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!

Variety vs. Consistency?

As I strive to perfect a method in the kitchen, the concept of seasonal variety has become a cornerstone of my burgeoning style. Outside obvious draws to seasonality - foods at the peak of freshness and all that - changing dishes frequently has become a clever remedy to one of my little quirks. I get bored easily. I've found that when the newness of a dish no longer excites me is when I start to see all of it's flaws and move to change it. This could be for a number of reasons. Perhaps I'm simply imagining these flaws or maybe complacency causes me to slip in the execution department. Whatever the case, seasonality has provided the perfect excuse to constantly change my menu in order to stay current with abundant ingredients, but also to cycle through myriad ideas I have floating through my head. At the same time, the importance of consistency and perfecting a particular method is not lost on me. It certainly becomes more difficult to truly perfect something when it's always changing.

I've defended the changing nature of my menu to others as well as myself by explaining that the freshness of ideas keeps me and the cooks excited and therefore focused on nailing the execution of something ever time it is ordered. I believe in this point very strongly, but have wondered about how to reconcile it with consistency and perfection. The proliferation of food carts in Portland has brought to my attention some extraordinary people who's businesses thrive - quite well - on the reputation of one thing. Day in and day out they make and sell the exact same dish. Superficially, this seems like my worst cooking nightmare, but there are some nuances to think about. While variety keeps me moving along, I have an undying desire to perfect each and every thing I make. I've realized the importance of repetition in regards to this goal and must admit that there is no better way to approach perfection than to cast aside all distractions and make that one dish over and over again until you know it inside out. How to combine these two seemingly disparate motivations I have then? I'm not sure there is a perfect answer for that. I try to refine all recipes and procedures to the point of perfection while a dish is on the menu, but can that measure up to the level of refinement in a dish that is always there, with nothing else to draw away my attention? Most likely not. I'm not sure I have what it takes to do the same thing over and over again with no variety to keep things fresh. That's why I got into the cooking game in the first place and why I seem to move around every few years. My love of variety vs. the desire to achieve perfect consistency is undoubtedly the greatest dilemma I'll ever face...with no end in sight...

As the days go by...

It's been quite a while since my last posting to the blog. None too many notable events have taken place in that time, but there have certainly been some profound changes to how things are rolling along in the kitchen. Since the bulk of my "staff" is just one other person and that person is relatively new (see earlier posting "The Search"), then you might say I have turned over my whole brigade and started fresh. It definitely seems that way. With the addition of a culinary school extern to the team for a short while, you might also say that my staff has doubled in size. The most obvious affect this has had on my life in the kitchen is an opportunity to take a little more personal time. I've been able to take off a little early on certain nights and even made plans to be out of town for an upcoming holiday weekend. When the extern had first arrived and proved to be competent enough for line cooking I was actually leaving early every night. This proved a bad idea, as I became very bored and had to pencil myself back into a cooking shift a few nights a week. I still do a fair amount of dish washing, but did you really expect me to give that up so easily?

