The stage. A guide.

Question of the week/fill in the blanks: on a stage, you should ___. On a stage you should not ___. What makes a good stagiere?
amigadehelado@linecooka stage should pay attention, ask questions, taste things. Get out of the way when neccessary. Don't set stage hours by a "clock"
Tanukipdx@linecook once had a stage grab my favorite yanagiba ($$$$Japanese slicer) and cut themselves a piece of bread w/it. end of stage.
Tanukipdx@linecook a good stage silently&invisibly gets stuff done...like a little mise en place fairy. a bad stage snacks on people's mise
Benjamin_Parks@linecookOn a stage you quietly take notes You should not start telling your glory stories of all the other restaurants you have worked in.
tournant@linecook -should//STFU, do what we tell yo, stay out of the way...should not//show off your skull n knives tattoo, hit on servers
adoxograph@linecook on a stage you should absorb and remember the best and worst of what you see, esp little details
adoxograph@linecookon a stage you should not ever say to yourself well, I'm not getting paid so I don't have to (clean, be on time, fill the blank)
PrixFixeOnline@linecookYou should work your arse off, you should not stand around after finishing a task. Always ask chef for next task, speed is a must.
jrnavlag@linecook U should work and learn. U should not let the pay or lack of it be your drive.  Do your research.  Then shut up about it.
ingridc@linecookYou should shut up, be nice, listen and follow directions. You should not touch a cook's mise unless asked. Or get mouthy, ever.
ingridc@linecook p.s.-last wk's stage told chef he wants to trail our killer pasta man Javi.. so he could show him how to make it right #dieinafire
randomplacement@linecook a good stage contributes to the team and fits in with the team
randomplacement@linecook work and learn, run your mouth
Gchef703@linecook What makes a good stagiere? Hard-Working, Humble, Passionate person who Loves food and is willing to do anything to learn!
Gchef703@linecook
you should not Be a Pre Madonna!!! Should not be late, ask for days
off, breaks or a special jacket to show off to your friends
Gchef703@linecook you should Be a Sponge Listen! Learn! and ask a million questions even if they are stupid questions. ask em!

You're about to explode.  There's too far too much blood and oxygen coursing through your veins, and your eyes your pupils are so dialated that they would catch the attention of any police officer you came across.  You just finished your stage, and it went so beautifully that you're too wound up to eat, or drink, or even talk about it.  This is one of those perfectly fleeting moments, so you just sit there on the bus, missing your stop, so you can soak it all up.  You start Tuesday as the new fish cook.  Unless:

You blew it.  It seemed like your stage was going ok, but right around the end of the first turn the sous told you that you could take off.  You considered protesting, but instead you decided to change, have a smoke and get a bite to eat.  Sitting down at the bar, you order your food and a drink, and sometime later the chef tells you that you're welcome back anytime...but no job is discussed.  And you dont ask about one.  Your stage is over, and you wasted it.  So how did this happen?

Prep:
You went into the restaurant between lunch and dinner service dressed appropriately, resume and knives in hand.  For a week you've been reading the menu on-line, and bringing yourself up to speed on the background of the chef and the restaurant itself.  After your chat with the chef, you let him know that you're ready to stage that evening if he would like.  He tells you to come back Friday instead.  On Friday you show up early, smiling and introducing yourself to any staff that you come across.  You take your knives and a spoon out of your kit that you slimmed down a bit, and settle in with any prep work that they'll give you--herb picking, cutting bread, citrus supremes.  You work quietly and cleanly, with eyes and ears open so you dont miss a thing.  Unless:

You drop into the restaurant as you walk by, and approach the chef who is expediting a fairly busy lunch service.  He doesn't have time to talk to you right now, but tells you to come back that evening at 4 for a stage.  You tell him that you have tickets to a show, but could you come in tomorrow?  He asks for a resume.  You dont have it with you.  When you do show up for your stage, the chef asks you why you want to work in his restaurant; what is it about this place, this food, that turns you on?  You stumble through some bullshit answers.  He smirks at you.  Unpacking your kit you pull out 6 knives, a spatula, tongs, and a handful of spoons.  The sous steps in next to you.
"Um.  What's all that shit for?"
Working through your prep, you dont shut up--about your last job, your opinions on how things should be done, and who you think should win top chef.  No one really responds to you, but you go on anyways. 

