LCFL 016// A Restaurant Heart of Darkness

In November I was contacted by a gentleman interested in contributing to LCFL. He had an unique flare for language, had a fresh lamb skin from an acclaimed culinary academy and a new position about to begin. He was going  right into kitchen manager of a very busy corporate kitchen in a major metropolitan area as his first gig post degree. Like, $12 million net busy. The only jobs he had - prior to school - had been as a server in several small independent bistro.

He was essentially diving headfirst into the belly of the beast.

Perfect. 

Immediately, several ideas for articles and recordings for our overall project started to run through our head. The collective head of LCFL was spinning with the possibilities. I was salivating at the plethora of outcomes to this experience that was happening to this young cook. My professional opinion was that it was not going to be pretty. Actually, my first response was to try to explain the red flags going off in my head. Wheels were already in motion, hands were already shook.

What would you do if you knew when a car wreck was gonna happen, knowing it was too late to prevent it, knowing that at best you were showing up a mere matter of seconds before the initial fender bender that becomes a fifteen car pileup? I didn't want his post-school passion and excitement at the challenge to become yet another industry wash-out. 

I decided to become an outlet for him. We set up an open channel of communication for all manner of observations, good and bad. We agreed to keep it completely anonymous and to protect his professional integrity despite the lack of professionalism a project like this is built upon. 

Christ, he signed a confidentiality agreement prior to even contacting me.To be honest, that is what led him to trust LCFL more than his new corporate masters from the get, the fact that a confidentiality agreement was involved.

We will call him simply T.

Over the last few months, the project that formed was simply a journal. The details of his situation became more and more complicated after his hire date and step by step the plot thickened. The following is the first in an installment tracking his decent into the world of corporate chain cookery. All I had to do was edit out all names, places, and specifics that would incriminate. The man needs to keep his job, regardless of how we - the readers - view the quality of said job. 

Those cooking school debts.

Please, consider:

12/5

I knew this move would be dicey, but these people do some numbers. I want to make numbers. Fast cars and women are my hobbies. Need money. I never made more than nine an hour prior to school. I'm going to have a lot of nine an hour guys on the line. I gonna have a lot of guys on the line.
Numbers.
I've seen a few big facilities - convention centers, hotels. I walked through some Disney kitchens.
For a place slinging --------[cuisine] by the ton at ludicrous sums this place has a million employees. Labor must be out of control. It's the flagship though so I guess they have to hit their numbers.
The programs they have at their disposal to help see where the money is going is impressive too.
Ive never seen so many kiracks in my life.

12/7
The sheer intensity of the crush is amazing. 5-600 covers, as the norm with far too few cooks. How can it be? These guys are studs, pure soldiers. Yet one couldn't make a hollandaise if he tried. Then again, there are a few who are very capable cooks - chefs in former lives - who are miserable and proficient and have hollow eyes.
I'm thinking on this too much. This isn't about the love of the game.

12/13
This week has been slow and the prep is just chucking out food. Waste logs are full. This isn't cool yet no one seems to care and wonder why I do - I'm still training so it's not on me. The fuck. what about the concept of waste is cool with you?

12/16
So after a dead ass week the store I'm training at was at 50% labor when I walked in. Guess who had to cut everyone at 7 and close ALONE? Fucking salaried position. I was in until one on a night we did like, what? Thirty people.
Thirty people is nothing, by the way, with another cook and a dish. Nope
Alone for the majority of it.
The run from grill to fry is silly.

12/20
The flagship experience has been a very educational one. It shows me exactly how much flows downhill. Once I get home to my kitchen and my office, I will be able to see exactly how much of the Animal I have decided to leash will, in fact, be trainable. I fear its less than I thought and possibly more than I can stand.
It's a job. That's all it is. If nothing else, my family and friends and shortie are there for support which is the biggest difference between --------[training location] and home. That should give the the juice I need. Getting laid: the best medicine.
But of course, I go home just AFTER Christmas and just BEFORE New Year's.
Thanks, higher management.

12/24
Closing Christmas Eve on my lonesome.
Must.
Hit.
Labor.
Spending tomorrow by myself at the hotel. I'm gonna buy myself something on the expense account.
Something illegal.