With every new staff member my approach to management has evolved a bit, and with a near complete turnover such as the one mentioned above it has taken a leap, so to speak. This is due largely in part to the abilities and attitude of the new employees. I consider choosing those people over all the other applicants as one way in which I've become more competent over time. In the beginning I lacked the confidence required to run a kitchen efficiently. I certainly got the job done but little details were overlooked or forgotten. Those details are the difference between a great restaurant and all the others. When you are too busy or overwhelmed to notice or care that a few sesame seeds fell into your salt so are now scattered randomly in everything you season with salt (which I hope is everything, but at that point who the hell knows?), that means your priorities are not straight. It's a situation that even the best can find themselves in and I would argue that if you've never been there, you can't truly know the difference between "getting it done" and "getting it done right." Even with my dedication to getting things done the right way only, I was unable to deliver on that promise early in the game. My menu, schedule and general approach to organization were not as efficient as they could be. lacking confidence, the process of creating a dish became collaborative with everyone in the kitchen because I always had this nagging feeling that whatever idea I had must be wrong in some way. Don't get me wrong: input from your staff is great, but not when you are seeking their approval rather than fielding new ideas. As my staff has changed and I've been able to build confidence, the entire energy in the kitchen has shifted. For one, the menu and schedule and pretty much all the day to day minutiae has been revamped for greater efficiency. I know it sounds boring and unimportant, but picture for a second if you will the amount of energy and passion wasted when you are stressed out for whatever reason. Never underestimate the importance of working in a cool, calm and collected environment. The old cliche that professional kitchens are high stress environments and "if you can't handle that then get the fuck out," is totally bunk! Certainly pressure will bring out the best a cook has to offer, but it can't be external pressure derived from fear. It has to come from the inside. A cook has to use their own desire to perform well as a means for upping the ante. Stress and fear sap that ability. It has become my mantra to create the most stress free environment possible. Other things begin to fall into place. My increased confidence in dishes created has in turn given the cooks more confidence in those dishes. They have more desire to reproduce them well, more inward pressure to please the chef and themselves. Most importantly their vision is not clouded and their passion not sapped by yelling, cursing and fear mongering. Let the old kitchen cliches go and I promise you'll see more clearly...

Wooden Spoons

A friend recently asked for some guidance on processing a plethora of tomatoes from the garden into a sauce that could be canned. By email, I rattled off a quick and simple recipe. The main objective was to explain the process so that the cook could improvise a bit within an easy to manage framework. Critical to a good sauce, as many know, is the development of a fondt on the bottom of your pot. That layer of caramelized goodness which walks a fine line between Mailliard magic and a burned disaster. While explaining this, I specified using a wooden spoon to continually scrape it up and incorporate it into the sauce. "Why a wooden spoon?" I was asked. "I don't even own one..."

The wooden spoon has always been my favorite kitchen tool and it's about time I transcribe some thoughts on why that is. First and foremost it's versatile. Wooden spoons are not just for stirring. As examined above, they are essential for scraping the fondt off the bottom of a pan (more on this in a moment), as metal tools would result in some awful metal on metal action. Bad for the tools, bad for the pan, etc. I also use the handle of a wooden spoons to extract marrow from beef bones, and quite possibly my favorite use; hanging various concoctions in cheese cloth over a cambro to slowly drain extraneous liquid. Pictures would be helpful, but I'm still building my portfolio. Maybe later. There are many more uses, I'm sure and would I would love to hear your favorites in response to this post.

Looking beyond the practical uses of a wooden spoon for a moment, I got to thinking about what it represents. In this age of new technology and techniques, it's easy to forget about what got us here. Wooden spoons have been used probably as long as cooking has been a passion for those who practice it, if not longer. Still a staple tool in most kitchens, that shows some admirable staying power in a genre that is constantly adapting to sleeker, more ergonomic and more stylish formats. In a way, the wooden spoon is a link to the past. While I may have the benefits of a powerful gas stove top, stainless steel cookware, and a wealth of scientific knowledge built specifically around cooking; two things I have in common with the folks who did this job before all that is a wooden spoon and a will to create the best possible final product. I have made a point recently of referencing the entire history of cooking when approaching a project, as opposed to only the most recent advancement. The results are astounding. On a personal level I feel that my end results have improved greatly, being rooted in many points over a long tradition rather than focusing on one newly acquired technique.

One final thought on the wooden spoon. Scraping up that fondt when making a sauce or stock, braising, caramelizing, or whatever the task at hand may be is the essence of cooking. I never went to culinary school, but I sure hope they are teaching this point, starting on the first day and continuing through the whole program (based on the grads I interact with, I somehow doubt that they are...sigh). Scraping up the fondt encompasses, but is not limited to the following concepts, all of which are central to cooking: liquid reduction, flavor encapsulation, caramelization and complex Mailliard reactions, temperature control, and concentration by the one doing the cooking. When someone tastes that sauce or braise and inquires dreamily why it tastes so good? The true answer will not be some super secret ingredient(nutmeg? cinnamon?), but rather that you respected the process and had the patience to do it right from start to finish, building flavors through smart cooking. All of that accomplished by an old workhorse who's burns and cracks tell a story of all it has done. A stalwart that for this job has no peer among kitchen gadgets: the wooden spoon. If you don't have one, get one...

