LCFL #016// The Hole Left Behind By Charlie Trotter

I was young man, maybe seventeen, eighteen, the first time I was told about Charlie Trotter. By then his eponymous restaurant had already been around for a decade, breaking ground on new culinary territory, redefining the American dining experience. Like so many, I was not one of the lucky few able to experience any of his food first hand. I can, however, detail exactly which of his books and recipes changed how I perceived cuisine. His philosophies were motivating factors in my development as a cook in so far as I regularly went to Meat & Game to steal a technique. His dessert book was how I learned how to work with chocolate - or rather, how I learned why I am not made to work with chocolate. Sugar though? Carmel cages, spun sugar?
Yeah, thanks for that, Charlie.
When I read his take on foie, how he stopped serving it, I could think of nothing other than the amount he had already served prior to his ethical shift tipped the scale so much that he would never morally catch up. I overuse a quote of his from meat and game all the time: "Of course if you want to make it ridiculous, just add some foie gras and black truffle." The laziest sentence of this pioneer's written works, mind you, but it illustrates just how he continued to let his food theory evolve over time, perpetually. Always thinking, always growing.
Always teaching.
My mentor taught me that, among other more dubious talents, a cook who can do his job and still find time to make those around him better by example and teaching is a chef. Through Trotter's various foundations and charities he taught a new generation of chefs, educated them both personally and by way of scholarships.
What a dude.
The only way I could figure to even attempt an homage was via tasting menu.
A few weeks after the chef's death I offered a prix fix menu of some of his more memorable - and executable - dishes. I offer a few pages from my journal - no 'dear diary' shit, mind you, but rather my records, the meticulously kept of the goings on in my kitchen.
It reads as follows, sans prep lists:

My Chuck Trotter Memorial Menu:

Course One: Crab Roll & Tuna "Tartare" with Crushed Black Sesame Seed Vinaigrette & Coriander Juice
Course Two: Black Olive & Mushroom Stuffed Pork Belly with Caperberries & Garlic Chives
Course Three: Cumin-Coriander Scented Lamb Tenderloin with Cucumber Yogurt Sauce & English Peas
Course Four: Beef cheeks with Gnocchi Gallette & Hedgehog Mushrooms
Course Five: Monkfish with Artichokes, Black Truffle & Hedgehog Mushrooms In Broth
Course Six:  Duck with Organic Root Vegetables & Legume Sauces
Course Seven: Poached Pears Wrapped In Brioche with Armagnac Ice Cream

NOTES ON ONE:

11/9 // Gonna do the baby eels or the tuna and crab roll from Fish. Can Emilio find me eels???
11/12 // Baby eels appear to be a myth in the northeastern US in November. Maybe forever. Onward.
11/18 // Emilio can get me the tuna, the monk(C5) and peekytoe by Wednesday. Get it in and hustle it up. Re. Tuna- pound it out like carpaccio. Pretty sure the recipe is inaccurate - no mention of the technique or ratios for a papaya slaw the recipe calls for. Kleb caught that. Good boy. Going to get by with frisee instead of the corn shoots cause there aren't any in November.
11/19 // Why has no one shown me this peekytoe crab before. It the dogs balls, fer sure. Sweeet. Fudged a papaya slaw. The idea of using sesame seeds in a crushed form has never occurred to me. I'm the dumbest. Still wish I can eat avocado.
11/20 // After a service it has been decided that this dish is easy enough to menu and is a winner. Jesus the dude was smart.


NOTES ON TWO:
11/11 // Doing the belly from Meat & Game because I got some freshies at the farm available. Film at eleven.
11/17 // Belly came in from the farm - the ham hocks are back too. Not baby belly like the recipe calls for, but who is getting fucking baby bellies??? Got some hocks for a split pea, but that's not for this week. Decided to brine belly, even if its not in the book. Makes sense. Just overnight.
11/18 // Roasted those bad boys off. Stuffing was a lot saltier than anticipated. When it came out it ended up flavoring the belly so perfectly. I hate Chuck and his talent. Not fair. Anyway. Cracklin was indeed good, call Mike tomorrow and thank him. Good pigs equal good food. Appreciated purveyors equal good prices.
11/19 // I hate caper berries. Just saying. I know you called for them, Charlie, and I'm keeping them in the dish, but they're gonna come back on every plate.
11/22 // Nobody seemed to eat the caper berries. I wonder if Chicago did.

