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 

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

Rolling up with the Hot Tach: The ReBoot of LCFL

Since around late October there has been a fair amount of upheaval in our little restaurant community, Linecook for Life. First, I purchased a new home. That was the first domino falling over. It is a lovely home in Rochester's Culver-Merchants neighborhood and my family is better for it. Pocket doors. Leaden glass.
Three porches.
With it came the unplugging and packing of our ancient computer. It never turned back on. Once replaced I was finally able to begin editing again, but my home was without any interwebs due to cable company ineptitude. Once that was finally ready of course my credit card had expired and thus my liberated syndication account - which hosts all of our audio files for the podcast - had fallen into delinquency. Once that was cleared up, my podcast co-host and front of the house guru, Nick Tacho, dropped the bomb that he was leaving our little restaurant to go to Boston and work a bigger corporate gig as - get this - kitchen manager. Right on the heels of that, Brian - our resident barkeep and surf rock enthusiast - finally made good on his threats: he bounced for Brooklyn, proving he's cooler than all of us and mixing drinks with the Thug Kitchen boys or something. Now, we are all balls deep in the sheer madness of the holidays in the industry we reside within.
With this forced break came some introspection and thoughts on the future of this here project. First, the break was unintentional but sorely needed. Being the moderator, sole editor, co host and staff writer along with my standard chef responsibilities and the real world of husband/father duties as well was getting a tad stale. The break gave me an opportunity to store up tons of material. This has allowed me to break everything up and reorganize, namely our new seasonal format. What we have done up to now, all the work of 2013 will be considered season one. LCFL will go strong January to October every year, ten strong months of the finest and most ridiculous restaurant industry foolishness. Then we get to relax and get super busy at work - and hoard articles, clips and episodes like squirrels and nuts, to release after the insanity of New Years.

Regarding that content, we have also decided to release a more steady stream of it as opposed to the every two week schedule the show has had up to now. Between the LCFL episodes there will be at least two supplemental shorts - that random shit that doesn't fit within the standard episode format. Thematic questions, live recordings, reviews, drunken debauchery, and general shenanigans. We get so much good shit from each recording that goes unused. Also, we believe that the main show should become a bit more formatted. The Nick-and-Pawl-and-a-guest-type of episodes is the LCFL main concept and seems to be our most popular. That will be LCFL, now and forever. The additional material will provide more off the cuff listening and recording experiences to keep it fresh.

We believe with the changes it will provide a more sustainable experience as the creators and lead to a more substantive listening experience.
As for the blog, it will be more scheduled too. An article every week. Released every Wednesday.
Facebook? A video clip will be released every Sunday.The pictures will be released once a month.
Thank you for your patience while we organized our game. This shit started as an idea and formed quite organically until now, but the garden is getting overgrown. Time to trim, time to trim. The love, the support and 'where you at?'s we have gotten in the last few weeks are heard & appreciated.
What about Nick in Beantown?

Should I quit burying the lead?
He'll be back in Rochester in not too long - he's training at corporate HQ and will be released from his indoctrination and brain cleansing. Date of dismissal as of yet undetermined. Until then I will have a guest FOH host join me in our first episode back. We've made some new friends to help us push along. No one is irreplaceable in this business.
But the Hot Tach will not be denied.
On January fifth the show will be released with new fervor and discipline. New article will be released the Wednesday prior - the first of the year, coincidental and rather apropos. That will be the much anticipated Murph episode. Until then relax and enjoy whats left of this insane time of year.
And make New Year's reservations at your local, soulful independantly powered bistros and don't give in to the pull of commercialism. Spend local.

James Pawl Kane
Chef & Helpful Little Elf

LCFL #014//Family & Friends

So I am walking my daughter into school a few Mondays back. I see a classmate of her’s mother walking towards me. I have seen this woman a few times. She seems friendly yet I can never remember her, her husband or her daughter’s name. She stops directly in front of me, requiring me to stop whilst I am walking. She has my attention.

                    

“I came out to your restaurant Friday night.”

“Oh, fantastic. With… (what’s his name? what’s his name? fuck!)  your husband?”

“Yes, Chris (Chris!) and I enjoyed everything very much.”

“What did you get?”

“The duck and the scallops.”

“That’s great. I really app-“

“You didn’t come out to our table.”

“Oh. I don’t remember anyone telling me that-“

“Tim was our server. We told him to tell you.”

“Uhhhh…”

It all comes back to me:

It’s about 7:45. We have 26 open menus in our 50 seat restaurant. In case you are unfamiliar with the restaurant lingo that means we are about to get hit very hard. All the orders are about to come in at once. Not to mention the other 20 or so people we are in the midst of preparing at that moment. I am flying, I am delegating, I am rolling. Things are smooth, but in that not-for-long kind of way. A busboy – the dumb one who I think is stealing beers - comes in the kitchen and says to me, “Tim says someone out there knows you.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic, any further details? A name?”

“No. I don’t know. Wait… what?” He then drops a tray of glasses because I “distracted him” and the entire exchange is lost in cleaning, chastising and dealing.

Back to the school mom:

“… I don’t remember anyone telling me you were out there. There was a very busy moment someone told me someone wanted to see me, but I was-“

“Too busy to visit a friend when they come out to support you? I guess so. It was rude. We won’t be back.” She then extricates herself from my path and walks away, feeling confident she has crushed my hopes and dreams of a return visit and successfully shitting in someone else’s corn flakes.

