Letters to a Young Chef
Page 12
What I realized over the years is that creativity is not an easy equation. And there is no direct line. You are not born with it, and you cannot learn it. It is a combination of dedication, practice, study, passion, and desire all coming together at one time. Those things are impossible to force; they must arrive in a perfect storm.
I am the most creative in the morning hours at the restaurant, after the last guest has departed, the chefs have handed out the orders for the next day and signed off, and the night cleaner has started tearing apart the stove. In the still silence of the dining room, with lights dimmed to a shadowy glow, I surround myself with my resources: a laptop, a notepad, pens, a glass of wine, a few reference books, a stack of C-fold paper towels with scribbled notes accumulated throughout the day, and a list of seasonal ingredients. When people ask me what my most important kitchen gadget is, I always respond, “The Internet.” Google has been a huge resource for me over the years as a creative tool. Sourcing ingredients and researching different cuisines on the Internet became a huge well of inspiration. That was in 2002.
Now with Twitter and Instagram, chefs can instantly be inspired by each other from all over the world. We all have our phones on the pass, watching in real time what is happening in gastronomy. I can literally see what my colleagues are doing in New York, Tokyo, Lima, and Minneapolis.
Although technology and techniques are a focus at Alinea, the upcoming season and its corresponding inventory of ingredients guide me in developing a new menu. Of course, there are exceptions. If we are able to apply a new technique to an available ingredient, we will likely introduce a new dish as soon as it is developed. Excitement over the new can make us impatient. But more often, the list of ingredients defines the parameters within which I work. My approach to them comes down to an equation that is true of all cooking: ingredients plus manipulations equals finished dish. I remember a moment at the end of the summer in 2004 at Trio. As sous chef John Peters and I watched the last tomato dish leave the kitchen, I turned to him, shrugged, and said, “Great… what are we going to do next summer?” And so the thought process began, somewhere in the back of my mind: what ingredients, what manipulations, and how many permutations? The equation becomes more complicated, and usually takes a few wrong turns, before we find the answer. But it all boils down to the same logical process that can often only be identified as hindsight. Sometimes looking back to past dishes and techniques and problems can lead us to new ways of seeing an ingredient and new inspiration. It is in this constant process of searching, trial and error, and push where Alinea finds its creation.
PASSION
by Marcus Samuelsson
PASSION IS WITHOUT a doubt one of the most important keystones of success in the professional restaurant industry. I love what I do to no end, and it was a long journey met with a lot of hard work, but I couldn’t have done it without the passion I have for food and for cooking for other people. At every step of my career, passion has been the catalyst to success and the driving force behind my sense of craftsmanship and my eagerness to learn. Passion to me is not only providing unique experiences to those around me through cooking, but also the dedication and hard work behind each moment.
I remember first falling in love with the art of cooking when I was about eight or nine years old while cooking with my uncle. He and I had spent the day fishing at sea, which was hard work but can be a lot of fun. I found it so thrilling to catch the fish, and then it was back to the house to learn how to clean it, filet it, prep it—turning it into the most delicious meal. My grandmother Helga was also hugely influential and taught me the basics of cooking. The whole concept of creating a meal from start to finish—from the earth, to your plate, to your mouth—was magic to me.
My advice to young chefs is wherever your passion for the industry lies, follow that and dig into it. Find what drives you, and dig into it hardcore. Maybe you are attracted to this business because you thrive on the sense of community restaurants bring. Perhaps the opportunity to travel and learn about exotic cuisines is what excites you. Maybe you’re the person who has never met a modernist restaurant she didn’t like.
Whatever it may be, let it guide you, and find a community that supports and mirrors your passions. Without love for the work you’re doing, you won’t be able to sustain the pressure and long working hours of a fast-paced kitchen, standing on your feet for hours at a time in front of a hot stove. The industry is always in flux, and the pay for chefs is typically low. You can certainly make good money, but it takes time and hard work. As a young chef I went through all that, and what carried me through each long day was my passion for cooking, hospitality, and working toward something bigger than myself.
I began to understand this when I was opening Red Rooster. I knew I wouldn’t be happy opening just any restaurant; to feed my passion for cooking and for my community, it had to live at the intersection of what I loved to cook and what the neighborhood needed. My chefs and staff know how passionate I am about keeping Red Rooster part of the neighborhood. We are always looking to partner with local organizations in Harlem, from the Abyssinian Church to the Harlem Children’s Zone. My love for Harlem is what prompted me to start Harlem EatUp!, an entire festival dedicated to showing the people of New York and the world how amazing Harlem is, how much it continues to grow, and that it’s a place worth visiting and living in.
I’m devoted to helping the young workers in my restaurant find what gets them excited and start their own paths. In the six years since we opened, I’ve watched servers become artists and musicians and managers, each successful and confident in their own journey. Watching people who work for me succeed is just another way I continue to give back to the community and feed my passion.