Service:
The chef had told you that he needed a fish cook, so this is the station that you stick with through prep, line-up, and into service.  During line up you politely ask if you can taste mise, and as you taste dishes you take notes, and try to memorize the station set-up.  Just before service you sweep the station and wipe down everything for the cook.  You ask the chef if he wants you anywhere else during service, but he says no.  During service you pull plates, and garnish, but generally try to stay out of the way and observe.  Eventually the pace starts to build a bit, and the cook catches your eye.
"Alright.  We're going on 7 fish and 6 scallops.  We'll go together, ok?  You take the scallop dish."
An hour later you're cooking all of the proteins on your own, with the fish cook plating and garnishing for you.  When the sous asks how it's all going for you, you tell him you love it, and want to close the station that night.  There will be no end of shift meal or drink for you.  Just a cold family meal, a watery iced tea, and a nod of approval from the brigade.  Unless:

You bounce around the kitchen getting all up in everyones shit, but not really absorbing anything.  You taste without asking, and more than once you criticize the food.  During one of your rants about how you used to do it at your last job, the grill cook catches looks at you and growls "Well that's so fucking interesting."  Most of your evening is spent leaning against the ice machine, and when you do step in, you're so fucking slow wiping plates and garnishing that the sous knocks the chervil out of your hand and shouts "JUST FUCKING SEND IT!"  You cook zero orders, and when you sit down to eat at the bar, you order an expensive cocktail, and dont tip.  You.  Fucking.  Blew.  It.

There is nothing like a stage in any other field of work.  Sure, athletes have tryouts, and actors have auditions.  A stage is both.  It lasts many hours, is physically and mentally draining, and everyone is already expecting you to fail before you even begin.  It's the culinary equivalent of  getting jumped into a gang.  You get one chance to get it right, and being thrust into an unfamiliar, borderline hostile environment guarantees that if you don't fail outright, you are at very least probably going to make a stupid mistake.

And at the end of your stage, it's all of this pressure that makes succeeding all the more sweet.  To have cooked well, and won over the cooks that let you into their home is a special thing.  It's a re-affirming rite of passage, and a fleeting feeling you only get to enjoy every once in a while.  Don't let your stage just pass on by.


notes.

• that's not bechamel.
• holy shit!  I updated finally!
• podcasts are coming back.  no really.  they are.
• get some rest.
• burrito
  

• stepping into an open grease trap means youll probably need new shoes.
• that's pasta water.  not a deep fryer.
• fish & farm seems like its becoming the new industry night off spot

Quotes and Conversations.

Me, to Gerardo:  Hey dude.  Tell your partner if he mouths off to me again, im gonna tie him up.
Eddie:  Shhiiiiiiieeeeeett.  You wish!  You wish you could enter the dungeon!

(I pinch Eddie's nipple.)
Eddie:  Hey dude!  Not the nipples!
Me:  Oh, im gonna get the nipples.
Eddie:  (pause)  I'm...ticklish.

Me:  You can call him a pussy if you want to.
Eddie:  I don't want to call him a pussy.  That would be the pot calling the kettle black.

Me:  Eddie.  Want me to give you a hand massage?
Eddie:  No.
Me:  With my balls?
Eddie:  That's not a massage.

Goose:  Those new light fixtures are bad.  The block looks good now.
Me:  Yeah dude, they're nice.
Eddie:  And they reduce light pollution.
Me:  Fuck off Ed Begley Jr.
Goose:  Get the fuck outta here with that shit.
Eddie:  Did you know I can ruin any conversation?

"I'm a human snuggie.  You wrap me around you and watch t.v.  I come in different colors.  But mostly white."
-Corey.  Human snuggie.

Gerardo:  Can I borrow your skimmer thingy?
Merrell:  It's called a spider.
Gerardo:  I know a guy named spider.

Me:  Elton John has hairless balls?  What?
Goose and Dega:  I have hairless balls!
Me:  I hate you guys.

Me:  Would you bone down with a guy that wears a lot of gold jewelry?
Dega:  How much gold jewelry?
Me:  A lot.
Dega:  Hell yeah.  Mr. T?
Me:  You'd bone down with Mr. T?

