Getting Oriented in Bangkok...pun intended!

There are all different sorts of people in the world, many of whom have no problem existing in the midst of chaos. For the rest of us, it takes some getting used to. I flew for two days, across the U.S., over the ocean to Taiwan and finally into the heart of South East Asia, Bangkok. Not my first time in this sprawling city, but almost ten years removed from the previous visit, I didn't readily remember how emphatically chaotic Thailand's capital is. I say emphatically because more than just a circumstance of its population, weather, commercialism, etc., the collective attitude in Bangkok is certainly on purpose and a point of pride. Exceptionally friendly, fast paced and always, always going. Whatever it is, it never stops.

Culture shock is not the term for what I felt my first few days in Bangkok. I had no plans of sticking around, but there was some visa business to sort out before getting out of the city and so I was effectively stuck for a few days. The size and pace were intimidating in themselves, but I'm no stranger to navigating big cities. My real problem at the moment was utterly unexpected. What am I supposed to do with my time? Sounds like a stupid question. Those of you who have longingly listened to me describe this extended getaway are giving this blog post a collective sideways glance at the moment, I'm sure of it. Read through my earliest post on this site, though. All I've known for the last few years has been endless prep lists and inventory sheets. When you exist solely to bang out task after task for a long period of time, the extreme shift to no obligations can be fun, exciting, relaxing and also supremely frightening. There's an undercurrent of guilt when you feel as though time is being wasted lounging around in a hostel common room, and I'm not talking about the lacy, lilting guilt that white folks feel after watching Avatar in 3D. I'm referring to a persistent buzz that is supposed to be alerting you that SOMETHING important is not getting done. For me...not so easy to turn off. Bangkok is full of things to fill your time with, but most of it involves shopping or touring temples. Shopping is out; I'm on a tight budget and certainly do not want to carry anything extra (remind me to tell you some time about clothing I promptly identified as unnecessary and mailed back to the U.S.). The temples are captivating, but one can only see so many, especially in the midst of intense heat and humidity. I imagine no one will be surprised to read that I found solace in the food.

I've eaten street food almost exclusively since arriving in Thailand. It's cheap, exciting, outstandingly delicious and everywhere. It's difficult to describe why street food is different in Asia than in America. The best I can come up with - to avoid getting all geeky on the subject - is that food carts in America are a dining genre unto themselves. When I was in Portland we spoke often of the food cart "culture," and I would take my out of town guests to the late night carts on Hawthorne merely for the experience. In Asia street food is much more. It's part of the social fabric. Tiny stands line the streets at all hours of the day and night. Most specialize in one or two things. There may or may not be a few tiny (kiddie sized) plastic tables and stools nearby to rest on while eating. Fresh fruits and juices have almost completely edged candy and processed foods out of the dessert market. There is no pomp and circumstance. They are often family affairs - on more than one occasion a young daughter taking my order while her mother prepared the meal, other children taking on tasks in the background. The neighboring vendors exuded respect and good will towards one another, not competition. I don't mean to romanticize the subject, but there is something about what street vendors have to offer here in Asia that will keep me out of a proper restaurant for most likely my whole stay in the region.

By the time I had my travel visa for Vietnam dialed-in and was on my way out of Bangkok on a slow train, I had been able to calm my nerves and drown out the buzzing almost fully. I've got many months ahead of me to see things, do stuff and move around. Free time and even a healthy dose of laziness is all good once in a while and I certainly don't want to regret missing out on what might be my last opportunity to just do nothing for a bit. Better in an exotic locale, right? As I wrote earlier, food always helps me reference a time and place in the past and how I was feeling then. The street food of Bangkok will forever and always be tied to helping me let go of that persistent drive to be working on something and learning to relax a little. Stumbling on Lumphini Park - an oasis in the middle of Bangkok - helped quite a bit too. And that's just the first few days...