La vida de los cocineros

The search is over and I was able to fill my kitchen vacancy with someone quite up to the task. This is a tiny operation that takes certain sensibilities to be able to succeed. Truthfully I'm lucky that the proper person crossed my path in such a timely manner. In what can only be described as serendipitous, I had two highly qualified applicants vying for the position and was able to put one in a newly opened front of house position. Said applicant was narrowly edged out by the other for the cooking gig, but had an impressive resume that included multitudes of experience in all manners of restaurant work. The opening of an FOH position blessed me with the opportunity to make two great new people part of our family. And since I only interviewed the pair, I didn't have to turn anyone away. Bonus!

All this resume reading and subsequent orientating or new employees got me to thinking about restaurant culture, that of the kitchen to be specific. I came up through the ranks with a generation of young cooks drawn to a lifestyle glamorized by celebrity chefs. The "tell-all," Kitchen Confidential made what was largely viewed as boring and sometimes gruesome hourly work to the kids around me seem like rock-star status. What was just normal life to them was now immortalized in the memoirs of someone cool and successful. I read that book and loved it. It inspired me to press on with a career in restaurants. I was a bit surprised by how many other people it inspired, but more so with how it moved them. As I moved forward I found myself competing for jobs with people who didn't really have any passion for food. They didn't take any pride in their work. Status in the kitchen for them was not perfection in each plate put forward, but rather in how hard they could party the night before a double. It didn't seem to matter that their station was a mess, that they couldn't keep up with a brisk kitchen pace, or that they regularly had plates returned to the kitchen. I was recently chatting with a friend's sibling who was contemplating a more serious career in kitchens. He had some experience and I was trying to help him formulate a strategy for approaching chefs on this current job search - a subject I feel qualified to consult on given my recent search for new employees. We talked about the important points of a resume, and what sort of things most chefs are looking for in an applicant. He was going on an on about how he works hard during "the rush," likes to joke around the whole time (I think this is meant to illustrate how cool he is under pressure), and then drink beer with everyone else while cleaning up. He didn't talk about taking pride in his dishes, striving to cook better and find new techniques for efficiency, working clean and organized, or anything like that. It hit me at that moment: any cook who thrives on the glamorized version of "line-cook" lifestyle, will hate my kitchen. Sure, we work hard and long, but the atmosphere is always relaxed. There is no chauvinism in my kitchen. Needless machismo is not tolerated. Music is never blasting, and is certainly never on during service. No one shows up hungover, and if someone was, they would probably try to hide it rather than boast about it. Pranks are rare (but not unappreciated). No one yells, intimidates, or threatens. That's simply not how we do things, and it that's what you're into you won't fit in with us. I find the line-cook lifestyle so conflicting because only one in a million can actually pull it off. The rest are simply posers and will go the way most posers do in end.

When I said Kitchen Confidential inspired me, I meant it. It was one part in particular. When Bourdain described chef Scott Bryan of a neighboring restaurant, that was my "a ha" moment. I want to be like that guy. The kitchen was quiet while everyone worked at a steady, fluid pace. When it became busier, rather than getting worked into a frenzy, the pace simply picked up. Still quiet, still fluid. I'm not there yet. In fact, I may never be. What I do know is that by dedicating myself to this ideal, rather than to rockstar living and kitchen shenanigans I've been able to steadily improve and build on prior success to reach further in my career. I'm proud of what I have right now no matter how difficult it can be at times and my cooks are proud to be a part of it. This is not by any means a rant and I'm certainly not suggesting that by living a certain lifestyle you are suddenly not good cook. What I have seen over my years is that it's rare to be both, and one does not lead to the other. I wonder how long this trend will last, and if a day will ever come that does not produce hundreds of useless resumes in response to one Craig's list add. For now though, I'm satisfied to know that there are a few people out there who feel the same way I do. There must be, because all the great food available here in Portland and beyond surely is not being made by a bunch of loud-mouth hacks, and also because I've found a few of them to hang with me in my a-typical kitchen. To share in the cooking and occasional dish washing...

