The Forces of Light & Darkness - Hooper Dunbar

The Hiatus

(Disclaimer: I share the opinion of A-Rod that is held by nearly all Boston Red Sox fans.  Mea culpa.)

Yesterday I listened to an interview with Alex Rodriquez on Mike & Mike and at one point he started speaking about his "hiatus" from baseball in 2014.  He addressed that his career was on a downward trajectory and after sitting out a year he feels better than he has in over a decade.  And as he spoke of professional rejuvenation and fresh starts something resonated with me.  Shudder to think it, but I knew exactly what he was talking about.

Let me start by saying that I am not on a hiatus; I still cook for a living.  However it does feel like I am on a hiatus, as I am not currently working 80-plus hours a week and I actually spend time at home and with friends and family.  My days no longer start before the sun comes up only to end long after the sun has set in the west; I actually get to see my daughter off to school and tuck her in at night--things most people take for granted but I had not done with any regularity for the better part of ten years.

I have a dream job--a literal 1-in-43-opportunity-of-a-lifetime.  Although I no longer work everyday, I work for very intense, relatively short periods of time.  I am grateful for the opportunity, my boss, and the freedom that both allow me with this job.

So how does this all tie into the concept of being on hiatus?

For me it all revolves around my new found "down time."  For the first time in...I'm not sure when I was last able to do the kind of introspection I have been able to do recently.  I find myself being "judgy" towards actions of colleagues, but in a positive--and private--way; in a way that is helping me to see my own shortcomings--hopefully positioning myself to ditch them--and eliminate or correct them, (or at worst, live with them).  By recognizing my foibles in others, I am acquiring the mental skills to be a better chef.

I also have the luxury of sitting on the fringes of the food and beverage industry and being able to see into the industry with a pair of refreshed eyes.  All I can say, is that it is true that you can sometimes be so close to the forest, that you cannot see it through the trees.

The heightened self awareness that comes from being "removed" from the day-to-day grind of 12-hour+ days cannot be underestimated either.  This is one of my favorite benefits of my current situation.  I am able to think about how restaurants operate, kitchens are designed, staff is hired and trained, and ponder alternate methods of doing all of the aforementioned actions--all without being encumbered with having to go do dishes because the steward call in sick, or vacuum the dining room because the staff is shorthanded.  I am able to develop a better way of doing things in the vein of: if I could "do anything I want" within a restaurant.

Of course, with all of this freedom of time and thought comes a downside.  Because I DO sit on the outside looking inward, I am not playing reindeer games anymore.  As I champion my colleagues in their successes, charitable endeavors, pursuit of--and acceptance of--national acclaim and awards, I am no longer pursuing those same goals, and in some cases I am ineligible to.  I am operating in a world of self-imposed professional exile; yes, I do still cook to make a living, BUT I am out of the public eye and my eligibility to be regarded as "one of the guys" has been revoked, (driven home when I submitted a request for a range of samples from a manufacturer and I was told I couldn't have them because I was no longer 'serving the public.')  I have eaten my share of crow and humble pie while having my ego checked on a daily basis.

But once I take the ego out of the equation, I begrudgingly admit I am refreshed--both mentally and physically.  The time away from the line and a brigade have really been good for me, (i only used vacation time in previous positions because I was forced to...I have a super-high old school-blue collar work ethic ingrained in me).  To be able to step away, while at the same time keep my toes in the water of the industry as a whole, has been a blessing--more than it has been a curse, I assure you.  And, yes...I have developed some great new ideas and systems for operating my pie-in-the-sky-maybe-someday-restaurant; I am able to escape the tyranny of "we do it that way because that's the way we have always done it."

At the end of the day, I am glad that with my current "break" from the day-to-day restaurant hustle I have exchanged the pursuit of fame and glory for myself, for the opportunity to meet Joolz when she gets off of the bus in the afternoon.
  

Mise en place! Mise En Place!! MISE EN PLACE!!! pt. 2

It was a lonely walk to the South Side of Syracuse.  One where my anger had slowly become self-loathing.  In the course of 6-hours I had gone from being, (at least what I perceived), "The Chosen One" to a cook not worthy of preparing family meal.  In my mind I was sunk.  Time to move on, but where?  By the time I arrived home I was emotionally drained, and had beaten myself up pretty badly.  I went to bed hoping that things would "sort themselves out" in the morning.