12/27
Got home.
Got my store.
I have some room to stretch out, hire my own people, form my own crew.
Breathe.
Too hopeful?

12/28
I put up a poster of Christopher Walken on my walk in door today.
That's some clever shit.
I had to explain the joke to my RD.
He told me, "That's funny." He didn't laugh once.

12/29

[text messages]
T: I was balls deep in a grease trap today.
P: Why?
T: My master's bidding.
P: In the line of duty.
T: You said duty.
T: I'm not a cook.

12/31
Here goes nothing.

1/2
[email to me]
Pawl-
So a guy I met while in ------[training location] had a heart attack and they asked me to take the reigns of his store in ------[location]. I just got back. I'm gonna do it. Is there a reason I shouldn't? I figure it will show my willingness to assist so that maybe I could get a little more... what? Money? Freedom? Creative control? I mean it's corporate. I fit their mold, right? Call me before you go in tomorrow.
T.

1/8
So back in another store. This is the opposite of the --------[training] experience. I mean, I share a common language with less than twenty percent of my kitchen staff. Nobody cares about me because they know I'm a band aide. Whatever. I want to be these people's worst nightmare. The one who comes in and cleans the place up, returns to form and function.
Assimilation.
Resistance is futile.
I am the Borg.

1/12 [text messages]

T:Still need to send you the recording I did during New Year's service working saute. As well as an article I'm working on about how this was the worst career move ever.

P: Woah.

T: Ever.

P: What, going to the back of the house? Or to ------[new location]?

T: I fucking hate this place.

T: It's not a restaurant.
P: What the store in ------[location]?

T: It's a morgue.

T: No. Corp(orate).

P: Oh.

T: Yeah, dude. Cold. Lifeless. Dead.

P: Take a breath man, you sound severe.

T: Not at all like ------[home]. That's familiar.

T: This store in --------- does a huge amount just on Saturday dinner shifts. So it's dead all week.

T: And the staff is sick. And its all trashy white kids and foreign chefs who don't like me cause I ride them on shit.

P: Can't let that ruin your standards.

T: Why? It's insane. The place I'm in has a bad energy too. Haunted or something.

P: You're too lonely there, man.

T: Murder suicide. Maybe a rape. Who knows?
T:
Someone died here.

P: Jesus, brother, that's equal parts terrible and hilarious.

T: Anyway, I'm gonna start polishing my resume soon.
P: Obvy.

1/16

They are just moving me around to fill in for shitty managers. I then try my best to let them know how retarded this system is. I then leave a shitty manager in my wake.

I am a traveling garbageman. I travel around and pick up shitty managers.

1/19

So the big VP of ----- is coming next Tuesday.

Which happens to be inventory day.

Which happens to be the most feat/famine labor day of the week.

Which happens to be a day six of my cooks have now requested off.

I wish I could speak their language and let them know exactly what position they are fucking me in. They don't care. I'm yet another white kid sent in to babysit. No one can fix this without firing people. Fuck. It's okay, at least I'm temporary. 

1/23

So the RD finally was going over my expense report from my training trip to ------- six weeks ago. It's amazing how hard it is to correct your bosses when they are yelling at you. 

"You know, there's red bull and 'snacks' on here for $XXX. We don't cover that. Or alcohol. ALCOHOL on an expense report??? We aren't paying your bar tab, ---! What do you think this is?"

"Sir, it says in the claims report in the first paragraph of article B7 that..." Then I point at the page. He stands corrected and apologizes but then asks me to double down on labor next week. It means closing on my own at least two nights, because the store does all of it's business on SATURDAY.

I'm being punished for knowing more about company policy and showing him up in front of NO ONE. 

I dont like working for people who aren't better at their jobs than I am.

Of course I double check my shit, by the way, I'm new to it and sick of being wrong.

1/25

Wow. Long work day, 6am-just 30 minutes ago. That's 13.5 hours. Straight. No break. Isn't that illegal?

Nope. I'm on salary.

Servers of the world: Shut the fuck up. Don't bitch about your hours/job/tables and run your fucking food. Oh yeah, and you're cut. Thanks, Management.