For me, without passion, the environment is not felt. Passion is the heartbeat of my career and what drives me to push myself harder, try new things, ask more questions, and grow as a professional. My passion was reinforced many times while I worked in France, and it profoundly changed my approach to success. I thank Daniel, who has set the bar so high and keeps inspiring us.
TEAMWORK
by Nancy Silverton
YOU ARE ABOUT to join a select unit, a kitchen brigade. Think of it as joining an elite unit. Maybe even think of it as going into battle. Yes, I know that seems a bit overboard, but if you truly want to be a chef—want that to be your career, your very being even—then it is a life-and-death matter. The life or death of a dream, at least, and we don’t want the kitchen to be where your dream dies. Instead, I hope to help you realize your dream.
You are not the general of this battle. That would be the owner (who might also be the chef). You are not the captain, either; that would be the chef de cuisine. You are a solider, a private, the person who fights the battles on the front lines and wins or loses them. You are a cook.
And when you get your third Michelin star, when they want you at all the big food and wine events, you will remain a cook. If you don’t love to cook and only want to be a chef—based on what you’ve seen on cable television—well, let’s get this over with right now. Put your dream of being a chef to sleep. Stop reading.
But if the dream is alive, let’s get to it. Let’s get to that community you are about to move into. The community of your restaurant kitchen.
Never forget that what you do in the kitchen affects everyone. The kitchen succeeds and fails as a team. So it is essential not only to do your job, but to pitch in when the cook to your left is struggling. It might be by taking action, like grabbing the tongs and flipping that rib eye. It might be by offering a few words of encouragement. A simple “You got this” can work magic.
One of my cooks at Osteria Mozza, Kirsten Mayall, compared the extraordinary bond between her fellow line cooks and chef to that within her own family. “It’s like my two sisters. Sometimes I can’t stand them. They drive me crazy. But, in the end, I’d take a bullet for them.”
That lady on pasta to your right, the fella on the grill to your left?
They are going to—hopefully only occasionally—drive you batty. Resist the urge to let them wallow, and silently step in. Or simply ask them, with as much sincerity as you can muster, “What can I do?”
My chef at chi SPACCA, Ryan Denicola, values the team player over a cook that thinks he is the next Robuchon. “It’s not a luxury,” Ryan says. “It’s a necessity to work as a team. It’s not about the best cook. People need to be able to set aside their talent for the greater good of the restaurant. The interesting thing is that the people so eager to be the next big chef? That ambition gets in the way of them actually becoming a chef. It holds them back because those people are not good on the team.”
Herbert Yuen, a sous at Pizzeria Mozza, tells the new cooks to remember that no task is beneath them. If the walls need scrubbing, scrub them. He also stresses the value of communication. “Communication is underrated. It is one of the keys to a successful kitchen. There is no such thing as overcommunication between cooks.”
One last thing. Don’t forget that the community of the kitchen extends past those mysterious swinging double doors that lead to that other dimension: the dining room. There are not two teams at an excellent restaurant. The staff in the front of the house are your allies, not the people to blame when a diner’s experience falters. One of my best servers, Pat Asanti, whose family hails from Puglia, Italy, told me that the most comforting feeling about our kitchen is knowing that everyone has your back. “No one will let you fail. The Italians call it la forza de la familia. The strength of the family.”
LOYALTY
Michael Anthony
ONE OF THE most powerful and motivational aspects of working in a professional kitchen is loyalty. It’s an idea that is open to interpretation, but if you ask most accomplished chefs, they’ll describe feeling some sense of devotion to their own chef or mentor, or even to a partner who helped build their foundational knowledge and taught the lessons that made it possible for them to grow. Finding that mentor is important, but showing them loyalty is even more critical. And it will yield tremendously meaningful benefits.
Over the years I’ve had so many lasting relationships with great cooks. Sometimes I simply connect with someone—for example, a cook who shows an intense passion that I find familiar and to which I can relate. It’s always clear when a cook feels that connection to me as well. These cooks pass up other opportunities because they want to be on my team as long as possible. The more they give to me, the more I want to give back to them. When they do move on, it’s rarely the last time we speak. I will work as hard for them as they have for me long after our time of collaborating in the same kitchen is finished.
Loyalty does not mean that once you start with a chef, you are signed on for life or until he or she dismisses you. You don’t need to feel guilty about leaving if it’s truly not the right fit. But you do owe it a fair shot working at your very best. Joining a new team is a big commitment. I ask cooks who apply for a position in our kitchen if they have organized their lives, time, and personal budgets to allow them to focus completely on the work in front of them. I ask why they are interested in our kitchen since they could choose so many great places to learn. I want to confirm that they understand the power of their choice and feel they are well suited to work within our philosophy and style. I ask the cook, “Why now?” to determine if this is the right moment for him or her to step up to the next phase of his or her career. Mostly, I need to be assured that a potential new hire has the confidence to add to our team’s story and feels committed to leaving their station (and our kitchen) better than they found it.
