I'm sorry face...but the nose must go.

I know I've talked about integrity of the food a bit here and there and it is so vital and crucial to the successful operation of a restaurant that I firmly believe it needs it's due time in the lime light. But tonight I'm going to write about another type of integrity that is as equally important to bring attention to; the integrity of the people. 

Today I got into the kitchen early.  It was around 12:30 or so and the rest of the team wasn't far behind me. The chef had instructed people to be here at 1:00 but you know that if you are ever going to feel secure and confident throughout your shift, if you want to brew a coffee or shoot the shit with the chef or take a minute to reorganize your box...then you show up early.  There's nothing that says it's mandatory and you certainly won't get paid for it but the alternative is that you start your day off rushed.  If you decide to be in the kitchen right on time (but definitely never late) then you immediately have to set up your station and start on prep. No time to get acclimated to the day. No time to get a mental head start on what's going on. And certainly no time to properly deal with situations that arise that you weren't prepared for. And people, when I say the unexpected and unplanned happens everyday...I literally mean everyday. Almost without fail.  Which brings us to today. 

The rest of the team came through the kitchen around 12:40 and immediately went upstairs to get dressed. One of the guys came back down stairs a few minutes later - still in his street clothes - walked around the restaurant shaking hands with everybody and briskly walked out the door. He had been fired. No one to replace him, no one to take over his prep list and not even a single person in line for an interview.  Why? Because he wasn't the right fit for the kitchen, the culture or the restaurant. Plain and simple.  

It's nothing personal, it's not saying he's an asshole and obviously it's not very compassionate but at the end of the day you cannot sacrifice the betterment of your team and your values as a chef to keep someone on the team that you don't feel "gets it". Yes, it cliquey. Yes, it's not a good "personnel management" technique and yes, maybe he could have been trained better and grown into the role. But the fact of the matter is that sometimes you just might not be the right fit for that environment or that particular structure.  

This is the restaurant industry and anybody who plans to make their career in this industry needs to come to terms with this fact before dragging other teams down as they try to mold establishments around their own misconceived notion of what constitutes fair business practices or decides to cling onto a team that they obviously don't mesh with just so they can collect a paycheck.  It's not only annoying but it's deteriorating to the team and the establishment.  Restaurants need teams that form their own living organism. A lot like Thundercats. WOAOOOO!

If you feel the industry is unfair or biased or harsh...then you should leave because first, you're right and second, the rest of us are ok with it. I, for one, do not want it to change. I've done the corporate dance and you know what? It attracts the bottom feeders of the industry and leaves you building teams with the undedicated, untalented, money driven, zero passion, washed up, paycheck collectors. That sucks. And then what ever drive you had for building a team with a solid foundation of integrity is slowly drained out of you ounce by ounce. 

And I built some great teams in the corporate world. But they were only great for that sector of the industry. Everyday I would have to manage something bizarre surrounding my employees. Rebecca can't work Tuesday because she has to help her aunt bring her cat to the vet; Rick showed up late because his alarm didn't go off on his phone but he swears he set it; Joe is pissed off at me because I asked him to clean the oven that is getting really gross and he doesn't want to work past his eight hour shift. Sam is talking shit about the company to anyone who will listen, including the customers, because his direct deposit didn't go through. Robert needs to be terminated because he has decided that it's faster to secretly smoke in a non-smoking area of the building - inside!   And yes, all of these have happened to me in real life. And that's seriously everyday. 

But come into the independent, fine dining sector and this stuff doesn't happen. In fact, you will be shunned for this type of behavior. The type of person who excels in the fine dining, polished, integrity based establishment is one who understands that the following traits are the bare minimum requirements. 

You aren't late...ever; you're not sick unless the chef tells you you are; you work hard; you're diligent and focused; your dedicated to the food, then the chef, then the business - and in that order; you're clean - both in the kitchen as well as your personal hygiene; you go out of your way to get along with the team and mold to their culture; you don't bother asking why the chef has requested you to do something unless you are genuinely asking so you can learn; you know that even though you have done this task so many times before at other restaurants, it probably is best to still keep it to yourself; you know that the other guys don't really care about your conquests and accomplishments at other places unless they ask.