1/28

I asked to go home early.

My GM was actually receptive, showing he's not the complete dickbag I thought. Human.

Maybe.

I told him that I need to be happy to give 100% and that I cannot be happy this far from home. I'm away from my support network, alone and that all the changes have been too much.

He'll let me know.

Which is kinda screwy. I have to ask permission to avoid a mental breakdown. More tomorrow.

To be continued...

Perspective Through Eggs

             Having recently completed Norman van Aken's spirited memoir that recounts his volatile early years spent maturing within a restaurant culture that only remains within the lore of the survivors, I understand that few things have truly changed. Following the mythification of Chef within the greater cultural perception of our industry, cooks have begun to drink less on the job and talk more about the political ramifications of our trade. We spend fewer mornings nursing hangovers, and more sharpening knives and reading cookbooks; however, we remain transient beasts, roaming amidst backrooms and low-hanging, meticulously organized basements. Van Aken's own narrative relates this cohesion between the generations of cooks that have roamed about the country over the past forty years amidst the dramatically shifting landscape that America has become. Van Aken's journey began cooking breakfast, learning the discipline and regimentation this style of cooking mandates. He appreciates the finesse required to bring the yolk to the desired temperature, while not over-coagulating the white as it cooks through. The level of technique and confidence required to cook eggs well is the same reason why classic French chefs still require cooks to prepare an omelet before hiring them for the line.

            Whether you take them boiled, flipped, sunny, poached, braised, pickled, preserved or raw, eggs are a beautiful and malleable ingredient. Eggs bind our batters, emulsify our sauces, and foam to seemingly unconscionable heights, but they provide a far greater benefit to the professional cook. Through my own experiences working the egg station on a brunch line, prepping pastry for those multifaceted garde manger stations, and building temperamental hollandaise sauces while standing next to a five hundred degree convection oven, eggs have taught me technique, timing, and patience. However, as I have recently departed from my friends in Brooklyn and entered into my own transient moment within one of the Michelin starred institutions of Manhattan, I bring with me those lessons spent toiling away on the egg station. Though my pickups differ dramatically, the concepts of reproducibility and exactness that are staples of egg cookery are easily translated to my new station that requires speed through organization and awareness. I fondly recall my early mornings spent prepping an egg station for a restaurant that demands perfection in the cookery of this breakfast staple. Although the style of food I cook now differs greatly, the intuition I gained from my time preparing huevos for the hungover masses has proven to be invaluable during this transitional place in my career.

             Fine dining is a stress imbued arena consumed by the quiet, inner storm that rages constantly within the minds of those inhabiting the line. The kitchen is quiet, no music occupying the dead space that is filled by the constant drone of the exhaust hoods and the occasional joke issued primarily for the medicinal purpose of breaking the mood. But we, the cooks behind the line, who support those stars and the expectations of the dining public, remain the same. Though we arrive at these kitchens from various backgrounds and avenues of training, the cooks who reside behind the cramped, polished stainless-steel boxes of fine dining kitchens are no different from those flipping eggs on the brunch line, now or during the fundamentally different dining culture of Van Aken's early education. Emotions run high and tempers are prone to flare up over trivial concerns, but we will always pick each other up and buy a round of drinks as a form of penance for words spoken during moments of temporary insanity. The only real difference between the brunch cook and entremetier cook, is that each individual finds something special within these two different approaches to feeding people. Neither is better or worse, just two different visions for the same ultimate goal of satisfying the customer through our chosen medium of food. Transient Line Cook for Life.

Ian

LCFL #017// Amatuer Night: The Pain That Is Valentine's Day Service

Cheesin' the season.

Valentine's Day dinner service fucking sucks.

Wait.
Wait, wait, wait.
I don't want to get off on the wrong foot, get the cart before the horse, or get misunderstood.
I don't want to start negatively.
Please allow me to backtrack and try again.

Valentine's Day dinner service fucking sucks.

I apologize.

