After culinary school, I was off to my externship at the French Laundry — at the time considered to be the best restaurant in the country, if not the world. I was greatly underqualified to be there. Although I was fast and efficient at “low brow” cooking and could easily handle a full grill of steaks, burgers and simple sauté dishes, when it came time for precision work with knife cuts or a mandolin, I was miles behind most of my coworkers.
After a long flight from Maine to the California Napa Valley (my first time on an airplane) I was scared, and feeling that I had perhaps bitten off more than I could chew. On my first day my shift started at 5:30 a.m. (for a 20 year old, making it on time was an almost impossible feat) and I spent my morning confused and cramped. I shuffled from one small perch in the kitchen to the next, working on whatever project I was assigned, never feeling confident that I was doing the right thing (and often I wasn’t). Fear was setting in. Was this going to be my every day? Why did I ever write that letter asking for this externship? How can I ever get anything done on just an 18 x 24 inch space, constantly moving?
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Then it happened. Someone walking through the kitchen nudged me and said “family’s up — go get some food.” I don’t think that I had even realized until that moment how starving I was. I walked up to the pass and saw the makings for BLT sandwiches laid out on the hollowed plating table where Chef Thomas Keller worked and helped to assemble all savory dishes. A few bites of white bread, homemade mayo, crispy bacon and juicy tomato later, and I was back to feeling normal. I knew BLTs. The meal gave me a common ground with the more advanced cooks. I realized that everyone has to start somewhere. BLTs today, cauliflower panna cotta tomorrow, right?
The next week I got the chance to make family meal for everyone. I was given ten pounds of pork belly confit trim and fat to use. I had never cooked with pork belly before, so I made my dad’s classic diner “hash” with rendered meat, onion, Worcestershire & potatoes — kinda like a scrambled-up shepherd’s pie. It was rich, fatty and luxurious, and earned me some credit with the cooks who probably found my slow knife cuts a little frustrating.
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At my next opportunity to cook for family meal I wanted to impress. I was given a stack of veal trimmings. They were gnarly, tough bits with lots of connective tissue — something that would need to be ground up or slow cooked — so I took it upon myself to make a blanquette with it. I browned it in flour and butter, slow cooked it with white wine, stock, and cream, then served it with rice. The sous chefs liked it so much they had me make more to freeze for later staff meals!
Being a part of staff meal production grounded me during a hectic period of my life. Of all things that I had learned, it taught me that no matter how fancy the restaurant or how intense the environment, everyone needs to eat, everyone needs to take time to connect themselves with their crew. Family meal gave me a chance for my confidence to grow.
Source: https://gardencourte.com
Categories: Kitchens