The Search

I've just about dragged myself out from under a mountain of resumes that all offer the same thing. Recent culinary school grads with no experience who miraculously know all and have numerous qualities to offer that take most people years of practice to perfect. My job posting on Craig's List has also generated a great deal of interest among people who once cooked, but mainly have experience in some form of construction. Right about now, I'm considering hiring a team of contractors to build me an IHOP, and then staffing it with all the culinary shcool grads who applied. I was under the impression that talented cooks were unemployed in large numbers at the moment, but I must be wrong. Either that, or they have given up hope and stopped applying for jobs.

At first, I thought I could avoid the CL search all together by dipping into the stack of resumes I had saved from past applicants. The first prospect was all set to stage when an unexpected emergency created a need for him to be out of town for the foreseeable future. #Fail. The add went up and the resumes started to pour in. Within fifteen minutes of posting, thirty resumes were sent. The constantly vibrating Blackberry in my pocket made it difficult to concentrate on prep. I sat down in the office after service to wade through the fifty or so that had arrived, saddened by the mainly pathetic lot. With my departing cook's final two weeks ticking away, I was starting to get nervous. I printed the few notables and walked home dejected, my Blackberry's battery nearly dead from all the vibrating.

The next morning I came in early and sat down to go through the resumes that had rolled in overnight. At one point, as I would read a resume another would roll right in behind it. This went on for about ten minutes. Finally a hit! I cook with positive experience at notable restaurants had applied and even better, he currently works with a friend of mine. I called my buddy for the backdoor reference. Is this guy worth talking too? The answer was a resounding yes. I made the call and set up an interview. I then set up a few more interviews to cover my ass. You never know, right? Cut to this morning, two hours before interviews are set to begin. My top prospect e-mail's to say a scheduling snafu at his current job will render him unable to meet with me. He goes on to explain that this sort of shit is why he's out looking, but none the less feels obligated to honor his current employer's wishes. Well...from my perspective that's a great sign. This guy obviously has a positive work ethic and his priorities seem to be straight. Only problem is, he can't meet with me until next week now. #DoubleFail! I've got a need to fill this position immediately, or I'll be cooking alone. At this point, I was feeling pretty low. My top two prospects had both essentially dropped out of the process due to unavoidable circumstances. How is that possible? With only two interviews set up mainly as something to fall back on, I was not looking forward to work today....

So, here I am plunking out this post after having those two safety interviews. They actually weren't as bad as I was expecting. Sometimes it's easy to work yourself into a frenzy, especially with a looming deadline. Both interviewees are coming back to stage, and I imagine one of them will work out. Hopefully...

Just when you think it's safe...

For the past year I've had to make major adjustments to how I approach work. It's a project which bears my name, so naturally I'm going to take each and every aspect, no matter how minute, very seriously. This leads to an unhealthy habit of needing to be around all the time. I realized early on that this propensity for working around the clock was not sustainable and that the only fix is having a staff that I trust in place. There were issues early on but amiable changes were made and recently I've been able to breathe easier and take a little extra time. In fact, the long weekend I have planned a month from now that will have me away from the restaurant for a few days didn't faze me a bit. That is, a trusted employee gave the dreaded two weeks notice. All urges to throw a tantrum suppressed... People come and go, and letting that unhinge you is simply not an option. Needless to say, I'm disappointed that I now have to hire someone new, train that person and somehow build up a level of trust that will set my mind at ease when I'm away from the kitchen for a few short days less than a month from now. Am I up to it? Why not...