Me:  Wouldn't that be cool?  If you had a hinge on your balls?  You could move them like this.
Goose:  Yeah.  But then you'd have to grease them.  You wouldn't want squeaky balls.

Merrell:  My stomach is getting flat.  See?
(Gerardo is watching the conversation.)
Merrell:  This doesn't concern you Gerardo.
Gerardo:  I was watching you touch yourself.

"I evaluate every stripper on a case by case basis."
-Eddie.

Eddie:  You missed out.  I brought candy yesterday.
Corey:  What are you?  A pervert?  Halloween's over bro.

Eddie:  I think old people are cute.  I saw some old people going into Good Vibrations...
Corey:  Stop.  Stop.  Sentences should not include old people and Good Vibrations.

(Jamie is feeling my abs.)
Jamie:  You should feel his abs.  It's impressive. 
Merrell:  I'd rather feel yours.  (Jamie walks away)
Merrell:  Was that weird?

(Merrell walks into the corner of the stove.)
Me:  Did you just jab your pussy with the oven?
Merrell:  Yes.  Even though I don't have balls, it still hurts.
Me:  Graceful.  You're a real pageant queen.
Merrell:  I'm a fuckin lady.


from top:  sautee, line up, al, a gift from ryan farr, mer-mer's balls, where am i vol. 6, fuck you in your ear, super bowl, you figure it out

Teaching the Terrible Tournant.

It's Thursday night, and your stomach is knotted.  It's the second day back from your weekend, and your station is just the way you like it.  Everything is in its place, your board is clean, and you got through prep quickly enough to sharpen your knife.  All of the best cooks are on the line tonight, and your chef de cuisine finally listened to you about the pasta app, using your idea.  Everything is going great, but your face is still crossed.  And the reason for your stress just stumbled into the kitchen and knocked over your salt.

His name is Oliver, and tonight he's the tournant.  The idea is that Oliver has shown enough drive and raw skill to move off of the cold station, and get a chance to lend a hand and even try to fill in for a few orders as the night goes on.  Ideally, Oliver would already be proficient on all of the stations in the kitchen before being given this position.  But this is simply not the case.  The exec sees the tournant as a position to train a cook.  So as the night wears on, you will have Oliver on your station, trying not to fuck it all up.

Around 8:30, the kitchen is a hot, sweaty mosh pit.  You've barely uttered two words, and there's a soft crease running across your forehead.  There's a quiet, aggressive focus driving you.  Oliver steps into your station on the pick up, holding a fish spat.  His hands are shaking like he's had too much Mountain Dew (which is probably accurate) and when he goes to plate, he cracks your perfectly cooked filets of sole in half.  Without missing a beat you drop another one, only to catch him saucing the duck...but not before he dribbles sauce across three other plates.  You wipe furiously, flip your fish, and send plates.  There are still five orders of pasta on your burners, and you catch Olivers gaze. 
"Two and three.  Ill take the three.  Go."
Oliver twirls the pasta around his tongs and goes to nestle the noodles gently, but his grip slips.  The pasta flings out of the spring loaded tongs and into the pile of chives you just cut a la minute.  You drop two more orders, race to cut more chives, and finish the plates.  Then you realize your sole re-fire scorched.

There are two options in this situation:

1. You grab Oliver by the collar of his chefs coat, slam him into the ice machine door, and shake him until his eyes bleed.  While you choke him with your forearm, you tell him that if he ever steps onto your station again, you will kill his entire family.  Your sous tries to pull you off of him, but not before you leave Oliver crumpled on the floor, shaking.  Walking away, you point at him.  "STAY. IN. YOUR. FUCKING. BITCH. CORNER."
2. You clean your station down, cook the rest of the night on your own, and find Oliver during family meal.  Sitting down with him, he barely looks at you.  You look him in the eye, and pause for a moment.  You run down the laundry list of dumb shit he did tonight.  You re-assure him, and tell him that you had days like this too.  You make a plan for him to be back on your station Friday night, where you will slowly walk him through the pick ups.  Oliver has become your project.  Your responsibility.  