Preparation

It occurred to me early on that the time spent between leaving Portland and leaving the country would be great preparation for the daily grind of world traveling. I've grown comfortable with having a safe place to keep my stuff, a warm bed and the ability to not constantly be moving. I'm excited to leave that all behind for a bit, but much like easing into cool water at the beach one toe at a time, it's been nice easing into the discomforts of budget travel little by little.

I lived out of my car while driving cross country and made a habit of repacking my bag every few days as I learned new tricks for maximizing space. I also realized quickly which items would not be essential. Just the other day I spent some time bouncing around New York City - In the rain, no less - which I felt readied me for navigating strange and busy places and taking public transportation. With all these minor tests of my ability to move lightly and freely, it's fitting that a pop quiz would be thrown at me just before taking off for Southeast Asia. The persistent rain and wind I encountered in NY was more like hurricane force winds just a short drive away in Connecticut. I arrived home late one night to find trees down everywhere and electricity nowhere to be found. Almost two days later and one before I catch my flight I'm bouncing all over the place in search of electricity for phone charging, wireless internet, hot water and food that hasn't been sitting in a dead refrigerator. If I'm lucky we'll get power back long enough before I leave for a last minute load of laundry. It could be worse, though. Many people live without any of these comforts I'm lazily trying to ween myself from, knowing they'll all be here when I get back. Deeper than the annoyance I feel is a profound sense of appreciation for what I've got. If you're reading this, then there is a good chance you're a person that I appreciate knowing. Thanks, and stay tuned for my next post from a place yet to be determined.

Cross Country Excursion Part 2

So here I am in Silver Spring Maryland...dog sitting for the weekend. I've traded in endless Texas landscapes, hostel living, old friends and roadside BBQ for 6:00AM barking and picking up....well, never mind what I have to pick up. You get the picture. Any desire I've had in the past to one day take care of my own furry companion is dashed. All for the better, though. Pets don't really fit into my visions of forever wandering.

My last post outlined the first few days of driving away from Portland. The fun didn't stop. Everyone has their own methods to traveling and forming memories of that travel. For me it is definitely food. Most details will slip away over time, but I'll remember what I ate for years to come. The day is often planned around meals and indulging in what people enjoy locally is a must. The hardest part is planning what to do in between meals, and I say "hardest" only because there's often too much to see in a strange new place. In Albuquerque I went hiking through desert snow pack and toured what is an incredibly charming southwestern city to fill the time between breakfast burritos, huevos ranchero and sopapillas, all smothered in green chilis. In Texas I didn't do much outside of driving, but punctuated each stint in the car with large piles of smoked meat, eggs, grits, biscuits, gravy, meat smothered beans and toast thicker than the Sunday New York Times, because of course everything is bigger in Texas. In Louisiana I wandered the French Quarter of New Orleans and marveled at the awesome spectacle that is LSU football in between enormous portions of crawfish ettoufe, blackened alligator, a disgustingly large roast beef po' boy, beignets, and an overpriced bloody mary dressed with pickled everything and some great bar side conversation. In Atlanta I met up with an old friend and made some new ones, but at the center of it all was dinner at a southern comfort food institution and certainly a hot krispy kreme donut. I capped off the trip with a long arduous drive from Georgia to Maryland, making sure to stop for a plate of award winning ribs in North Carolina, as I would otherwise not have anything to remember an all together forgettable day by.

Food will always be my strongest connection to times and places. I've been asked over and over again by friends, family and even strangers I encounter if my upcoming world journey will involve cooking. It's a fair question considering what I do for a living. I'm certainly open to the possibility, but the truth is that eating, not cooking is why I'm taking an extended vacation. Food inspires me in the professional realm. Not only a catalyst for new creations, eating something simple and well executed spurs my desire to create the same simple, well executed cuisine. Essentially, I want to create the same type of connection to a time and place for other people that I feel when eating something great. While my aim is to drag out the upcoming travels for as long as possible, a small part of me is very excited to see what will happen when I eventually get back behind the line, primed with the memories of a thousand meals in foreign places and everything I did in between them.