There is no way around it.
The beauty, mystique and passion that fuels New Year's is not in attendance. The second busiest night of the year is a much needed shot in the annual numbers in the midst of the first quarter cool down felt industrywide. The way the night feels though is completely different. A sense of dread among the staff. There are a few things one can count on every Valentine's that exists on no other day of the year. Oddities. Which leads it to be known by those in the biz as "Amateur Night."

Packed in like sardines.

First of all, you can be certain that 90% of your business will be deuces - twos, two tops, two hats. Two people. Jam the floorplan with as many small tables as we have got, right?
COUPLES! Romance, flowers, proposals, cards, and chocolate. Deuces take less time - usually - than a six or an eight. Anything eight and up it sometimes takes up to thirty minutes to get all eight even at the same restaurant. Please understand: if you have never had to devise a floor plan try and imagine a puzzle that is perfectly put together except one of the pieces keeps changing shape - or showing up late, eating exceptionally slowly, adding party members. Any of these 'inconveniences' become exponentially detrimental to the smoothness of service three hours later. Ask any minimum wage hostess - it can be impossible to keep people happy before they've even sat.
With all deuces you can then "flip" - reset, reseat, make money - each table faster. Excellent! Everyone's happy!
Except the kitchen who now has 30 two tops all at once when its usually intermittently spaced out with a slow moving eight or ten top. A four top who is taking their time on course one. No. Bang, go, and the sprint of deuce after deuce, fast fast fast, no time to breathe or refresh your line. Its about production.
Isn't it always? No!

Chateaux Brionne... for two???

It's usually a balance between speed and technique. On a night like Valentine's, people get sat and fed so fast the the prix fix menus tend to lend themselves to more "pickup" item - one pan sautees, cut-and-sauce prime rib, quick scallop sear. And shared items - oh, shared items! A godsend when you know all your diners are sucking face later and wont mind sharing a plate of dessert. Not that there is anything wrong with these. It just forces us to be more creative with our time management where I usually get off on creative technique. I feel it leaves me feeling like something was lacking.
Take a moment, by the way, to consider the deuces on deuces on deuces I keep talking about. This is a night where it is required to take your significant other out. This creates the once-a-year diner. Cook it perfectly, serve him well, do back flips, shoot fireworks out of your ears, he's still tipping you ten percent and you'll never see him again. This is a blow to the service staff, who become dejected after the first turn of guests has flipped and they've seen the tips. Early diners are the worst anyway when it comes to this poor tipping thing, too.
NOT EVERYONE!
I'm not talking about you.
You're the best.

After the service staff gets that "fuck this" look at about 6:15, the cooks get cranky because all we require when busting ass like this is a smile and a "good boy." Much like a Labrador, all we can hope is that we please when we are this busy. There's no time for any other wants.
Moral, like dominoes, start to fall.
The godsend on Valentine's vs. New Years is that its not the marathon New Years is. Normal hours, no staying open late, serving till 2am. Thank bejesus.

Going to be getting fucksy...
So long as we don't fuck up...

Most nights of the year the "Customers Getting Laid Today Batting Average" is pretty high in restaurants comparatively, you know, industry to industry. I have no facts to back this up, but follow my logic: Bartender or butcher? Chef or accountant? Restaurant owner or pet store owner? It's one of the reasons people go out to eat, right? Dinner is one of the necessary steps in getting down. On Valentine's Day this percentage skyrockets. It throws the yearly average so out of whack that Valentine's Day is why we have no hard numbers on these important phenomena.
Science.
Its a lot of responsibility when so many are pinning their hopes of carnal pleasure on your prix fix menu. That's why they are priced so high - the expectations. Don't gimme dry chicken or it won't be all that stays dry, right? I wonder if there are figures to show what night people get down the most on. The Google was no help with this one.

So as we in restaurants prepare for yet another Amateur Night I ask that those dining this Valentine's Day please take a deep breath and realize that their server is not with her loved one so that she can get that side of ranch for you. Tip well, regardless of the wait for the table or the temperature of the steak. If you leave feeling that your chances of getting fucksy are better upon departure when compared to arrival then a stiff 30% is the solid thing to do to show you are not one of the sea of rubes filing in tonight.

James Pawl Kane
Chef & Speaker of the Pompitous of Love