And once all this happens you begin to see some fluidity form around the day to day process. Teams develop a communication style and habits and quirks that are uniquely their own. And everything just works. More tasks and projects and steps are taken without speaking than are taken through words.  And it feels good.  It feels good to know that you are valued in your kitchen and are helping to promote and drive the food forward. Once here, you will never go back to being a bottom feeder. Mostly because you just couldn't live with yourself. 

"EITHER GIVE ME MORE WINE OR LEAVE ME ALONE"

I LOVE when I am table side and end up talking about wine. I sold a lot tonight and every time I lean forward to start asking the questions "White or Red? Light or full? Dry or sweet? How adventurous are you?" I end up in this beautiful place with someone, and that's a place where they realize I am not here to judge them on their choice, simply to help them with it.  They trust me; they have to, I will either elate or betray them with my suggestions. There are few things that I absolutely sure of, and one happens to be that given a choice between going blind and going deaf I would say take both as long as I can speak. I talk a lot. So much it's my worst trait; I swear that saying: "don't speak unless you are spoken to" could be "Eva, can you speak a little less or you'll get spoken to". So it makes it a lot easier when I have to get to that place where someone needs to feel a bit more comfortable, let them know I'm not going to push anything on them they aren't looking for.

I have to admit, I'm sort of a fan of keeping people on their toes. It's the reason I get a kick out of the people who say "Wow, you know a lot don't you? You're fantastic!" And I smile knowing they saw this girl with the tattoos and wrote her off right away. So we talk about wine and this thing happens with their face every-time: They SEE me. Suddenly I'm more than just someone who stands next to them for about an hour tonight, I'm someone who has information they don't, not only that, information they need. Suddenly I am more interesting and fascinating.  How did I learn? What do I want to do with what I know?

To be honest, more often that not, it's just pass to the information along. Lets face it, the biggest problems in our world, politics, prayer, religion, teaching, parenthood, homelessness, etc...can become exaggerated and over thought  when people think they know all the answers. Or worse yet, when they actually do have some answers and choose to withhold information. I know the exact same as you.  Because what I have in wine knowledge, I lack in math (oh boy do I lack in math) What I lack in tact, I make up for in loyalty. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. I love talking to people about something I love and am passionate about. More importantly, I love making them feel like they BELONG. Wine is a scary subject, and everyone starts small with a subject, wether it's the first time you read socrates and decided to study philosophy or the first time you picked up an instrument and decided to learn how to play.

I often equate choosing a bottle of wine like going on a first date. You don't know the sight, smell, taste, or interest of what you're about to spend time with. You point your finger and hope for the best. Sometimes it's refreshing, you didn't expect that to be so good, and you smile hoping for more wonderful "bottles" like it. And sometimes, especially when you are not given the information you need you choose blindly and are so disappointed that it takes a while to have faith in the process the next time. I will give you all the information I have, since you and I are both here in this space where we trust each other. And I will smile when I watch you take that first sip and look up, that moment you see more than the tattoos, and start seeing someone just trying to help you have a wonderful time.

Please be advised, your chef is annoyed

Let's clear some stuff up.  Eva has been kind enough to bestow upon you lovely readers some quirks that irritate the shit out of servers. I can now officially say that I have cooked in the states, Europe and the Bahamas and turns out, the same shit irritates restaurant workers around the globe. Let's discuss these for a minute.  And I hope, if any of these actually apply to you that you will take a second to recognize that you are that quintessential asshole customer and change your behavior accordingly. If these don't apply to you then please join me in mocking these people openly.

You send back your food to get remade because:

1. Your steak is not cooked to the correct temperature when in fact it is perfectly cooked, exactly as you requested, you just don't know what the difference is between medium and medium rare and you refuse to ask. Oh, and no, "medium rare - medium" is not an actual temperature. Pick one.

2. You modify your meal when placing your order (no salt) and then send it back for a related reason (bland). You chose it, eat it.

3. You make up a fucking allergy that doesn't even exist just because you don't like an ingredient. 
No, lady, I'm sorry but you cannot be allergic to spinach. Just ask for no spinach. If we can do it, we will. 

4. You have an allergy but neglected to tell anyone when you made your reservation, again when you were seated or any of the ten separate times your server came to your table prior to us making your meal. 

5. You make up something that's not even remotely close to being on the menu and then decide you don't like it. Well that's why your little creation wasn't put on the menu, boy genius. 