NOTES ON THREE:
11/12 // Bossman likes aesthetic of Lamb Tendo from Meat and Game. Go on that. I wonder how pricey cardemom is?
11/18 // Why don't I use coriander seed more frequently???
11/20 // Had a custy complain that the cucumber yogurt was cold. Did you deal with this Chuck? Am I to blame my wording, the server's bumbled discription, my lack of time spent with the said server in educationg him on the dish... Yogurt.
11/25 // This was the one that was not well received. Bossman said it was a "bad dish." I said Charlie didn't have bad dishes. He said I must've executed something incorrectly. Valid. Unrelated note: He didn't try it.

NOTES ON FOUR:
11/12//Beef Cheeks readily stocked you say, Kelly? Well, you certainly know your way into my heart. Make it so!!! It's in Meat & Game. Am I going too hard on that book? Getting too hard more like.
11/18 // Never realized how lovely beef cheeks were or what I was missing out on. My oxtail sauce would be nice with these. Schlenker's got the hedgehogs at $65/lb. Outrageous. Pay the cost to give thanks to a boss.
11/19 // Got the call from Schlenker's who confirmed my fancy shrooms, but at 1/3 of what I ordered.  I bitched, got the price down. Thank god the cheeks require like 6 each of tiny guys. Make it happen. Rest of produce was gorgeous. Coming by 3:30 I guess.
11/24 // I can't get over, even after five services, how satisfying putting this plate up was. So lovely.

NOTES ON FIVE:
11/11 // I'm doing the monk because cleaning the monk makes me feel special. I like grossing people out.
11/19 // Monkfish came today and therefore so did I. Every action has and equal and opposite reaction. Cleaning monk makes me feel better than I actually am.
11/20 // Chokes came in last minute. Seriously. Sauce was still simmering when first was ordered. Not gonna lie - bullshitted my way through the first one. Sorry guy, but early bird gets the not-quite-finished dish. Dinner time is six, right? Excuses. I'm just not good enough to hack my way through a case of chokes in less than thirty.
11/23 // I wish everything was a one pan dish. I'm gonna menu some version of this technique. Wizz bang, Magic, wizz bang. Sooo tasty too. No butter! Inconceivable.

NOTES ON SIX:
11/6 // No idea what else is going down but I'm gonna do the grouse dish as a nod to Trotter. Dead yesterday. He needs the Speaker For The Dead treatment here in Rochester. I'm gonna do that at least.
11/8 // Gonna do a whole tasting! The grouse will be the centerpiece, the main. Solid.
11/16 // Eighty six the grouse. Got the Hudson valley duck. First peg pulled out of my plan to follow the books completely. What other sacrifices are going to be necessary???
11/19 // These legume sauces are going to make me reconsider my idea of purees. Whole avenues as of yet unexplored.
11/20 // Never ever ever ever ever going to attempt an eight pan dish again. Reappraise, reevaluate, reattempt tomorrow. How did you do this one Chuck?!
11/21 // Squeeze bottles!!!
11/25 // Looking back on this one years down the road and I will remember this week/end and this menu, this dish specifically, as a turning point in my career. I felt equally dressed down and clever as fuck in the execution of this dish. To accomplish this one plate whilst juggling regular service and the other courses was beyond me, yet it happened. It felt out of body. I haven't been weeded like that in some time. I did that to myself. I'm not sure how Trotter's was outfitted to do this dish but it musty have been different. Had to be. I want it to be known that I am a better cook because of this dish. "Break you down to build you up like forgotten monuments" - J5.

NOTES ON THE SEVEN:
11/16 // The baker's doing this one for me!!! Yayyyyyyy!!!
11/17 // I still have to google which is which pear variety. You'd think that a professional chef can keep bartlett, d'anjou and bosc straight. Nope. Fuck them.
11/19 // Zach is ridiculous. I know he followed a recipe and I know he's great. Christ. He killed it, he slayed it, he knocked it dead.
11/24 // I have never seen people cream over a dessert like this one. Period. Game over. You win, Chuck, you win.