Training and teaching a young cook is the seasoned vets job.  Sure, you could just show up every day and cook.  And when the green cook steps onto the station you are not required to give them much more than a grunt and growl.  But the goal in cooking is to pass on your craft.  The mark of a great cook is one that leaves a mark on all those around them.  In a way, your success will end up hinging on them.  As you progress through the kitchen, your ties to these cooks become all the more important.  It's no longer about your own station; its about the kitchen, and the guest, and the well being of the restaurant.  Everything becomes your responsibility, and subsequently everything becomes your fault when it all goes to shit.  It's so easy to lose your patience, and write these green cooks off.  But you came up the hard way, and went through all of the same things.  And regardless of whether or not there was a cook there to teach you, you have to see the importance of being a mentor.  I'm not saying you should hold their hand.  A little venom in your approach might help to motivate your student.

Three weeks later, you are working tournant.  Your exec would be pissed if he knew you had switched with Oliver, but you feel like the kid is ready to do give your station a shot.  As he settles, you step back from the station, stepping in only to turn burners down, wipe plates, and point out small details to him.  As he goes to plate his sole, you hold your breath for a moment.  But his hand is steady, with that familiar soft crease running across his forehead.  The kid is getting it.  And you got to guide him down the right path.

notes.

• When Corey is on the line, its certain to be an agressive service.
• Aziza gets a Michelin star. 
  
• When your to-do list covers the front and back of the piece of paper you wrote it on, you should probably only sleep for five hours the night before.
• why is it that 75% of my visitors at work are out of their minds drunk?
• kinda feel like shit right now.
• people are surprisingly non supportive about me getting into shape....but in a fun way.

quotes and conversations:

"There's a direct ratio.  As you soften, I harden.  You're doing yoga, and i'm turning into a foul mouthed asshole."
-Eddie

Me:  You've got a bat in the cave.
Eddie:  A bat...oh, an eye googie?
Me:  No dude.  A bat in the cave...did you say eye googie?
Goose:  Put that in the book.  He can't get away with that shit.

"At this place they'll make a wax mold of a vagina and give it to you."
-Corey

Me:  Whatta ya say Eddie?  Would you have a little casual sex with me if I took you to a nice dinner?  If I took you to Sebo and got you drunk on soju?
Eddie:  If you took me to Sebo...
Me:  Then we could just go back to your place.
Amy:  I think it's more like a wam-bam thank you maam in an alley.
Me:  That is more my style.
Amy:  I know it's more your style.

Me: OK.  Who would win in a fight:  A land shark or a sea bear?
Paulie:  Land shark.
Camaal:  Land shark.
Eddie:  It's gotta be the land shark.
Gerardo:  Sea bear.
Me:  Why?
Gerardo:  Cuz it's a fuckin' bear!
Me:  OK, same question, but this time it's between a four headed eagle and a flying rattlesnake.
Gerardo:  I got a rattlesnake for my tenth birthday.

Gerardo:  What the fuck is espinacas?
Me:  Spinach.......Gerardo, I don't want you using language like that in the kitchen.
Gerardo:  Spanish?

"Ah skeet skeet skeet.  That's right.  I said it."
-Eddie



from top: 3am stock, creamy head, corey, that was close, pork belly.

A good sin?

"You cannot humiliate the person who feels pride." -Cesar Chavez
"In general, pride is at the bottom of all great mistakes." -John Ruskin
"The truly proud man knows neither superiors nor inferiors. The first he does not admit of; the last he does not concern himself about." -William Hazlitt
"Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves; vanity, to what we would have others think of us." -Jane Austen
"There is this paradox in pride; it makes some men ridiculous, but prevents others from becoming so." -Charles Caleb Colton
"Pride comes before a fall." -Proverbs

The last five minutes of a thirty plate pickup on a busy night happen in a time warp. The momentum of four or five different stations slowly building together into an all out sprint while everyone rushes to plate, garnish, and clean plates before they head to the pass is one of the most dangerously beautiful things you could ever see. It's where finesse shows it's true face; elegant swipes of sauce, and garnishes placed like they were made of the most delicate material on earth. An efficient cook will take an extra moment right before the plate goes up to give the plate a quarter turn, adjust their gaze, then say goodbye forever. It's a picture of impermanence. Make it beautiful, wipe it clean, send it on its way. Until this happens:

Randy is on hot apps, and is behind on the pickup. He blasts his soup, scorching the bottom a bit, and when he goes to plate, the soup splatters and hisses on the edge of the pot. His plates end up with spots all over them, and he forgets to wipe his fingers off, leaving little fingerprints everywhere. The plates come back to be cleaned, and at the end of it all Randy is left getting shredded by the Chef de Cuisine as he stares at the floor.