On another note...summer food is in full swing and it is truly the easiest seasonal selection to create magic with. Grilled items are hitting hard including our Steak & Fries, a pork shoulder that is cooked sous vide over night before being portioned and grilled with radicchio and peaches, and our ever popular burger, which was recently voted one of the best in Portland (Huzza!). We're also flying through seafood, which is always a relief. A server commented to me last night that the entire dining room was filled with regulars. I must say, that no matter how many slow nights we have in a row, a room full of regulars restores all hope that we can succeed. If only we could figure out how to fill the room like that nightly!

New Faces

This week brought the end to a long tenure by a valued staff member. It's always a shame to see someone go, but the addition of new and promising staff members is exciting. Everything that goes with such a change is felt especially in such a small and tight knit organization such as ours. Mostly, it causes me to think back on various times I was a new employee. It can be a strange transition for even the most seasoned service professional. Every restaurant is different and offers new challenges to the new faces. As the chef, I try and approach each new staff member as an opportunity to improve on how I handled the previous person in his or her position. I've long felt that dealing with the people around me is the most difficult responsibility of a leader, and approaching each new person with a fresh outlook helps serve to improve my style and hopefully improve the overall quality of the restaurant at the same time.

This week also brought the first time someone left their bed on our patio. I've always suspected our front porch would be a comfortable place to set up camp, but never actually tried it. It would seem from the picture above that someone did give it a go. It took some convincing to make everyone believe that I had not actually slept on the porch so as to be at work earlier the next day, and in the end I disposed of suspicious blankets and pillows followed by a severe hand/lower arm washing.

Sippy Cups

I know we've all felt at times as though the rules set by health inspectors are a bit of a burden. They seem oblivious to the reality of restaurant service. Let me state unequivocally that I fully embrace the guidelines set forth by our local health department. In fact, witnessing some of the shadier establishments around town that regularly make the grade I'm convinced that I take it more seriously than the inspectors.

On our last inspection I got an earful about the proper drinking cups that all employees handling food must use. Must have a lid, must have a handle and a straw. That sort of thing. He even gave me a handy little pamphlet just in case I was having trouble picturing such a cup. It may seem trite to some people, but the message was clear to me: Use the mandated style of cup, or incur a violation on your inspection. Not a big deal! In fact, it will only serve to make us cleaner and safer. I made sure to tell everyone how simple yet important the drinking cup issue is as well as explain the proper cup style and what the purpose is. Simple, right? Not so much, it turns out. Every step of the way this issue has been disregarded and resisted by employees hell bent on bucking the system by drinking water from uncovered, no handle drinking vessels; commingling their mouth and hand germs. Come on people! How can such a simple rule be so difficult to just follow if it means making the health inspector happy? This surly municipal employee has the ability to make our restaurant look very unattractive to the public or even close us down. Just do what he or she says for the love of Pete! Furthermore, I would expect restaurant professionals to be dedicated and possibly even passionate about serving clean food. I certainly am. I was dumbfounded to observe that one server just over a bout of violent food poisoning contracted from another local dining establishment was particularly resistant. Another employee argued that even with the incorrect cup, he was using it carefully so it should be okay, as if the health inspector would give him a pass once he gave this nuanced explanation. This post is beginning to sound a little too much like a rant, and that's not my aim, so I'll sum up with this: Being clean is paramount. It's just as important as cooking awesome food and providing top notch service. Take pride in working clean the same way you would any other aspect of your job. I think you will find that it actually enhances your ability to work quickly and efficiently. It certainly does for me. Finally, DO WHAT THE HEALTH DEPARTMENT SAYS! Sure, they're dorky, annoying germophobes, who piss on age old cooking tradition whenever possible. But, they have the authority to fuck your shit up if they want to. Don't test them. You've got enough to worry about...

Craziest thing that happened to me recently:

• In the middle of an incredibly busy service, the oven door handle ripped right off as I was reaching in to grab something off. Completing service with no oven door handle is challenging.