So, Chuck, know that you have left a series of imitators such as myself wishing you hadn't. Your contributions to American cuisine cannot be overstated. The inspiration I have gotten from your printed works and photography have fueled my career. In trying to execute a full tasting menu of the closest things I could do I gained a new respect for what you gave us. It wasn't easy. Its difficult to execute your level of elegant simplicity and my palette was surprised time and again over the week during both service and prep. Your food made me feel better about myself as a linecook and lacking as a chef.
I implore anyone reading this who is unfamiliar with this great chef's works to hit your local library, online resources and Amazon. Read! Discover the works of one of the greats. He helped put America into the global discussion, helped us define American cuisine as something other than various fusions or burgers.
Charlie Trotter brought our food to the world. He was to Thomas Kellar what John the Baptist was to Jesus. Too grandiose? A few years before the French Laundry became Kellar's and new parameters were defined about what is our nation's cuisine, Trotter's was challenging the diner, preparing them for what was about to come.
I am forever grateful for your contributions, Chef.

James Pawl Kane
Chef & Fanboy

The Transient Bartender 2

Look at that dreamer

I remember my first job in a real restaurant. Much like many of the greats - as well as many of our friends associated with L.C.F.L. - it was washing dishes. My first job in the restaurant was dish bitch. I loved it. To me, washing dishes was Zen. I put on my tunes and helped out the restaurant wherever and whenever I could. I got the job because I wanted to go to California really badly to visit some friends. One of the first things I did was hang up a photo of sunny palm-clad beaches on the dishwasher so I wouldn’t forget what the fruits of the labor were. It was in the back of the house that I fell in love with restaurants and the industry. Wet and tired (and often the last one at the restaurant) are the adjectives that described my aura as I fell in love with everything that was happening. I was primed for the back-of-the-house life and (as I mentioned before) I briefly worked on the line. It was at a hell of a steak house and my first real job on the line was what I like to call the “baco-bit station.” I loved it, though. I loved creating and making dishes that people trusted me enough to consume. My life in the BOH was short lived because a cutie server decided that she wanted to see me out front more often. I was hesitant, but departed for the FOH for two reasons. 1.Damn, AC feels nice in the summer and 2. Girls. I made the transition and started hosting. Then serving. Eventually I was serving at the place just north of Boston after just turning 21. It was January 2^nd, 2006 when I was at work serving a lunch shift. The GM just got off the phone and was super pissed. He threw the phone down and told all the FOH staff that the day bartender, “Jackie”, broke her arm in a drunken NYE piggyback ride and he needed a day bartender. I said that I would do it. Since then my life at restaurants (specifically behind the bar) was cemented. I FUCKING LOVE THIS. I’ve been bartending on and off for almost a decade now. I’ve thrown away my blacks (uniform) three times now, but I always come back. I can’t quit you baby.

A motivating factor

When it really comes down to it, my life and career in restaurants has been a series of firsts or new beginnings, if you will. It’s hard to explain the feeling of starting at a new restaurant or starting a new role in one, but I can imagine that anyone in the industry has their own unique stories and observations. When I start at a new bar the first thing is learning where everything is. Whisky here, vodka there, ice everywhere but immediately beyond that is when it gets deeper. What is the patois of the restaurant? How does this place specifically make a Pimm’s cup or a Wedge? How can I fit in or what is my role with the bartenders? What’s the menu? Who are my new customers? Whose ass do I need to kiss? Who is the bitch I can hand off the menial tasks? There's a suite of other questions/thoughts. These questions aren’t immediately answered and we’re forced to live in the sometimes invigorating, sometimes uneasy, malaise of it all.

I’m bringing this up because I have recently moved from Rochester to Brooklyn. The first night I was here I went up onto the roof of my building and thought about a hell of a lot. I missed friends from old places and I was excited about new places. I was anxious and excited about finding my role in a new and dynamic city. I was superficially nervous about the uniform…what should I wear?! I sat on my Brooklyn roof looking at a lit up and brilliant Manhattan skyline while sipping a rocks glass of bourbon and I cried. It is so hard to leave a place that you know well, especially when people appreciate you and want you there. There have been times when I moved before and I just said, “Fuck you all, I’m out” and been done with it, but this time was different. I was on the roof and thought about a place I had worked in Rochester. A small ass place with people that were passionate about food and service. I left because of disagreements with ownership, but I couldn’t shake how much the staff meant to me. I left, missing the best kitchen I have ever worked with and one of the best front of the house staffs that exist in Rochester.

The restaurant is truly a microcosm for life, at least for me and the majority of lifers. New beginnings bring excitement. I don’t know anyone who hasn’t gotten giddy when they start a new phase or experience something new and wonderful. Although so much of that new excitement is tempered by a reverence to the good things that you had going. I want to live in that. Upward and onward, but respect to the kitchens and dining rooms or cities of the past.