And to go a step further and preemtively answer the next question that always surfaces after this conversation. No - no one in the kitchen does terrible things to your food when you send it back.  No matter how irritating you are. Do we mock you and call you horrible names? Yup. Sure do. In fact, chances are you have become the running joke of the kitchen for the rest of the night.  But in the 16 years I have been in the restaurant industry I have never witnessed another cook spit in - or do anything malicious - to a customer's food. 

The truth of the matter is that we're generally too busy to care THAT much about you. Sure, your an asshole for ordering your filet well done and you will absolutely get the worst possible cut we can find in the cooler but the reality is that we just want to get your food out the door as quickly as possible so we can get the ticket off the board. 

And that's the key to this whole situation.  The guys in the kitchen are busy. We've been prepping all day, trying to beat the clock so we can be open for service which is always a hustle, looking over our station as we go to make sure we will be set up and not have to step off line more often than necessary and thinking about the massive cleaning list we have lying ahead of us after we close. Then, inevitably, Pablo on sauté calls out sick - although thats code for, "I got shitty at that wedding I told everyone I was going to last night and can't come in now" - so now the whole line gets restructured and the chef has to get pulled off of expo and onto sauté which just stresses the shit out of the rest of the line because now he's watching every little step you make and tasting your food and slowing you down. 

And of course it's a Friday night and you're going to get crushed. Non-stop action, million miles per hour, tickets flying off the printer and you're thinking the whole time that you're going to lose your shit mentally and just snap and they'll probably find you in six hours naked in the woods talking to squirrels - but you keep your head down and just complete one motion after another, as fast as you can while trying super hard to not get yelled at by the chef.  

This entire time the chef is calling tickets from inside the line tonight as he's working sauté so he's calling them even faster than normal because he's slammed too.  Last you checked you were supposed to be working six chickens, two calamari appetizers, three burratas, an eggplant parmesan, four meatball apps, six spinach's for the grill station, toast for the sauté station...and the chef is still calling tickets - fast.  "Add one chicken to that " so that's seven chicken's all day and another spinach for grill. Shit, I'm out of dressing and cold plates. 

Ok, stop! 

So at this exact moment in time (and this is no exaggeration) I -as one guy- am supposed to be doing the following all at the exact same time: roast seven chickens and sauté seven spinach's (to go with that chicken) and then slide them all down to the grill station for plating, pull one calamari out of the fryer, season and plate it, dredge another order of calamari and get that in the fryer as soon as the first one comes out, plate three burratas - but they're supposed to be on cold plates and I'm currently out of cold plates so I have to go find some at the dessert station, get one eggplant parmesan in the oven, pan up three meatball appetizers plus get toast into the oven to go with them - I can't forget the extra toast for the sauté station or the chef will kill me, and make a side salad for the eggplant parmesan but I'm out of dressing so I have to run downstairs to the walk-in to refill my squeeze bottle. 

Now as I'm about to run off the line to get the dressing I hear a server come back in and make the following statement, "52 claims she's allergic to spinach. Can you re-fire this Roasted Chicken Dinner please?".  Can you see our frustration? If its a legit concern or valid reason, ok. But otherwise, there's just no excuse. 

So yes, if I thought spitting in your food would help eliminate this kind of scenario I would purchase a camel and keep it out back - but truth be told, it's not going to solve anything.  It's just going to slow me down on the line and I'm going to get so much more pleasure out of making fun of you for the rest of the night. "Hey, chef, can you grab me a water please...but with no ice? Yeah, allergy".

So please, try to keep this in mind when you're out at a restaurant. We're all at work, doing our best to make your downtime enjoyable. That's our job. You have your job during the day and I have no doubt that all you can think about while you're at work is getting out at 5:00 and the plans you have with Gary later that night. Well it's our job to make your night with Gary special and fun and awesome and something you get to brag to your co-workers about at the water cooler on Monday. But while you're having this wonderfully great time, please try really hard to apply some basic etiquette to your dining experience and not be a douche bag. It's really appreciated more than you could ever imagine.

The first rule about FOH club is...

Thank god there's no HR department is all I have to say sometimes. We are filthy, all the men women and teenagers that work in the business. We have the mouths of sailors, the libidos of 13 year old boys, the humor of the depraved, and the livers of very very very old men. 