"Are you giving up? It seems like you're just giving up. If you don't care anymore just tell me."
"I still care chef."
"Because seriously, I can get someone else. That was fucked."
"No chef, I can do it."
"Look, just care more. Take a little pride you motherfucker."

Pride. It's complicated. A cook that takes pride in their work will put out food that's elegant and delicious. They take the extra time to do things correctly the first time. They taste, and obsess, and relish in the glow of a happy guest. Every now and then, amidst the scowls and glares, you'll see a brief, soft smile flash across their face. You might not realize it, but they're enjoying themselves. Ego has almost nothing to do with their cooking. Instead you get a perfect blend of confidence tempered by humility. They respect tradition, and their fellow cooks. The idea of failing is almost as scary as getting into a fight for the first time. So they ball up their fists, puff out their chests, and go in swinging.

A cook that's prideful is a different thing altogether. They spend all their time in past (the last place I worked did this blahblah) or in the future (when I have my own place im gonna go in the dining room and tell the guest to fuck off!) and little to no time in the actual moment. A prideful cook feels a sense of entitlement, and believes they are the standard bearer when it comes to sanitation, mise, and life in general. They believe that they should be sous chef, or chef de cuisine, and will do anything to undermine those above them. They have a hard time believing that they could have made a mistake. (but I made it, how could it be wrong?) When things get busy an aura of hatred surrounds them. Care and love go out the window--if it was even there to begin with. At the end of service, theirs is the loudest voice; quick to point others failures and their own triumphs. In their own mind they are the image of what a cook should be. And this is just the tip of where the problems lie.

Throughout your career you're going to work with an unusual cross section of people. Social deviants, trust fund kids, and registered green party voters. Pride won't come easily to all of them. There will be too many distractions and pressures for them to focus in and just cook. They will forget why they got into restaurant life in the first place--if the even knew in the first place at all. In time, as they find their place in the kitchen, and their own style, pride will start to show its face. And as long as this person's goals stay in place, and their successes are coupled with humbling failure, there will be a beautiful, natural balance. And there is no other way.

notes:

• how did i miss my homie writing up our bbq?
• oh come on now. thanks for bringing on trouble.
• Jesse came into Nopa and wrote about it here. he's also putting on notoberfest with Ryan Farr on October 10th.
• have you seen Violet's URL shortener?
• 8 pages in, and my moleskin is falling apart
• that sound you heard this afternoon was brett favre breaking my damn heart
• really chef2chef? top 100 food blogs? does this site even count as a food blog anymore?
• hm.
  
• thank you interpol, avett brothers, and tv on the radio for getting me where I needed to go this week

quotes and conversations. extended sexy tv pop culture science fiction folsom street fair edition.

"Never trust a cook that wear cologne."
-Corey. Prefers a natural musk.

Ponder: Fuckin' Stand By Me. Makes me cry every time.
Me: You are the corniest tattooed punk guy I know.
Ponder: His boy gets stabbed in the throat and dies.
Me, to Merrell: Will you dab that up for him?
(Long pause)
Merrell: Oh. Did you mean his vagina?

Gerardo: I was trying to be gentile.
Me: Gerardo, gentile and gentle are not the same thing.

"Usually you give me four more inches and I don't have to bend over as much."
-Ponder. Likes a taller prep table and cutting board.

Me: So there's this show called Moonlighting. And it starred Bruce Willis and Cybil Shepard. They ran a detective agency, and got into adventures, and it was great because they never slept together. It was just platonic with this sexual tension. Until the third season where they fucked it all up. So why am I telling you this? Because sometimes its better to have the platonic friendship. Sometimes it's better not to sleep with the girl. Got it?
Camaal: (Nods)
Me: Paulie, you catch all that?
Paulie: Bruce Willis with hair?
(45 Minutes pass)
Me: It's like Scully and Mulder on the X-Files.
Camaal: Si, claro.