Needless to say, I was a bit irritated.

When you come to my restaurant on a Friday night you cannot expect me to be able to walk out of the kitchen and chit chat for ten to fifteen about your daughter's freshman year at Brown. Come in on a Monday night and I will go nuts, bananas and several other delicious toppings. Multiple courses. Off menu specials. Chats at the table.

Friday? I am balls deep in other people's food.

You know that saying 'You always hurt the ones you love?' Hurt should be changed to disregard. I figure those closest to me are the ones who understand the job I do as well as the person I am. I am singularly focused. Of course I want to cook for my near and dear more than I want to cook for anyone else. Trust me that the meals I cook for my wife and daughter are my highlights each week. I want to entertain my friends at the shop, too, but within certain parameters. Otherwise I’m stressing that I can’t visit you while I’m buried in the back.

And no, do not come into the kitchen.

You are not welcome in my sanctuary of salty language and controlled chaos. You walk in and find me elbow deep in various proteins, seasoning madly away, juggling between spoons and spatulas, sweat pouring down my face and a flaring grill behind me for dramatic effect. It’s not what you expected. You expected me to be...what? Staring at a piece of chicken, searching for inspiration? Watching food network and Gordan Ramsey? Or perhaps polishing my all-clad cookware? No, I’m in the dishpit fixing the grease trap.

That’s when I hear your voice saying, "Hi Pawl!"

I come to a screeching halt.

Goddamned it.

I have to flip a mental switch, my assassin's filter is removed and my regular-dick filter kicks in. My voice changes from commanding to hospitable. I may even get a few witty comments out.

All that’s going on in my head is,"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck donthteyhearmytimersgoingofffuck."

If you're cool to be in and out without much more than a hello from me or a thank you at the end - but not both - then by all means come on down on the weekend. I do my best to pop out and chat, but I am the chef of an understaffed kitchen. The days of clipboard chefdom are over. Working chefs work. If you look around and see a full dining room, servers sweating, hostess looking panicked, please put two and two together: I will not be visiting the table any time soon. I do have some family who get bothered by this, though. You know what, I’m going to come down to your office and walk into your cube and just start shooting the shit and interrupt your busy day of minesweep and staring out the window or whatever regular ass folks do at work.

As for my daughter’s friend’s mother and her husband Chris, they have been back several times, and each time I see their names on the books – oh, I know their names now – I instruct the server who gets their table to tell them I am currently at home praying they come back and am currently unavailable.

James Pawl Kane

Chef & Way Too Busy For You

Apprentice Anonymous No. 3: In Vino Veritas Or Whatever They Say

I find my truth in whiskey. The person I become after two stiff drinks is the only constant in my personality. I find that on any given day my perspective on any given situation may alternate entirely between two extremes. Polar opposites. 

Better yet, bi-polar opposites. 

I find myself in this constant struggle, this tug-of-war between wanting to care about things, to develop an educated opinion, and then also the "fuck it, nothing matters; time is spherical, we're all dust anyhow" mindset. And so two bourbons on the rocks brings me to a level of my consciousness that is most familiar to me. I become this personality that I like to think of myself as when I am not in it.  A character. A celestial identity. My opinions - and emotions - are magnified in this state. And they are always the same when I return. I often wonder if this is my true self. I feel that I have become one with I, and therefor "the universe," (because we're all just stardust anyway).

But it's never just two drinks. 

The two wears off eventually. So two turns to three. Turns to four, turns to ten. Ultimately my brilliance at two becomes stifled by ten because of the continuous hunt of higher consciousness.
I am a self-destructive creature. Both in my desire to torture myself with rotten swill and my infallible ability to smite my own potential.

While I take no real belief in zodiac mythology, I am a Leo, and I believe, whether by stars or circumstance, that what "they" say about Leos is pretty accurate. I do nothing productive or creative except for observation by others. This does not mean that I take no personal gratification from my accomplishments; I simply desire to gratify others at the same time. 

"Oh the wonder of me!" - Peter Pan.

I can't help but feel these two staples of my personality help explain my existence in the kitchen. The kitchen, whether it be prep time or service, never fails to provide me with a constant. The clean just-laid cutting board atop a shiny stainless steel table, with a pile of produce on my left, provides me a moment of clarity.

My obsession with Kerouac has always had my second conscious nagging my foremost conscious to take up meditation, and practice the dharma. But I find my zen right here, knife in hand, calmly yet meticulously preparing for service. So thus, at three every afternoon, I am always the same almost fictional identity in a state of pseudo-zen that I am always striving for outside of "the office."

Service applies the same mindset, it's just faster and even more meticulous. But still it simplifies the mind and the task at hand, and it's still just do, do, do. 

And make it look beautiful, of course.

On a busy night, when you've dropped into tunnel vision, and you're sweating ferociously and gasping for air, the pat on the back, the hug, or even the kiss on the god damned lips from your chef afterwards, is really the type of gratification we seek as line cooks. You can milk your own udder all you want about how busy you were and how well you handled it, but if somebody else wasn't watching you and holding the bucket, well then fuck it.

-Kleb Tuckett