We try to keep it down when we see a guest spilling out of her dress, or one too drunk to stand, but when you hear someone laugh to a coworker in a restaurant and say "Oh, 24 seat 3 right?" know we are making fun. maybe I shouldn't tell you this, but it's not because we are judging you as a person, just that those are our "water-cooler" stories. We don't have funny copier tales, no one pulls pranks on each others cubicle. we don't have "moral boosting exercises."  Instead we have jokes, yelling, teasing, and alcohol during work hours. 

We come up with games like : "If you were to have sex anywhere in the restaurant where would you least likely be caught?" And before you think about that, don't say walk-in or elevator, the 2 most used rooms in the place, say something like, that one storage space that we run to when we've run out of ALL forks in the building.

Or everyone's favorite "If there were no consequences to your actions how would you quit?" Break all the glasses? go under random people's number and fire all their next courses for them? Order things that are complicated to make for the wrong tables? Make rollups with 2 knives and no forks (this one I have witnessed) so that when you're gone you make your co-workers work that much harder?

We need to do something to stop the madness from slowly creeping in, and sometimes that is be the worst kind of person you can be. Tell sexist jokes, no not like: "Q.What do you do when the dishwasher stops working? A: Yell at her." I mean "Q. What do you call that useless flap of skin around a vagina? A. A woman." If you chuckled when you read this either you've heard it and still think it's kind of funny or you may have worked in restaurants.

 Look, we see all kinds, we see the people who declare "a life-threatening allergy to gluten" but order fries, as if it's not cooked in the same fry-alator as the calamari, which is breaded. 

We see the people "who ask for steaks very very lean with no salt and dressing on the side and then ask for BONE MARROW to accompany it. It takes all kinds.

We're simply looking for something to amuse us, something to make light of the fact that there are too many people who come in to eat, but don't come in and CARE. People who don't listen when we announce the specials and then ask us to repeat it,  the people that say they wouldn't like anything when we offer beverages at a table and when we come back to bring the rest suddenly ask at that INOPPORTUNE time for a beverage they suddenly realized they wanted.

So we joke. We flirt at work to pass the time, we see awkward dates, and people making out like no one notices them (which we most certainly do), we laugh, we jab, we poke fun, we use laughter as medicine, or alcohol, or both. At the end of the day we know there's the one guy to go to for jokes, the one girl to go to for some inappropriate phrase, that one chef who whips towels hard enough to leave a welt, and that we get it. 

Sometimes you have to be a little fucked up to fit in.

Rose colored glasses don't make things prettier, just red.

So as it turns out, as many of you assume, but few will experience, zero connectivity to the world is a real downer.  

I think that for many years I have had this romantic vision of seclusion and restfulness going hand in hand and merrily skipping through giant fields of daisies together.  Truth be told, when they met in real life they couldn't have been worse together. Oh sure they played nice in the beginning. One toying with the other and playfully suggesting they should court each other and the opposite wistfully sweeping away her hair as if to say, "I would agree but that would be too forthcoming and I'd hate to be held liable to such accusations down the road". 

Good thinking, Lincoln.  Cause damn you seclusion; you spiteful, sneaky, snake-in-the-grass. You had me fooled all along.  I actually had fantasies of porch swings, some lazy, chubby mutt chewing on a stick, fall leaves covering the un-raked lawn, the smell of the leaves creating that fresh autumn musk in the air.  And the biggest, most attractive part of this fantasy is that feeling of a stress free life. The omnipresent feeling that can so often take over your entire body, mid fantasy, and give you this illusion that all can be well and safe and secure if only you were left alone.  If only you could be in your own world, far away from the monotony of the cycles and systems and structures you have built for yourself.  Completely disregarding that those systems are there mostly to provide convenience and comfort. Remove the comfort and you get less convenience and thus more stress.  But alas, the romantic vision was so bright and the dream so vivid. 

Well my friends, eat up and eat plenty cause your pal Eric is "living the good life"...except I can't really tell anyone about it.  I can't call my beautiful fiancé to talk about her day, or email Mom to say hi and see how the farm is doing, or send a text to my sister to check on her recovery or log into Facebook to send an update.  No Twitter, no LinkedIn, no Skype.  What has this world come to?!?! Or is the real question, what has our (and by "Our" I mean "My" and "Yours" simultaneously)  world come to.  Where despite the painstaking lengths I have gone to to achieve solidarity, I find myself yearning for the connection.  That despite the perfect set up to spend time with myself, in a country amongst hundreds of thousands of people whom I don't know, with a language I don't speak and a complete lack of responsibility, I still find it extremely difficult to slow everything down, let go, relax and disconnect.  If even for a moment.  Is it the old adage, "We crave what we don't have"?  I'll tell you as soon as I figure it out and I can post it on Facebook.