Idle hands

I wish that I were able to say that the restaurant is always busy. That we are breaking sales records on a weekly basis and that no matter how hard I try, I cannot begin to keep enough product in house, prepped and ready to go. That would be a good problem to have. Unfortunately, that's not the case. Don't misunderstand me...we have our busy nights. The typical weekend nights come through regularly, but being newish and unknown has it's drawbacks. Put simply, there are nights that just don't deliver more often than I'm comfortable with. It comes down to a lack of exposure. Response to food and service has always been overwhelmingly positive, however not enough people know we exist and those who do cannot come in every night. Time will take care of the issue, but in the mean time...

I firmly believe there is always work to be done in the restaurant, but sometimes all that work is finished with time to spare. I've found myself in that situation a few times over the past year. You can only prep so much, and only make the space so clean before the list is finished. I've managed to work this to my advantage recently. There was a period of time that I worked too much, mainly because I was not efficiently using the down time that we are so unlucky to experience. Now that I have figured out that little trick, I tend to have a few extra hours of free time each week, which can be nice. Staying busy is important for more than just the obvious reasons, though. Idle hands will inevitably lead to a negative outlook on the situation. It's boring to stand around, and no one wants to work somewhere that is boring. Not to mention the financial implications it has. Staying busy means staying positive. As chef (or any leader for that matter), others will feed off your positivity and that is the only way to keep everyone motivated...I started this post a few days ago and had to leave it for a while. I've lost my momentum, so rather than continue I'm going to close it out with tonight's most ridiculous food idea...

• Tiny "bucket" of fried quail served with tiny mashed potatoes, tiny coleslaw and tiny biscuit. Hopefully this will not be seen in reality anywhere any time soon...

Pablo's wisdom...

Earlier today I was reading an article in Meat Paper that made reference to the factory farming objective of breeding pigs to be more lean than fat (boo! but that's not what this post is about). It seems that early on in the process scientists had achieved the goal of creating a rapid growing, muscular pig that made farmers and agribiz tons of money, but there was one problem. The pigs were randomly dropping dead. Rather than recognizing the omen, they pressed on to try and figure out what might be causing these spot occurrences of porcine demise. It turns out that stress was the culprit. An outwardly invisible genetic trait that is commonly associated with leanness was making the pigs so highly susceptible to stress that the slightest noise - a stiff wind, backfiring tractor, errant oink, or frolicking siblings in the hayloft above - would send the herd into a contagious panic that would leave some short of breath and, well....dead. This delightfully macabre image got me to thinking...

The restaurant is a fast paced and stressful environment. It's been clear to me for some time that success of an individual lies not as much with intelligence and physical prowess as it does with the ability to cope with pressure. In other words, some of the finest cooks, servers and bartenders I've known have only one thing in common: they are cool under pressure. In his book, Blink, Malchom Gladwell writes about how our heart rate spikes when we are under pressure and that there is a range of beats per minute where our performance of the act at hand improves greatly. Sharper focus, prioritising movement, split second decisions and the like. Beyond that peak range we begin to break down. Things go out of focus, our movements become clumsy, and little makes sense. While reading that I remembered images of cooks looking from a rail stuffed with tickets to me and saying, "I don't know where the hell we are anymore!?" And yes...I humbly remember myself being in that situation many times before. In fact, the first kitchen job I ever had was an over-taxed pantry station in a very busy restaurant. I worked with this guy Pablo, who told me in my first week there, "just don't get angry while you're working. If you get angry, it's all over." That moment still ranks as one of the most memorable and certainly one of the most important lessons I've learned during my career. Over time and with much practice, I believe it's possible to train one's self to operate in the range of improved performance. Much like the spontaneously dying pigs, we can selectively eliminate our propensity for falling to pieces and move towards a state of mind that stays together most of the time, no matter how badly rattled it gets. More to the point, though is that stress is contagious. In making the transition from cook to chef I realized that how I act in the kitchen when we are busy is central to how everyone else performs, and in a restaurant so small, the entire house is affected one way or the other. There is no cook bad-ass enough to save a chef who spins in circles when the tickets start to dangle from the printer. The frazzled state of mind one person is in while busy can easily drag others along with it. That being said, I think the opposite is true. Calmness and focus can trickle down to the people around you and make even the busiest service seem like that well oiled machine we always hear about. Sure, it sounds a little new-agey, but I've found that staying calm and collected has gotten me out of more tight spots than I care to remember being in. These days, when I feel myself getting close to imploding on the line it's always the result of being overcome by stress, not because it's "too busy," or someone else fucked up the seating. I feel more confident now than I did in the past and it's easier now to pull myself back into focus. Those are the moments when life in the dish pit seems pretty attractive to me. It is the one place where I have come close to mastering the zen-like concentration I'm trying to describe above. Luckily, I get to spend time there regularly these days...