Eddie: Dude, you didn't tell me boning down with 400 people would hurt so much.
Me: Well have you ever boned down two times in a row? It hurts.
Goose: Yeah, but sometimes you just gotta push through.

Me: It's like Bosom Buddies. Only you guys hate each other. But im not sure who's Tom Hanks, and who's the other guy.
Corey: Peter Scolari. Don't ask me how I knew that.

Merrell: I just don't like that they think they can act any way they want because they're pretty.
Me: But look at Ponder.
Goose: Look at me!
Ponder: I'm not sure if we just made our point or lost the argument.

Me: Don't you feel like you have more energy now that you're eating better?
Merrell: About the same.
Me: Don't you feel like you have more energy now that you're drinking less?
Merrell: I'm not really drinking less.

"What kind of dom are you? You're not into leather??"
-Eddie. A good leather loving dom.

Eddie: Next time I want to see you pound that cheese like you fuckin' mean it.
Me: Who's being the dom now?
Eddie: Tables are turned huh?
Me: Yeah. I will slap you right in the face.
Eddie: On my giant chin.

Me: Did you just say sci-fi fantasies?
Eddie: Yeah, sci-fi.
Me: Well, I did write that erotic fan fiction centered around Princess Leia's copper bikini.
Eddie: Did you really?
Me: Yes. That's what I did yesterday.
Eddie: Well? You are a writer...
Me: Go cut a flatbread you whore.

Ponder: Where's Stevie Wonder? I don't wanna get caught staring.
Me: Dude, he's blind.
Ponder: I know he's blind!!

"You're looking a little yellow. No, not racially."
-Merrell. Racially sensitive.


from top: eddie's 28th, sauerkraut, alinea style, merrell's dumb ass nachos, menu writing, black cod, dinner, family menu, safe word, pray 4 dylan

Moderation.

I used to love it.  Getting off work after a busy night, salt still sticking to my forearms, I would head to the bar with my crew.  Once there we quickly put away a shot and a beer, and another, and another.  Then Kevin, the server that had almost 2k in sales (half coming in wine) would show up, start buying rounds, and the night would melt into oblivion.  Sometime around 3:30 I would find myself stumbling out of a dingy cooks apartment, wondering how to get home without killing myself.  The next day we would all wake up in absolute pain, head into work, and sweat it out on the stoves with few laughs between us.  There was a pattern to it, and we rarely strayed from it.  It was our right.  We were cooks. 

The thing is that once you get into the cooks lifestyle: the heat, the stress, the camaraderie, and the eventual reward at the end of it all...it becomes hard to let go of.  It starts to become less about a reward for yourselves at the end of the night and more about your nightly plans.  Everyone's sharpness becomes just a little more dull...but you tell yourself that its ok.  The team is stronger now...closer.  Isn't it?

Eventually, things start to fray.  Your grill guy, who already has a nasty habit of a liter of Pepsi and blunt to the head in the parking lot before work starts making frequent trips to bathroom during service.  His eyes are alert, but his jaw and edgy demeanor tell a different tale.  The food runner that cant remember table numbers was up until 5am with him doing coke, and they're both starting to make your evening very difficult.  Manuel, your fastest sautee cook has started asking for booze mid shift to quell his hangover, and by the end of the night everyone has had a sip.  Two months later you're dumber, slower, and fat.  But fuck it, because you're a real cook, right?

But here's the rub.  There are a lot of cooks out there that are smarter, more talented, and far more driven.  And they didnt stay up until 5am last night doing coke.  They don't drink on their shift.  They are so singularly motivated to be the best, to move up, and move on that with every hangover you get, they're leaving you behind.  Think about the crew at Alinea, or Laundry.  How can there be room for the fog of a big night out when you have a 15 hour day and the standard of perfection weighing on you?

By nature we are indulgent people.  Our jobs center around taking care of others.  We're surrounded by great food, lots of wine and booze, and like minded folks that got into this job because the monotony of a nine to five was never a viable option.  Cooks that think they're just doing whats expected are at best, a cliche.  At their worst, theyre alcoholics, or drugs addicts.  There is such a great deal of discipline in our work.  Why isn't that carrying over into our free time?

It's important to find a balance.  It's important to not take yourself too seriously, and not let the pressures of the job cave you in.  I think it's also important to remember that at the end of the day there is a greater responsibility to your craft.  It's not just about the daily drudgery--there has to be a bigger goal.  Life isn't just decaying slowly. 