I love it down here and I’m excited to expand our LCFL locale.    -Brian-

Retreat

            In Scott Hass' book Back of the House: The Secret Life of a Restaurant he recounts his time spent with Chef Tony Maws and his crew at Craigie on Main, delving into the dynamic intermingling of personalities that inevitably arises within the unique environment of a restaurant. Hass focuses upon specific character traits that allow for Chef Maws to manage the disparate personalities within his employ, but inevitably the author relates the narrative of a familial institution with the Chef established in a patriarchal role. The book becomes a story of many personal struggles, with each individual attempting to survive and flourish within the unique environment of the restaurant, while reconciling their own desire to enter into the world of professional cookery with the realities of that decision.

            Within Hass' recounting of the dynamics of the Craigie family one can find similarities within all restaurants, as these kinds of social relationships inevitably emerge in these work environments. The cook enters into the kitchen, willing to sacrifice a part of his or her identity to become a member of a team. The individual self becomes influenced by the restaurant self, which is defined by one's role within the operation and inevitably becomes associated with the familial architecture that defines the institution. As the cook sacrifices the time that could be spent engaging in relationships with family and friends outside of work, he or she replaces these relationships with those that exist behind swinging doors and mimic the structure of those bonds that they have foregone. The problem with the emergence of this collision between personal and professional relations within the restaurant space is often the absence of balance. The cook sacrifices too much in pursuit of his or her professional goals, ignoring those relationships with family and friends that have sustained him or her prior to the commitment to a kitchen. The individual self is often sacrificed in its entirety to the professional self, as one invests too greatly in the perceived familial structure that restaurants construct.

            Within my own inherited family, we recently embarked upon the companies annual retreat to our owner's farm just north of the Catskills. The retreat is a great sigh of relief following the hardships of an erratic Summer, and a deep breath before the plunge into a decidedly busy holiday season. Pig, whiskey and wood smoke abound in this communal moment defined by a spirit of conviviality. But it is also an intersection of identities, with this display of the individual self in the context of one's restaurant family. We revert to our defined roles, with cooks cleaning the kitchen, building the fires, and preparing the food, while the FOH busies themselves with preparing the dining space, handing out beers, and ensuring that each attendee is enjoying themselves to the fullest. It is a conscious acceptance of duties, confirming the strength of the architecture to which we have submitted in pursuit of a goal that is greater than any of our individual aspirations; however, it becomes something else considering the presence of the individual self of the employee within the context of the restaurant family. Plaid and boots have replaced our whites and clogs, but our roles remain fixed while in the presence of our unrestricted personalities.

 

            Upon our return to a more familiar setting we bring with us a heightened awareness of our compatriots, a more nuanced discernment for the personalities that comprise the restaurant family. Waking to find a handwritten accounting of the past night's events tucked within the tents and sleeping bags of those encircling a dying fire, while witnessing the spectacle of a crew emerging from an impromptu, drunken cheese bombardment will often promote such an appreciation for character. With this, those defining facets of our identities are masked to a lesser extent by the uniformity of our attire, the costume of our craft, while our appreciation for the opportunity that our roles present is similarly more evident. This retreat not only provides perspective, but seemingly effects the balance of our selves. Great kitchens are often comprised of an assemblage of well greased and assembled cogs, but for the sake of those employed within these machines we must find cohesion between our association with a restaurant and our individual self. A great employer will never require the submission of our identities for the sake of the product, as food without the encroachment of personality will never please the customer so much as the chill residing upon a sterile plate that is above technical reproach. Bearing a heightened awareness of this collision, I seek to embrace my identity within the context of my commitment to a restaurant and those within its employ, in an attempt to balance the personal and professional self and my dedication to these families, both real and imagined. Line Cook For Life.  

Ian

LCFL #015// What I'm Thankful For

All had huge helpings of revisionist history.

To a line cook the holidays are brutal. Not just the "when every one's off is when we're busy"-thing, but everyone else is insane this time of year too. I love that my restaurant is jamming and my cooks are getting the hours they have wanted all year. I am thankful for the added revenue. There is no break though. Just a relentless stream of customers and oh so little time to prep for them. All these guests who themselves are all anxious because of the insane day they've had in the consumer hell of strip malls and department stores. Instances of unhappy customers increase because of this. People become harder to make happy with the same level of food and service - or is it because, all of a sudden, my staff and I have forgotten what a mid-rare steak looks like? More likely, it is because you stood in line for Santa's picture with your crying, snot-nosed nephews that you don't even like? Be honest.