These are questions you can ask yourself as you search for a mentor or a place to plant some roots. I find that the seedling to loyalty is a healthy dose of admiration. Have you ever watched your chef or sous chef and thought, “I want to be like him!”? It sounds elementary but this is often where it begins. You see how your chef works and leads and you admire something about his or her style, technique, mannerisms, sense of humor, discipline, seriousness, or any combination of the sort. I, too, set out to train under the chefs I admired the most, a sentiment that eventually grew to loyalty, which in turn grew to profound friendship. Don’t just apply for a job with the most famous chef that comes to your mind. Make sure it’s someone you truly admire.
Commitment and admiration are the two facets of loyalty that cooks find obvious and agreeable, but they aren’t the only ones. There are also trust and patience, which are not always so easy to swallow.
We know that one person alone doesn’t have the power to accomplish the restaurant’s needs; doing so takes the entire team, and it requires that team members trust each other and, above all, trust their chef. Working in a professional kitchen can be daunting and frustrating, especially in the heat of service. Arguments and jabs seem inevitable, but the cooks know that my expectations for myself are just as high as the bar I set for them, and I can assure them that I have their backs inside and outside of work. My sincere hope is that I can coach our team to develop the skills and strengths each of them will need to run their own establishments. And perhaps they will far exceed my own abilities in our shared profession. However, during nightly dinner service, they have to put their stock and trust in me.
Each day we try to move forward, and yet some days it doesn’t always feel like we accomplish our goal. Patience will pay off. We set realistic, but hard to attain, objectives. Some are concrete, and some are abstract, so there are moments when we may not even realize what we’ve achieved. To be a loyal part of the crew means to stay the course and follow the leader. We cannot hope to see change overnight, but we can remind ourselves that we are lucky to be able to practice the craft of our choice: making delicious and beautiful food with our hands and to the great pleasure of our guests.
As a young cook, I never thought too intently about loyalty. Yet when I reflect on my career up to this point, it’s clear that my allegiances served me well. I certainly hope that the chefs for whom I felt such great admiration and devotion would say that I served them well, too. It’s hard to realize it at the time, but when you are a young cook (and you know even less than you think you know), being dependable and steadfast in your passion for learning are the most desirable traits. Loyalty doesn’t require that you are handcuffed to a single establishment for an indefinite period of time. It requires that you give 100 percent of yourself every day that you are there. Do this in honor of the chef and the team, and they will be loyal to you for life.
RECIPES:
A SELF-PORTRAIT
THERE IS AN expression: “You are what you eat.” For a chef it would be closer to the truth to say, “You are what you have cooked.” From the first time I scrambled an egg in my parents’ kitchen to the many times I have cooked something new and elaborate for a president, top athlete, or movie star, my autobiography is really a collection of the food I have made. I thought it would be unfair in a book that describes food with such passion for me to leave you hungry for more. So from every place where I have lived and cooked, here are some recipes and inspirations that I can truly say I love the most.
ST. PIERRE DE CHANDIEU (HOME)—THE ’60s
Chicken Grand-Mère Francine
Makes 4 servings
Everybody’s grandmother makes a chicken fricassée, and my grandmother Francine was no exception. She was a sweet lady and cooked at our original family restaurant, Café Boulud. Until she was seven years old she didn’t speak French, but, rather, the ancient language of my region, Dauphinois. Mastering this dish means you have learned how to caramelize meat properly, one of the most important techniques for any chef—in the restaurant or at home.
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
One 3-pound chicken, cut into 8 pieces
Salt and freshly ground white pepper
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
12 cipollini onions, peeled and trimmed
4 shallots, peeled and trimmed
2 heads garlic, cloves separated but not peeled
3 sprigs thyme
4 small Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and cut into 1 ½-inch chunks
2 small celery roots, peeled and cut into 1 ½-inch chunks
2 ounces slab bacon, cut into short, thin strips
12 small cremini or oyster mushrooms, cleaned and trimmed
2 cups unsalted chicken stock or low-sodium chicken broth
1. Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 375°F.
2. Working over medium-high heat, warm the olive oil in a 12-inch ovenproof sauté pan or skillet—choose one with high sides and a cover. Season the chicken pieces all over with salt and pepper, slip them into the pan, and cook until they are well browned on all sides, about 10 to 15 minutes. Take your time—you want a nice, deep color, and you also want to cook the chicken pieces three-quarters through at this point. When the chicken is deeply golden, transfer it to a platter and keep it in a warm place while you work on the vegetables.
3. Pour off all but 2 tablespoons of the cooking fat from the pan. Lower the heat to medium, add the butter, onions, shallots, garlic, and thyme, and cook, stirring, just until the vegetables start to take on a little color, about 3 minutes. Add the potatoes, celery root, and bacon, and cook 1 to 2 minutes, just to start rendering the bacon fat. Cover the pan and cook another 10 minutes, stirring every 2 minutes.