playing the part of Pasquali the janitor on my first ever TV appearance. Well, despite these efforts I was once again not chosen for the competitive program. Although this time around I did manage an interview with the selection committee, which in the end did more to enlighten me about this field than anything I would have experienced. Walking through the halls to my meeting I was struck by how out of place I was. Black clad, Doc Martin wearing "artistes" abounded and I was definitely the odd duck in the place. Whatever.
A few weeks later I got the fuck off letter again and now I was not only pissed off but concerned, what the hell was I going to do? I recall playing tennis that day with my buddy Dom and between getting my ass kicked and working up a good sweat we talked about what I could do. At the end of the day I decided to apply to college for Radio and Television Arts, a more technical approach to the industry. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had stayed on that course instead of doing what I did next. The road not taken kind of thing.
I think it was a few days later and I was still agonizing over not getting into university while working a shift at the restaurant I was working at. This was just a job for me, something to help with beer and gas money, before you make the connection. I was working with a less than appealing lifer in the not so appealing world of chain restaurants. I didn't actually like Chris that much because he kind of creeped me out. He was an OK guy but not someone I would want to go out with for an evening of frivolity. But this chain smoking scrawny guy is the reason that I am in the executive chef's chair today.
He asked me what I thought I might want to do. Think about what you can or want to do. My first response was that I thought it would be kind of cool to own a bar. Not because of my undiscovered entrepreneurial skill but because I thought that was easy access to booze and women. I'm 19 years old, what did you expect? "You know what you should do? Take some cooking classes at the college so you know what's going on in the operation." And that my friends is how I ended up here. I thought it was some good advice so I called the college the next day, changed my course choice to Culinary Management and the rest, as they say, is history.
For whatever reason I took to this like fish to water. I somehow got things that I knew nothing about. I was a hard worker and I discovered new talents in creating flavours, understanding team work and direction. While I was good at the actual cooking and I enjoyed the process and the end result (still do) I had found an environment that I felt comfortable in. I fit in because above all else in this crazy world I work in we look for team cohesion and being able to hold up your end of the line. I was hooked.
What followed was long hours, lots of hard work, risk taking, bandages and stitches, burn ointment and sore feet. As well as a lifetime of experiences, a few entrepreneurial adventures, more than a million people fed, ups and downs and of course lots of cursing.
So, while I may not have been born to be a chef I certainly grew into one. A chef, not a dilettante. There is a lot of prestige that goes with the title of chef but I really think it's over blown, especially these days in the age of YouTube hackery and celebrity status. Most of us that cook don't look for stardom, to walk the red carpet as a celebrity of some sort or to make sure we are at the top of Google searches, we simply cook. The other one percent can have that life, I'll be quite happy having you moan a little when you taste my risotto as we sip wine and enjoy each others company...just saying.
And there is a snap shot of how I came to be where I am. An interesting ride that has been woven into my tapestry, providing colour and context to parts of my life and skills that can be used to the day I pass on. Not such a bad thing eh?
Ciao
D
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