Cross Country Excursion Part 1

With my departure from Portland and the chef's life over a week behind me I've traded in the little burns and nicks on my fingertips for an aching back; the result of endless hours behind the wheel of my trusty Subaru. She carried me west almost five years ago, so now we get to see some new parts of the U.S. together on the return trip. My itinerary is loose, to say the least. After I hit Albuquerque a few days from now where I will stay with an old friend from the days in Boston (thank you once again, Facebook), I'm not too sure where I will go next. The goal is to make it to Maryland where I will stash all my worldly possessions while I see the world. Let us hope that I do not get sidetracked along the way, or worse yet: lost in Appalacia.

I made my way back to Portland after a brief getaway to the Oregon coast for mere moments before splitting town. I took only that evening to pack up the car and see some friends last minute. At four the next morning I was up and haphazardly loading the debris from my apartment floor into the few remaining inches of car space. Coffee from the 24 hour Dutch Brothers at the base of the Morrison Bridge and I was off! I was in Eugene before the sun came up. What can I say, I was antsy. If you're wondering, staying up very late and then rising early to drive all day did not pan out well. Frequent stops for power napping were necessary that day. At the California border I had some tangerines confiscated by the fruit patrol. Special Agent Orange (moniker provided by me, of course) assured me the fruit I had purchased at New Seasons in Portland was definitely grown in Florida even though it was not labeled as such. The color - I swear they were orange, just like all other oranges - is what tipped him off. Only citrus grown in California can be brought into California according to the border agent, which seems exceptionally strange if you think about it visually. It occurred to me at the time that this is fruit confiscating shenanigans is something akin to Mexican drug cartels bribing law enforcement to shut out the competition. I know better than to argue with the law, though. I let him take my contraband oranges, but I laugh last. Those were only decoy fruit. I held back on revealing the other bag of tangerines in my cooler and the Washington grown Jazz Apples below that. Once again border agents are left befuddled and standing akimbo by my subterfuge.

I made it to San Francisco later that day and immediately received not one, but two parking tickets at the same time. Only in California could one get fleeced by the government for traffic fines and fruit in the same day. What more can we expect from the state that gave us Ronald Reagan, Arnold Schwarzenegger and Bay Watch? SF wasn't all bad, though. Chinatown there is no joke and the city streets are steeped in history. I'd like to get back there and spend some more time. From San Fran I moved on to Santa Barbara to stay with some family. I'll spare you the envy-inducing details, but the picture above is taken from the balcony of the guest room I'm staying in. Yep...my guest room has a balcony, with a sweet view. Tomorrow I press on to Las Vegas to see another old old friend from days of yore (Facebook strikes again!), before New Mexico. As I pass through different cities and town I've gotten to pondering what motivates people to patronize certain restaurants and love the food of certain chefs. One thing that's clear to me is that people are wildly different from locale to locale. It would follow that what accounts for their respective likes and dislikes differs as well. Of course, I'm always on the look out for where I might land next for work and it interests me greatly whether or not a formula that worked in Portland could work somewhere else. The more personal questions is: as a chef, what motivates me? Could I work and exist in a place where diners don't want to be challenged by food or may not notice or give a damn when care and love have been put into the product? Or, is personal satisfaction in a job well done enough to keep me going? The battery on my laptop is dying and the power adapter is lost in my car somewhere. I'll pick that little question up at a later date...

Close the window, open the door...

Anyone who's stumbled upon this here interweb outpost once or twice before will notice a small yet significant change. My location is no longer designated as Portland, OR and my identity is no longer shrouded in secrecy. The subterfuge was not so much for effect as it was that I didn't think anyone was reading this, much less caring who wrote it. Big thanks to Jeff McCarthy, et al for helping me experience a brief twinge of what I think was satisfaction that people have read something I wrote. In less than two weeks time my location will no longer be fixed, as I am embarking on an unspecified period of travel and will no longer be working as a chef. My reasons for enacting such a drastic change are too numerous to list and, well, boring. I do however, have a few thoughts to share on leaving the chef gig, travel/exploration, and how it all fits into this here blog.