The next morning I woke up.  The sun was shining.  I was still a shite cook.  Almost three years gone of my apprenticeship, nearly 5-years into my cooking career and I.  Was.  Shite.

I threw some ska on the stereo, turned it up so that I could hear it outside, and headed to the picnic table in the front yard armed with coffee, cigarettes, pen and paper to figure it out.  Smoking cigarette after cigarette, I stopped feeling sorry for myself, and turned my venom outward.

"[Bleep], Chef!"

"[Bleep] that place!"

"I don't need to put up with that kind of verbal assault!!!  [Bleep]!!!  Him!!!"

And then, without even realizing it, I turned the corner.  I was going to work tomorrow, Thursday.  If I didn't, Chef would beat me.  And there was NO WAY he was going to beat me!  And then I realized he may have been right about me.

Both that I was a colossal screw up, and that I deserved that shot at a Tuesday night shift.

Up until this point, I had survived my apprenticeship as the comedic foil to the chef, as well as by being THE grammar/spelling resource of the kitchen.  And I did have some average cooking chops at that point.  The day before had really driven home the point that the truth hurts.  I was not ready for service, and what I thought was mise en place wasn't close to actual mise en place.

The Chef could do 25 covers working out of a cooler with one arm tied behind his back because he could, after years of training.  There was no way I could do that then, (I still freak out a little in my head when I have had to cover a line solo).

And like a swift slap to the face, I was enlightened.  I truly understood what mise en place was.  Not only did it mean making sure I have enough food prepared for my section for service- and this is a huge part of it- it also meant making sure that my bain-marie of utensils was stocked with what I needed for service and in the same place every time, that I wasn't just prepping, but setting myself up for success."Why reach into the cooler every time I need a certain condiment instead of keeping it in an ice-bath on the counter?'  "Why not slice and toast my burger buns ahead of time and just reheat them when I needed them?"  It all clicked.

There was nothing cool about failing to do my job and set my section up, and let the Chef down.  I would rather look like a newbie and have every piece of mise en place in ice-bath at arm's reach to make it through service successfully with satisfied guests and a happy Chef.  I was in-it-to-win-it.  My days of being the class clown were over, or at least tempered by the fact that i couldn't just coast by anymore.  I was about to be dumped out of the nest and I needed to get.  It.  Together.

As I walked to work on Thursday I spent the majority of my time thinking about what, and how, I would do things differently.  To make things right; and I made a decision that I was going to do it "the right way" every time for the rest of time.

I slunk in the kitchen door that day, hoping to avoid Chef at all costs.  He saw me.  But, it was never spoken of again, and I know that the fact that I returned to work, (early for my shift even), earned me some respect and credibility from Chef and all of the other cooks who had already heard about my epic ass-chewing!!!

The lesson learned was that mise en place is EVERYTHING when setting yourself up for success.  Most of us keep absolutely meticulous lists of the minutia needed to run our sections down to filling the salt and pepper grinders.  From the outside I'm sure it looks like cooks have Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, put without obsessively making sure that every food item, no matter how trivial, is prepared, or making sure that the fish spatula is where the fish spatula belongs in the bain marie the "wheels would come off" during service.

And take it from me that that is NOT what you want to have happen as either a guest or a cook.

Mise en place! Mise En Place!! MISE EN PLACE!!! pt. 1

Mise en place is a fairly common term in kitchens: literally "put in place," it is an essential ethos for making sure that your section is prepared, physically and mentally, with all of the necessary ingredients to execute a service in place.  A place for everything and everything in its place.  I had heard the term mise en place since my days as a dishwasher, so as a cook I was certain I knew exactly how to prepare proper mise en place.