"All things in moderation, including moderation."

— Mark Twain

notes:

• there was talk this week of mongoose on all fours, wearing a leash and collar, being held by ponder.  
• no, there was no writing in blood on my mirror.  but thank you for your concern.
• oh snap.
• who knew that pork bones are so hard to come by?
• congratulations to Ryan Farr and Cessaly on the birth of their new baby boy!
• im down for composting, but this little green bin the city gave me just isn't cutting it

quotes and conversations.


I'm pouring molasses into a pot.
Me:  Black tar heroin...
Goose:  I smoke that stuff in rehab one time.
Me:  Goose, rehab isn't for smoking black tar heroin!  It's for picking up on vulnerable women!

"Abuelita.  I like Grandmas."
-Camaal

Corey:  Hey dude, if I were single would you bone down with me?
Me:  No.  (long pause)  If I were single would you bone down with me?
Corey:  Hell yeah dude.
Me:  I thought so.  Sorry about that.

Me:  What color is that guys fixie?
Dega:  He doesn't ride a fixie.  Didn't you see how fat he is?

Goose:  Who got the plastic wrap?
Merrell:  Yo mama.
Goose:  My mama didn't use plastic wrap.  That's how I came to be.

"I not that beautiful, I not that handsome.  But I am fucking chingon."
-Camaal.

"I guess for some people it would feel good to hold someone's cock, but for me it would be really, really strange."
-Mongoose.




from top:  soba, moleskins, farms up/hoes down?, figs and walnuts, snails in the spinach, they match, pappardelle, vongole, jellyfish, sloppy joe on bread, ramen stock, family meal showdown, ramen, noodles, a clean kitchen

Perfect?

Question of the week: Is there such a thing as a "perfect" dish? Have you eaten one? Have you cooked one? What was it?
libertyhuang@linecook My Uncle Jerry's braised pork belly is my fav dish ever.
Gingerthegirl@linecook I could wax all poetic on a lot of dishes I've had, but I what know is this: the hungrier I am, the more "perfect" a dish tastes.
shepdave@linecook no such thing as a "perfect" dish. 4 me every dish is an evolution 2wards the best possible dish. that said:sushi@tsukiji =perfect
JessPav@linecook There's no such thing as a perfect dish. Just like there's no such thing as a perfect poem. It can always be improved on.
RFaucette@linecook yes I think you can make a "perfect" dish. It may only be perfect to you though. I don't think it can be perfect for everyone.
rupski23@linecook I think perfect meals can be acheived more often than we think. Often, it's a question of being perfect for that moment
sfmongoose@linecook yaaaaa........... my calamari dishes hahaha
Pav1ov@linecook I got brain lock thinking of an answer! Ass kickin question. Simply put, the answers are all no. But it's something we are all ...
hollowspring@linecook The best is wild strawberries just picked from the plant.
MatthewSievert@linecook I feel good when I execute good food for others. Obtaining perfection or eating perfection can be a curse and a goal.
CNrecords@linecook the perfect dish after surfing is either; a) smoked fish sandwich w/ tomato and cold drink or b) burger and a cold drink.
HeatherHAL@linecook I think perfection lies in the simple things, like a roasted chicken. I'm getting there!
dianasaurusrex@linecook I think a great BLT w/avocado can be the perfect food. I had a sous vide lobster once @ The French Laundry that was perfection!
tablehopper perfect dishes: the watermelon pickle/pork belly number at fatty crab, and the cha ca la vong version at betelnut haunts me.

I've only experienced it a handful of times in my life--about the same amount of times that i've been in love, gotten into fistfights, or felt rock bottom misery. The times when it's shown itself were quiet, almost terrifying. In the heat of service, going a million miles an hour, you stand up from being crouched over your plating. Looking down, you're not sure whats going on right away. You turn the plate to the right, then to the left. Then it dawns on you: the plating composition is perfect. Every element is resting perfectly. This becomes your model for the rest of the night. At the end of service you cook the dish for yourself, and call over all of the other cooks. There are mutters of "fuckin nice plates dude" and "you frills motherfucker, look at this thing." As you all dig in, everyone goes silent. Your grill guy breaks the silence.
"That's a bad ass dish. Everything works. It's just...."
"Perfect."
It's the kind of dish that you never get bored of cooking, or eating. After a few weeks of running it, you decide to take it off the menu--if only to give your guests something else...and then they start demanding that you bring it back. In an attempt to re-capture the magic of that plate, you push and stress and obsess. Mostly all you end up creating are poor amalgams of the original...until, if you're lucky (or insanely talented) you find your way back to something truly beautiful.