This is not YOUR house

This will come off as a rant. Sometimes there just isn't any other way.

I am always fascinated by people that come into a restaurant and assume that because I want you to feel welcome, I want you to feel excused to take liberties you would never otherwise take in other environments.

Don't move the furniture. I'm serious. The amount of people that come into a restaurant and move around MY FURNITURE astounds me. This is my house. I spend more time here than you ever will, no matter how good of a regular you are. Hell I spend more time here than my own house, so for all intensive purposes, this is MY HOUSE. If you were to invite someone into your home, as a guest, and they walked into your living room and moved the couch over 3 feet and put the lamp over in the corner what would you do?
You would be pissed. So stop moving the furniture. I get it, you said you'd be a party of 4 but you forgot you posted on facebook that becky's last day was tonight so now you are really a party of 7. That does NOT mean you get to take that table right next to you and slide it over yourself. You didn't even bother to pick up the damn thing you just dragged it over, so you bounced a water glass off the table and it shattered into a million pieces so now I have to clean up after you AND be pissed you decided to move into my section.
Has anyone in their right mind ever walked into a lawyers office, a dentist office, the fucking Laundromat and decided to move around the furniture???? 
no. And i'll tell you why: because you don't have the right to. I live in this place, I know table 12 is precarious, it's set just the way it is because that one spot works for it, it has 2 sugar packets under one leg but it's stable and workable until some idiot that thinks they have a right to drags it over to table 13. 
So now the thing wobbles like crazy and while you are trying to get someone to fix it I am shaking my head at your ignorance.

I don't come into your office to tell you how to re-decorate, try not to do the same at mine.

Where has the integrity gone?

I'm 32. That's old enough to know a couple things:

1. I'm getting too old to be considered appropriately reckless and irresponsible...so all poor decisions made from this point forward must be solely owned by said 32 year old individual. 

2. I am now old enough to be able to fully appreciate the experiences that I encounter. All things from great food to well crafted cocktails and fine wines. All things I would have never been able to comprehend, let alone appreciate at that younger, quintesential "backpack Europe" age. 

In addition, I have been noticing my ambition weaning.  Not surrounding food as a whole...just surrounding food for other people's profit.  Because frankly they don't tend to appreciate what they are getting and I'm tired of bailing ungrateful, ignorant people out of whatever culinary debacle they have gotten themselves into.  I've done this for years and it is honestly getting tiring.  To the point where I have just stopped caring.  Why should I care more about the integrity of your business and your food than you do?

Years ago I met a guy who has had the greatest impact and influence on my career of anyone.  I met Paul Booras in late 2007 and immediately fell in love with his way of thinking.  It's completely unconventional, abrasive, arrogant and dead on the money accurate.  His methods are old school and more often than not they are seen as attacking and demeaning.  Truth be told, they are all of those things but they're always right.  Every time.  But his input and his viewpoints make you reevaluate your own thought process and your own methods before continuing on whatever half-assed attempt you were about to embark on.  And it was because of this that he ended up shaping a lot of the way I think about food.  New concepts and philosophy's surrounding techniques and application.  Different ways to think about entire cultures and their perspective on food and ingredients.  Entirely new procedures for dishes I've cooked a thousand times and could have sworn I rocked at making.  

And all of a sudden I begin to feel alive with excitement as I see my career and my new relationship with food taking form.  I can envision the many different areas and avenues this new found passion and respect will take me. And then as I begin to hold myself with integrity I also foolishly expect others to do the same for themselves and I am continuously met with sheer disappointment.