My Holiday Spirit

When the people walk in the door upset, stressed and angry it is very hard to change that.
People seem to want to feed their own irritation this time of year, not just their bellies.
Lets examine the phenomenon that is 'The Holidays.' Primarily, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah, Saturnalia, Dvali, New Years and Festivus (thank you, Jerry Stiller, I'm thankful for you). I'm sure there are several others, the solstices are huge for celebrations regardless of the faith involved. As many holidays as there are people to celebrate them. All sorts of shit goes down this time of year, especially in the US where there is more diversity, the theoretical melting pot. Here we have a 'War on Christmas' evidently, that includes all the other non-christian holidays simply asking for a little respect and recognition and Christians getting touchy about it. I don't go in for much of that religious garbage however, so personally, Christmas is the absolute worst mash-up of hoodoo mumbo jumbo and capatalistic stroke fest. And New Year's Eve is the most insane day of the restaurant calander and the week leading up to it is full of panic, stress and pressure that it is completely impossible to enjoy any of it. New Year's Eve is such a wild night that every year I get sick immediatly afterwards simply due to anxiety release.

Our  Epic Saturnalia Roast 

There is one of these days that, for me as a line cook, stands out.

A day that involves no invisible men in the sky or shopping for unnecessary trash for people you don't like.
A day that focuses on feasting, food and family.
A day to stop and take account for those who help and those who create.
A day where its fine to have one too many and pass out on your mother in-law's couch, zero judgement.
A day out of the year you can be certain no one is coming into your restaurant.
A day where the family looks towards you for guidance and advice as opposed to the rest of the year where they look down upon you from their high rise office jobs and cubicles and wonder why you smell like french fries. The one day your skill set makes you more valuable than your brother who has a wife and a degree, despite your addiction issues.
A day whose sheer meaning is to eat far too much.
A day I am thankful for.
I'm talking Thanksgiving.
Holy shit, is there a better day on the restaurant calender?
Its also the only day people want turkey, evidently. I've been cooking professionally for twenty years and outside of deli meat, nobody wants turkey. Not once have I ever served roasted turkey breast, starch and veg with gravy. I can't remember seeing sous-vide turkey in Keller's books. When was the last time turkey was served at Le Bernardine? Its a special once a year kind of thing.

Cockentrice. Yummers.

Whose kidding though? Everyone's mom's turkey is dry and overcooked. Don't pull it out of the oven when it is 165, for chrissakes! Pull it at 150 and let is rest for twenty. Carve it into your basic eight piece bird breakdown, then flash it all in the oven right before slicing it.
Everything is dry at 165.
Sorry, you know I love your mom.
The guys over at EpicMealtime.com have shown us all nutty ways of upping the turkey game. Or the trending idea of the cocketrice from medieval Europe. Someone go get me a needle and thread - thanksgiving is tomorrow!

The Kane-Meinhold
Thanksgiving Bird

Anyway, its the fucking sides that make the feast awesome - am I right??? Cranberry jelly, mash of all varieties, asparagus, butternut squash, beans, greens, sweet potato pie (fuck off with the marshmallows, gran!), rolls, croissants and gravy, gravy, gravy. Gravy on everything!
The one time of year when everyone wants to be a better cook and multitask like a pro. However, we professionals are generally watching everyone try to do this and being instruted not to help because, "You cook everyday. Relax. Have a beer, watch some football."
Trust me - and I think I can speak for most line cooks around this country when I say this - we want to help you because we want good food to eat for ourselves. We want to help you so you can avoid stitches on Thanksgiving because, jesus! Look at the way you hold a knife. We want to help most of all because we are not good for much else. Plus we want good food. A few years back I was sat to a Weight Watchers Thanksgiving - no butter, no oil. I flipped out, made a scene, and brown-bagged bologne sandwiches to Christmas dinner hosted by the same people. It took a while for me to get into good graces with those cats. You know how I did it? That's right! I did both meals the next year. 
Boom.
Besides, I drink beer everyday. I will drink while I cook. After too. And while eating dinner.Come to think of it, I drink better than you do as well. Add it to the list.
I am thankful for you needing me to cook you dinner.
James Pawl Kane