And so it begins...

At some point recently I thought to myself how wonderful it would be to start a blog that chronicles my coping with the switch from cook to chef.  A detailed examination of how drastically my outlook on cooking professionally has changed since I took on the executive role for the first time.  Anyone who has ever made this switch knows what I speak of.  And so, I have decided to begin right here and now recording my thoughts as I experience this transition and all noteworthy observations that go along with it.  I am hoping that at least a few people may find it intriguing enough to read about thus allowing me to contribute in a small way to restaurant culture and the cooking community.  One slight problem, though.  My experience as a chef began just over a year ago when I started work on the restaurant project I am currently part of.  I guess that puts me a little behind the eight ball on getting this here blog started, but late is better than never as the saying sort of goes.  It's a small example of how time consuming this industry and the role of chef can be.  I could go on at length about how many hours I work, but that is a given.  All industry folk do, and hopefully I'll be able to avoid getting bogged down in the daily minutiae, whining and general ranting that is prone to playing out in my head before I move past it and get the tasks at hand done. So here goes with a brief recap of the past year...

Never underestimate the difficulty of starting from scratch.  I don't mean building from the ground up. In the material realm, I took over an established property, well built kitchen, sufficient equipment already in place and all that.  By scratch, I mean a new business, with a new name and a new chef (me), who with nothing more than a fairly descent pedigree built over a measly three years in a burgeoning US dining mecca had minimum (or NO) hype.  It's one thing to open your doors to anticipation by the general public.  I opened doors that had previously enclosed two failed restaurant concepts and beckoned in a public most likely wondering who the hell I was and what was going to fail next in this space.  We haven't failed yet, but the battle has been decidedly uphill.  I've learned and relearned many of the basics, but I'll skip that for now (I promise, no minutiae).  It's a small place (60ish seats), so to keep afloat I have been forced to redefine the role of chef to take on a broader set of responsibilities.  For instance, I don't have a pastry department, I do that all myself.  No big deal you may think, and you would be right.  I actually enjoy that challenge.  I also cook on the line every night and at brunch, do most of the prep myself, run food and bus tables when necessary, update the menus and website regularly, and of course wash dishes.  I was dishes often, because when labor cost is a factor having enough hands to prepare food in a skilled manner takes priority.  I enjoy washing dishes, however I don't enjoy the financial uncertainty that me washing dishes is a symptom of.  Time spent wielding that hot water hose is undeniably the most humbling and important part of my day.  All at once everything right and wrong with my situation is crystal clear.  Like any job I will own it and conquer it.  I approach a pile of plates, cutlery and cookware with the same sense of purpose and determination to sign my name to it that I would each and every dish we send out of the kitchen before it becomes part of that pile.  Hence the title of this blog.  Being a chef is about so much more than creating.  Sometimes it's about maintaining more than anything else.  There are many people out there who can create and even execute wonderful food, but does that alone a chef make?  I, for one am sure that it does not.  The question one should ask if considering the transition to chef is what overall qualities do I need to make this ship sail?  There is no substitute for experience when searching for those answers.  Luckily, I emerged from being a punk-ass know-it-all just long enough to learn a thing or two before opportunity knocked.  I'm still a punk, though.

So that is where I'm at.  From here on in I'll keep things current, reaching back every now an again to reference a poignant moment from the first, undocumented year of operation.  Perhaps at some point someone will actually read this...