I realize as I start applying this new manner of thinking to my food that it is actually not a widely accepted practice and that most people (customers and restaurant owners alike) just seem to want the same old shit.  Chicken parmesan with panko and sliced provolone, bolognese with ground beef, sour mix from the gun, bleached french fries from the bag...the list goes on and on.  And at some point you have to stop and ask yourself what the fuck you are doing this for? Why am I holding the food of your restaurant in higher regard than you are? Is it because I'm the chef and that's what you pay me for? OK, cool, then give me carpe-blanch. Let me do as I see fit so we can generate a bit of respect for your establishment and actually turn a profit. But for the love of god...don't fight with me over the small steps necessary to start moving your shit hole of a restaurant in the right direction.  Because frankly I am just not going to have another conversation about why I refuse to buy tartar sauce.  That is called a" waste of my time" and if we need to have that conversation than once again, I am working for another washout who just doesn't get the big picture.  And I can't do that anymore. It's exhausting. 

So cue Europe.  The hopeful cure to my ailment. No promises but I figure at the very least it can't hurt. Maybe I'll meet another chef or eat at a restaurant that will show me reignite the spark of hope. I'm in search of the holy grail, the north star, that moment or experience that will reinforce the belief that integrity behind food can be an organic process. That it doesn't have to be synonymous with pretension. That the general public are slowly drifting othe right direction and will appreciate quality ingredients, simple presentations and can recognize proper execution. it's becoming increasingly clear however that it is entirely possible that I may need to build this model for myself. At the end of the day, I am only cooking for myself anyway. 

It's almost fall, and soon my idea of what comforts me food wise will change. In the summer It's been corn on the cob for as long as I can remember, as a kid you left the butter on a plate in the fridge with that all too familiar half moon indent, waiting for the next time boiled corn would slide over the top.

But fall: fall is soup. Broccoli and cheddar, butternut squash, and french onion. If I can somehow incorporate cheese into my soup i'm even happier. Come to think of it , if there is not at least some component of cheese during a meal it doesn't really seem complete to me. I've exclaimed out loud while eating a cheese board and french onion soup simultaneously "this is the reason I could never be vegan." And usually the person who overheard my rant agrees. When I say cheese I am discussing things that come from a wheel, made by hand, at the very least made with care, nothing wrapped in individual plastic, or god forbid, out of a can.
Sometimes when i think of cheese, I imagine farmers in the hills of the alps, milking the cows and making the cheese that will supply them through the winters as the are trapped on the mountains with nothing but their flock. I think about the people that make cheese by hand, that lift each mold like it was a wounded bird, washing it by hand, turning it over and placing it back on a rack, waiting for it to grow into what it will eventually become.

I got distracted. I meant to say that as the summer is ending I am thinking about what else it is that I want to have. Some people mark the turn of seasons by school, by vacation, by sports teams, by clothing. I think of the food. I know every year there is that wonderfully short period where ramps are everywhere. We just ended most of the corn season, and soon I will make squash soup, and cut acorn squash in half, scoring it down the middle, filling it with butter and brown sugar and eating it way before it cools. 
My seasons turn with the food, I look forward to the next round of crops or shellfish, or lambs, and am reminded oftentimes about where this came from. We used to farm. And when I saw we, I don't just mean Eric and I, or Americans, I mean WE as people, we at one point relied on sun and water and soil and time and when those first sprouts came up, we were so hopeful, of what it would become.
I love this city, I love cities in general, but oftentimes I catch myself in spring noticing the dandelions pushing their way up in the cracks in the pavement and I am reminded people used to look forward to that every year. When the years had it's own calendar, marked not by months, by by sustenance.

The box that shall not be named

So I have so much to talk about but I feel for this post it is best to revert to the very basics. The very basic as to what brought me here. Why I feel I should be important enough, at least in your eyes, to be writing a blog worthy of reading.  That's not to say that at the end of this you will agree with my opinions or even agree that I do in fact write a blog worthy of reading, but at the very least I am hopeful that these posts will help people to some degree or provide an alternate perspective. I'm not sure of what that might be but maybe it answers some questions you have been dying to ask about the restaurant industry or maybe it gives you a forum to ask other unrelated questions that you think either of us can help you on.  Maybe it just makes you think. Whatever it does, I hope it helps.  Because for the love of god...it is apparent that the vast majority of people I have met need help with food.

And that's not to say that you're all bad. Not at all.  Just most of you. And why is this important? Because food is the equivilant to what makes our cultures and societies function. I know there are obviously many other subjects that tend to play a role in our day to day lives but let's be honest here for a second.  The topic of food is a subject that is discussed every single day, several times a day with everyone we know, like and love?