We are told during our formidable years and indeed it is the American ideal that hard work and dedication will lead to success. While I haven't lost faith as of yet, I've realized at this point that hard work alone is not the whole story. Even more so, I've realized that the simple hope of being judged on your merit is not simple at all. I've always known this in a greater context, but believed and hoped that when it came to me and my work that it would be simple. Work long hours, never quit, never settle and presto, success! It was my plan to transcend things like hype, image, spin, flair, dumb luck, location and choice of colleagues. I know now that you can't tip the scales of success in your favor with hard work alone. It's more of a disorganized and often silly balancing act. Choosing to focus less (although not blind completely) on the other things, I opted to toil endlessly, control every factor and master every task as best I could. It seems now that I have gone as far as merit alone can take me and I'm left wondering where to go from here. If I could fit the reasons I'm moving on from this job to travel in a nutshell, that would be it. Of course there's more to it, but I want to avoid the many tangents I could go off on.

So what of the Executive Dishwasher now that I will no longer have a chef's daily minutiae to reference here? The title came about originally from a characterture I had created of myself being the highest salaried dishwasher in Portland, since my daily routine involved quite a bit of manning the dish pit. It was not at all the way I had pictured the life of a chef, but quickly found solace in the art (yes I said art!) of scrubbing, spraying and juggling dish racks. I made it an integral part of the aforementioned "never quit, never settle" mantra. I may be in charge, I thought, but never too good to do some dishes. Hence the character and title of this blog. Despite the way I make it sound, I haven't given up on the idea that hard work will ultimately pay off. In fact, I'm sure more than ever now that while it may not be the quickest way to the top, it is ultimately the most sustaining. Dishwashers are placed at the bottom of the restaurant hierarchy but are often the most sustaining and highly respected members of the team. Cooks and servers can call in sick with little ripple effect, but when the dishwasher is a few moments late is when panic starts to set in. You're on the cusp of a busy Friday or Saturday night with pots and pans from prep piling up in the pit; your throat gets a little dry and that uneasy feeling in your stomach starts to nag more persistently. "I've still got ten things to do before we open! Who the hell is gonna wash dishes tonight!?" is what you're thinking but won't voice out loud. And then he or she shows up with a smile, apologizing profusely for the traffic, flat bike tire or some such other thing. "No problem," you say as relief washes over you. Dish washers make shit happen, plain and simple. I'm not gonna call it something cliche like, "the glue that holds us together," or whatnot, but their importance should never be downplayed. That is why no matter where I go in this industry - up or down the ladder - I'll never be ashamed to work as or be associated with the position. I've always been motivated by the recognition my achievements get. How busy is the restaurant? How positive are the reviews? What job do I have and who knows about it? The most positive thing to come out of my first go around in the Executive Chef role thus far is a more refined motivation. Rather than being preoccupied with recognition for what I do I'm hoping to focus more squarely on what it actually is that I'm doing. Make shit happen. Like the dishwashers. With that I close the window through which I was watching what I do, where I work and how other people perceive it. I'd rather open the door and step into the middle of it all. To start things off I'll be traveling through Asia and Europe for a while, hopefully keeping this blog up to date with where I'm at, what I'm seeing and whatever dishes I might be washing.

Iron Chef Staffy

Any cook will tell you how passionate he or she is about making food for the staff, or family food as it is sometimes called. Thomas Keller recalls cooking for the crew as one of his first responsibilities in a commercial kitchen and many have adopted this romantic image as their own. No matter what the cook says however, the proof of how seriously they take this task is in the pudding, so to speak. In my kitchen we make a single meal for the entire staff each shift. I'm dedicated to it being delicious, nourishing and somewhat healthy. It also has to be cost effective and aide our efforts to move through product while it is still fresh. Utilizing what would otherwise be waste is essential, of course. Finally, since the meal is always prepared at the end of service, it has to be done fast because we all want to eat and get the eff out of there! That being said, you can often tell who cooked the meal without asking. The ability to turn the extras into something beautiful doesn't come easy, and doing it fast takes even more practice. Never underestimate it's importance, though. Let's face it...quality food and service come from happy people, and happiness starts in the belly! Discussions on this subject led me to propose a new television series to air directly after Iron Chef on the Food Network. The Iron Chef Staffy teams will enter kitchen stadium after the main event and be charged with preparing a meal from the leftovers. You have twenty minutes. You are judged not by celebrities, but by your peers and compete not for fame and glory, but for the thanks and admiration of your colleagues. Oh, and everyone has a few cocktails when it's over...