It's something that ive wondered about for a while. How does one attain perfection? For the longest time I was convinced that I wanted a 4 star restaurant. A place to make an attempt at being perfect every night. But lately i've felt like perfection has more to do with the people cooking and eating, and less to do with the people talking about it. Cant perfection be found in a taco, or a bowl of pasta? Isn't a fresh sand dab, or a warm pizza fresh out of the oven perfect in its own right? Have you had Tom McNaughton's cappelletti with crescenza, corn, and truffles? It's perfect. Have you had Daniel Patterson's "Earth and Sea" dish? Perfect. Have you had Oysters and Pearls at Luandry? Yes...its perfect. Shit, even Ryan Farr's zilladog flirts with perfection. Im inclined to think that perfection has less to do with composure and ingredient, and more to do with focus, commitment, and love.

Ruhlman wrote extensively about perfection in The Soul of a Chef. There's that quote from Thomas Keller about attaining it...how when you reach it, it becomes something else. Most chefs will tell you that it doesn't exist. Im inclined to disagree. You see, what really matters is that a dish is perfect to you. Even if you're the salad guy at The Olive Garden. If you can find beauty...harmony...and peace on the plate, then what others say doesnt mean shit. For years ive told my cooks that I didnt care if they were perfect--I only wanted them to try to be perfect. Now I can see just how much I meant that. At the end of the day, what's really important in your kitchen? Are you cooking for critics? Are you worried about yelpers? Or are you doing it from within? Are you doing it out of love? Are you doing it because you cant see doing anything else?


notes:

• buzz aldrin and buzz lightyear. not the same.
• maritess loves it when I wear v-neck t-shirts
• broccoli di cicco and a soft boiled egg = the perfect mid shift snack
• go buy the morning benders ep. right now.
• podcasts are back next week!
  
• only eating vegetables for dinner doesn't seem so crazy anymore
• i get the feeling im going to have a lot of news for you guys in the following months
• more thunder and lightning please. just not striking nick and janessa's house.
• the twitter bbq was great...met new folks, saw old friends, drank a wide variety of booze, and passed around an enormous bottle of sparkling wine. thanks to everyone that came out--it was a fun day. Again next year? Re-caps are here (boobs4food) and here (lickmyspoon)

quotes and conversations.

"You wanna see my bare minimum? I'll show you my sugar lumps too."
-Corey. Wants to share.

Dega: New rule. If you call me Dega, you have to say "Degaba."
Me: Why, do you have swampy pants?
(that's a star wars jokes for the uninitiated)

Me: Did you know that if you plant a lobster in the ground you can grow lobster mushrooms?
Eddie: That's gross.
Merrell: That's not true. Is it?

"You should be pounding Gatorade right now. Or something."
-Dega.

"Coyotes saved his life."
-Camaal. Has a hilarious story about Gerardo being raised by coyotes.

Me: Gerardo, come massage Ponder's ass.
Gerardo: Deep tissue?

Me: How about a nice garden salad, or some whole grains?
Corey: I had a green salad for dinner last night. (pause) I lied. I had pizza and melted brie on crostini.

Me: Dega, I see you returned to the look.
Dega: What? What did you say?
Me: I said you're a stupid hipster and I hate your guts.
Dega: I hate you even more!

"Hey dude. I pooped on my pen."
-Corey. He really did poop on his pen.

Me: We should grate it on a sharkskin.
Al: I have one of those at home. I have a whole shark!

"If you wear an Ed Hardy shirt, that's a deal breaker."
-Mongoose. And he's right.




from top: figs, roasting, apples, fruit, snoopy, oakland, 4505 dogs, stay up late, dega, eddie, serg, kate, luis, anne, matt, ryan, joey, brandon, corey, the scene, cupcakes, porchetta, lengua, @coreynead