"What are we going to eat?", "Where do you want to go?", "How was that restaurant last night?", "Did you hear who just opened up a new restaurant?".  Our culture, our livelihood, our upbringing, our emotions, our childhoods, our memories and our passions are constantly conjoured up through food. And yet, despite all of the significance that food plays in our lives we decide to degrade as many aspects surrounding this wonderful subject as we possibly can.

We talk down to our servers, buy shitty food, open terrible restaurants, teach our children the wrong way to handle food, abuse animals, go on crazy unhealthy diets...the list goes on and on. To the point that it's endless. The fact is, that as a country...nay, shall I be so bold as to say the world...we disrespect the importance that food, as a single, culture defining mechanisism, plays in our lives.  To this I say shame on us.

Culture is based in three things; art, music and food. FOOD! This, apparently simple category of substance has taken up one third of the equation needed to form entire cultures. To further this point, it is also known that mankind needs three things to survive..clothing, shelter and nourishment. Again, ONE THIRD of the equation!!! And yet the world consistently degrades this subject, misrepresents the importance, under estimates the necessity and miseducates our youth on this entire subject. What the fuck?!?!

So there you have it. The reason why I am on my quest of culinary truths. I want to find how food is handled, treated and regarded by other cultures. I am secretly hopeful that it is with a higher regard than our culture but I guess that has yet to be determined. Sort of.

"How are you doing this evening?"

I was walking around Portland Maine today after getting some tattoo work done and I saw a woman who used to come into an old restaurant I worked at. Lunch was iced-tea, dinner was white wine. She liked her fish cooked all the way through, and never ate the entire shepherds pie. It hit me that it was almost like seeing someone you dated briefly, if she turned around would she recognize me? I have worked in so many places, known so many people that have come into my restaurants that it's like having a little black book of people you know but don't know you all that well. Most servers I imagine feel like that. We spend countless hours knowing things about our guests; allergies, birthdays, table preferences, wine tastes, favorite dishes, etc....but I know if I asked that woman I saw if she remembered me the answer would probably be no.
I get to be part of the experience, the meal, the date, the proposal, but as a stagehand rather than a lead singer. I make sure you get your food the temperature you want, the drink the way you like, but when you move, when i leave that restaurant, it may take you a while to put the pieces together "oh, where's that server with the tattoos?"
Every person that sits at my table proceeds to start a relationship with me. It's a first date for us in a way, and first impressions mean a lot. So every time I approach that table and start the sentence I will use dozens of times that night, hundreds of times in my lifetime: "Hi, how are you today/tonight?" I take a deep breath. Usually we are just meeting each other, and that first few minutes tells me a lot about you.
 If I say "Hello how are you tonight?" And your response is "I'll have a diet coke" then I know not only are you impatient, you didn't listen to me. You probably won't listen to me the rest of the night either, and when it comes time to tell you the specials I will make a point to look at you while you talk to the person next to you and rehash the conversation you had with whats-her-face about that thing that happened that time. When I ask you what you will be having as an entree you will look at me and say "Are there any specials?" because you didn't listen to me as I could tell you wouldn't when we met.
If I say "Hello, how are you?" And your response is "Great, how are YOU?" Then I instantly like you. You've noticed there is a real live person standing in front of you and the easiest way to make sure you have a great time is to treat me with a little respect and to be nice. A word to all those that dine out: JUST BE NICE. A word to all those that serve the guests who dine out: JUST BE NICE. A word to anyone starting a relationship: JUST BE NICE. Remember that there are enough terrible things happening in the world, that the easiest thing to do to make sure they aren't happening everywhere is to try to be kind. 

Anyone who works or has worked in the service industry will tell you one of 3 things:
1. It's super fun
2. It's rewarding
3. It's fucking hard.

Those of us who have chosen to STAY in the restaurant industry have done so because of all three. At the end of each shift, I can usually figure out which one of the three my night has leaned toward. Hopefully it's been more of the first 2 and less of the 3rd, but some nights it's more just fucking hard. Which is why it can be so refreshing to have someone sit at my table and straight up be nice to me. It goes a long way, and it's a lot easier than some people think.

(cont.)

(so apparently the iPad is not the best choice for blogging.  Good to know. Tends to erase and cut off your entries.  Ugh)
...with two slices of deli ham inside. No joke. No mayo, no lettuce...nothing. Ok, I know I'm in a different culture and maybe they do things differently than we do but for the love of everything that is holy...don't serve shit. It's not the foods fault.