Sometimes I [don't] just wanna scream!

Professional cooking is often characterized as a high intensity industry fueled by screaming and yelling. Not fast enough: you get yelled at. Send out a sloppy plate: get yelled at. Joking around too much: yelled at! Fuck up anything big or small: Get your ass chewed out. It's become a right of passage to regal friends and colleagues with stories of being reamed by superiors and then doing it to others once you have moved up the ladder a bit and gotten your first little taste of authority in the kitchen. The general idea behind it all is that the rough treatment will whip you into shape and make a real cook out of you. I can't argue with the reality that this works sometimes, but how often? It seems to me that most of the time screaming and yelling creates animosity. How effective is a strategy that will cause most cooks to hate you?

Yelling has no place in my kitchen. It has been deemed ineffective and cast away along with chauvinism, peer pressure, working hungover and all the other kitchen lore bullshit. I've said this before, but it can't be pressed enough how tired and unproven much of the best known kitchen imagery is. There are two reasons I choose to not yell and scream. The first I've already alluded to - it's ineffective - and will examine further in a moment. The second is more personal.

I'm not good at it. That is to say, my outwardly expressed anger falls far short of instilling fear. That's the point, isn't it? To drive your cooks towards perfection by making them fear anything less. I realized a while back that my outbursts, no matter how well planned or targeted lacked a certain venom. Perhaps they were too well targeted. Perhaps anger is a weapon best wielded unpredictably. More likely though, is that I'm sort of a dorky, meek looking individual who comes off goofy rather than intimidating when attempting to put a lollygagger in his or her place. I stopped yelling to keep from being embarrassed, but also because being angry saps all my energy. It clouds my vision and when you have a million and one things to accomplish in a relatively small amount of time, clarity is of the essence. When angry, you just go through the motions - sloppily. Only the clarity that piece (peace) of mind offers will allow you to carry out each of those motions to ultimate potential. I've worked both ways, and the difference is astounding.

Onto the more obvious reason I've chosen to not make anger and intimidation a part of my kitchen repertoire. Overall, I don't think it works. Fear based results are short lived and imperfect by nature. A cook is much more likely to perform if inspired rather than shocked. The will to never stop trying until something is perfect, is more enduring when it comes from within. You can't bully someone into feeling that. They'll walk away long before they begin to feel any sort of dedication. In the kitchen everything trickles downward. That includes organization, coolness, calmness, a work ethic and the inspiration to drive towards perfection. Instilling those values is quite possibly the hardest task a chef will ever have, but will surely pay dividends. I was asked recently asked by my cooks why I don't yell when they make mistakes. More than mere curiosity, it irks them something fierce to see me so even tempered. They explained the calmness and understanding pierces far deeper than blunt obscenities. I asked them how likely they are to repeat the action that elicited such a response from me. "Never!" "Not at all..." They carry those moments like a torch and pass them on to one another, but not because they feel shame or enjoy sharing old "war stories." They learned important lessons and are better for it, just like I learn something important with each mistake I make. I also casually mentioned to them, "If I yelled at you, you would hate me. If you hated me, your work would always be shit." So there...pretty simple if you think about it that way...

...On a side note: A recent surge in business has allowed me to fill all dishwasherless shifts with a dishwasher. For the time being, I won't be holding court at my favorite station. It's hard to keep a man out of his natural element, so I predict the scalding spray and damp sticky breezes will be calling me back to the pit some time soon, even if only for a moment here and there...hopefully!