Post Valentine's Day self reflection.

St. Valentine was an Italian…

The day after Valentine’s Day, San Valentino (along with St. Patrick, San Patrizio), was an Italian priest for whom the holiday is named for, brought in quite the crowd to Zeppelin. Lorenzo prescribed a 6 course tasting of interesting, unique combinations, as well as clean simple dishes for his dining room full of infatuated food lovers. The show went smoothly, as if it had been rehearsed thousands of times before. Glitches, mistakes were expected, and we remained steady and determined to conquer the evening’s affairs. Many of the A.I. students were in the restaurant tonight, some working front of the house positions, seating guests and bussing tables, while two were dutifully focused in on the kitchen, assembling plates and trying to help the chefs prepare each course. Yet, it seemed that there was a lacking presence or their other peers. One, who had cut himself earlier in the day, snuck out before the rush, another, who clearly couldn’t care any less about food, Italy, culture or, well, much of anything for that matter, hasn’t made an appearance in the restaurant in over 3 days. It leads me to divisively analyze what the purpose of their being here is. Why travel thousands of miles from home, take up time and space in a live kitchen, and be completely ignorant of your surroundings, language, habits and history. It is idiotic to me, that of 8 students, 2 have dedicated themselves in the kitchen. One of them is completely new to food, and she’s growing by the minute that she is here, and likely to gain 10 fold over her fellow students. The other, cannot take criticism, believes that he’s supremely talented, and hasn’t swallowed his empty pride to accept that he’s merely a student, and not nearly a chef.

As I write this, I’m hesitant, because I know that my cocky arrogance only a year ago was met by the hard reality for which I was not prepared, or simply, that I had not yet achieved the knowledge, experience and learned the readily available lessons in the kitchen, but it is appalling to me, to witness from the third person how oblivious these “students” are. They are picky eaters, and complain regularly. They are finicky cooks, who are scared to ask questions. When they are given advice, or even shown a more effective technique for simple knife work, the next day, they’re reverted back to their old ways, passing on an opportunity to improve themselves. This series of repetitive disregard, has forced me to analyze myself more than once, to shine an invasive light on the corners of my intent, to examine my ‘chefness’. As of yet, my self-examination yields no findings other than the very real result of my growing awareness for avoiding, at all costs, working in another environment with people, cooks or chefs who embrace this fraudulent nature among them. One strong proponent scathed with these abhorrent character traits can drain an entire team of strong willed, dedicated, independently motivated people, and over time, transform the troop into a dreary, feet-dragging, shoulder-sagging, slow-moving, pouty, whiney twits.

I cannot allow them to have any effect on me. As a group, the daily routine of cleaning up after their lackluster kitchen performances has, in turn, led me to slowly turn bitter in my work. The plague has a hold on me, but I’m not letting that beast burden me with its self-loathing and disregard for what is truly great about cooking: THAT I ENJOY IT. I’m not the greatest cook in the world, and I don’t expect to be, but I certainly have a better grasp on what I’m doing with a knife and a sauté pan then I did as an associates culinary student. They won’t ask me questions, because I don’t sugar coat my voice. I’m sorry, you’ve aggravated every proud bone of the cook inside me, so you’ll get my answer in the most professional tone possible. I’m not intent on nursing you with lullabies so that your precious little ego won’t suffer from being told in a direct, concise, effective manner how to adjust your knife, or when to put your mirepoix in the pan to sauté. Please, if you’re not a cook, don’t pretend to want to become a chef, it’s humiliating to me and, more so, those who study at your restaurant, educational institution, or other kitchen environment. My diploma says that I learned a lot at Johnson & Wales. My resume, in accordance, mentions my formal education only after the list of real-life learning that I’ve absorbed in the last 5 kitchens in which I have been employed. Neither my studies at school, nor my hard-knocks experience is more valuable than the other, and reasonably, each begets the other, making my degree more prominent in its title to me, because it has allowed me to expand my abilities through putting my hands directly in the mess, and come out relatively unscathed.

It will not be handed to me, nor will it be set gracefully in the palm of your hand for ease of accessibility. Call yourself a chef all you want, but if there is a moment when finding the value of ITALY’s food culture, habits and history is difficult, rethink your self-proclaimed title. When selecting your produce, sustainability, locality, freshness and quality do not retain their need-no-introduction, self appreciating value, perhaps you may have overlooked some detail in your process. If (and this is enormous for you meat-eaters out there, those of us who are passionate about pork, bonkers for bacon, cheery for chicken, fanatics for foie gras, and boosters for beef) you have the slightest inclination to ignore the outstanding purpose and value of witnessing and or slaughtering yourself, every type of animal you ingest, then not only are not a chef, you’re a member of the ignorant, self deprecating, declining moral majority of western humanity. There is a greater disconnect than ever between us, the predator, and our 4-legged dinners, our prey, which allows major market players to manipulate, inject with hormones and other un-natural drugs into the food which we rely on every day.

This is our reality. The lackluster education leads to the absent minded consumer and then completely destroys that which we rely on; our own self sufficiency. Selfish, lazy students, who become selfish, lazy ‘kitchen managers’ are not going to heed the warnings. It has become the responsibility of the limited number of self determined, self educated, which I use in the manner that our learning does not cease and desist upon exiting the classroom, to reconstruct the foundation of healthy food by supporting agricultural advocates who know how to and proudly do it properly. This is the extent of my self-imposed internal inquiry into my motivations and determined affairs. I am dedicated, and driven to become a true chef, who respects the seasons, and who wants to understand the complete value of every piece of food that I place on my work station. I have 9 days left in Italy. I need to find my next place to land. If it’s Castle Hill, I’d be elated, but one thing I’ve learned from being in Orvieto is that I need to see more, and if that means passing on an excellent job, to take the risk of adventuring to a new location, to broaden my cultural horizon, then so be it. I like Oregon for their attempts at sustainability. I like San Francisco (besides the cost of living) for the extensive seasonality displayed by their restaurant scene. I like NYC, but am skeptical of my readiness for, what I like to call “The Show” in American food. Where will I end up? All I know is that come February 25, 2009, I’ll be stateside, and on the prowl, looking where to hone my skills, to refine my abilities, and maybe it will be in a kitchen near you!

Go Slow, Stay Local
Va Piano, Rimane Locale.