Are you taking the piss at me?!?!

Well the mid-life crisis culinary tour has finally launched! Thank you to all who have encouraged this mischievous behavior and enabled me to dissolve my life entirely and fly to a country I've never been to with a language I don't speak to live with people I don't know. Scary, exciting, nerve racking and a once in a life time opportunity. I promise I won't let you all down.  Apparently I have several people back at home living vicariously through me right now so I best make the most of it.

I arrived yesterday at Jo and Nick's house. A lovely British couple living in Saint Gaudens, France. They have a beautiful 1934 classic French house that they have been renovating for the past ten years. I know that sounds like a long time but they, unlike most Americans, are taking their time and only renovating what they can afford, little by little and all on their own. They are very hard workers and their home is beautiful.  I will try to take some photos tomorrow and post for people to see.

So here's my first discovery that sent me for a bit of a spin.  Turns out they have stores here that are more or less exactly like Wal-Mart! A huge box store with way to much shit crammed inside and none if it worth a damn.  Everything from avocados to socks to jumper cables. So very disappointing France. This whole time I had this impression that the French were snooty and stuck up but at least it was for a reason.  Exceptional bread, pride of their food, rustic farm to table style meals everywhere.  That is not the case so far. I don't want trouble out the entire country but so far it has been less than snob-worthy.

On my way toSaint Gaudens I had to stop in Toulouse to get the train but had a couple hours to kill so I snuck across the street to this charming bistro with seating on the patio and big open windows.  place wasn't overly busy but it was only 11:30 so the lunch rush hadn't really come through yet. For me however it felt more like 8:00 at night due to the traveling so I was starving.

As I walk into the bistro I see the bartender walking around setting the tables. I also notice there isn't a sign stating whether you should seat yourself or wait to be seated. I know how annoying it is when a customer assumes they should seat themselves and then gets pissed when you don't see them hidden in the corner and they end up waiting. So I stand in the dining room and wait while this guys sets the
tables. After standing there like an asshole for what felt like 20 minutes I walk up to him and ask if I can grab a table. He says to go ahead and walks away. From this point on I proceeded to have the worst service followed by the worst meal I think I've ever had. And in France no less!!! I ordered a glass of wine and it came out in a strange latte style glass with not a drop more that three ounces. That took him ten minutes to complete. I placed my order and he was out of the croque Monsieur. I asked what he suggested instead and he said that the ham sandwich was nice. Perfect, I said.  I'll have that. Cue another twenty minutes and with not a single letter of exaggeration I am given ano eight inch piece of baguette, cut open with 

Eric tells me we're supposed to have an introductory post so that anyone who may read this will know what's going on. Or who we are, or something, i don't know, it was early and I didn't sleep much and i have a hard time staying on topic.
Eric is currently flying from Boston, Massachusetts to Paris France on what he will probably jokingly refer to from now on as the "great mid-life crisis culinary tour of 2012". Don't listen to him, he's only 31 and has many many more years of being ridiculously opinionated to go.
As he is flying (safely i can only hope) across the ocean, I am still here in Boston. So at the start of all this we are in two very different places. Geographically at least. When it comes to food and drink and everything associated with that we are usually in the exact same place. That place being "yes please, I'll have more of that. and that, and that over there" On our first date we had a picnic of charcuterie, cheese, fruit and wine, and when i turned to him and said "this just made me hungrier" we headed to lone star taco bar (allston, mass) to have one of each taco on the menu as well.
I'm front of the house. Oh, i've dabbled in back, grill cook, dishwasher, prep cook, and one time i worked at the Municipal Ice rink in Norwich CT and ate way too many orders of mozzarella sticks to be good for my picky teenage skin. 
But for the most part I look people in the eyes and nod yes, or shake no, and am as sweet and as nice (usually) as anyone can be to people that come into a building expecting someone to wait on them hand and foot. I got this. I've been doing it awhile and it turns out from what some people tell me, I'm good great at it.
I am the person you look at when you say things like "I know it's not on the menu, but...." or "I came here 4 years ago and you had a special that night, do you have that same special tonight?" I do judge you, how can I not, but know I do this for more than just the good stories. I love being remembered, it's purely selfish, when you have a GREAT meal at a GREAT restaurant, what do you do? You usually tell people. And I know I want to be part of the story.