Then one day while still in my apprenticeship, a day that became as pivotal in my becoming a chef as any other -a conscious moment of "this determines what happens from here on out"- I truly learned what mise en place was all about:

My apprenticeship was far more well-rounded than the horror-story-apprenticeships of cooks who did nothing but sit in a basement room and polish copper pans all-day.  Or stand in a scullery 16-hours a day peeling root vegetables that would never be used for more than family meal, just to come back and do the same task day-in, day-out, for months on end...with no chance of ever cooking on the line.  Wednesday's was a heavy prep of mise en place for the garde-manger station for the week and working the occasional cold garde-manger shift on the line.  Thursdays and Fridays were prep and private events.  Saturdays were almost always weddings, the ilk of which featured florist bills that eclipsed my yearly earnings.  Sundays and Mondays were taken up by brunch, prep, and either private or charity events for well over 300 guests.  And then there was Tuesday.

Tuesday night was the "prestige" shift for the young commis and chefs de partie.  It was the night when you worked the a la carte line solo.  No Executive Chef.  No Sous Chefs.  No safety nets.  No one else except for a bartender to take food orders and run food.  It was a young cook's chance to prove to the Chef that they were ready for bigger tasks and to be trusted on the dinner line as more than a "salad shooter."

In retrospect, we probably made a lot more out of it than it was.  The menu was reduced to the Grille Room Menu: sandwiches, salads, and foods of the "fryo-lated" arts for simplicity of prep, execution, and clean-up...and minimizing our chances of screwing it up.  Rarely, if ever, did we serve more than 15 guests between 4:30 and 9:00 PM.  For these reasons it was the one shift of the week that the Chefs were guaranteed to have off.  It was idiot proof.

I finally got my shot at a Tuesday night shift somewhere in the last year of my apprenticeship.  When I arrived the Sous Chef, Jeff, was getting ready to leave for the day.  He gave me a brief rundown of  the lay of the land, pointed out a few small prep items to be completed and then bolted out the back door of the kitchen to enjoy the nearly six-hours of sunlight left in the day.

"I've got this!" I thought as I went about finishing the remaining prep, and setting up my mise en place for service.  Now, when I say that I "set up" it would be more accurate to say that I set up the line like the Chef or Jeff would have: very minimally as to facilitate little to break-down/clean-up at the end of the shift.  First solo shift, I can show that not only can I hang with the Chefs, I can do it just like them.

As we neared the 4:30 opening time I expected the parking lot that was overflowing with cars would start thinning out, and only the after-work golfers would be left to worry about feeding.  Two things I failed to recognize or take into account: 1) the main reason guests didn't come in to eat on Tuesday nights was because the Chef and Doug weren't there and they were loathe to be fed by the likes of me, 2) the Chef WAS there this Tuesday for meetings, menu consultations with future brides, and essentially making busy-work for himself in another part of the building to be my lifeline, but just far enough away so as not to destroy my (over)confidence by seeming like he didn't trust me with his baby.

And because Chef was there, and parked out front of the club house so that I wouldn't see his car, most of those members and guests who would have headed home, or away from the club at the very least, decided to have the Chef cook them dinner this particular Tuesday night.  Right from "Jump!" I was in the weeds.  I was not even remotely organized enough to be considered disorganized.  I had Z-E-R-O real mise en place on the line.  I was clown shoes.  I was going down, and quick...

And then Chef came through the swinging doors,  I must have looked relieved, and given the hint of a "phew! The cavalry is here!" kind of smile, and I watched Chef put an apron on over his street clothes.  What came next was awful.

While I know the gist of the message was about me not knowing what mise en place means/how to prepare mise en place/where is your mise en place?, I can not to this day remember the exact words that were hurled at me that night.

My Chef, my mentor, my friend, was tearing me a new orifice with the kind of veracity and ferociousness I had only heard from sports coaches during my youth.  But this was expletive laden.  Surgically taking me apart word-by-word.  Hours long, and 100% accurate.  I was cooking with both my head and my tail between my legs-on the verge of tears-and with only my stubbornness keeping me from walking off of the line and out of that kitchen, (honestly, I had watched a recent graduate of the Culinary Institute of America get kicked off the line the previous winter, and I knew that if I left the line- let alone the kitchen- it would only make it worse).  As the orders fired out of the printer it seemed as if Chef's tongue lashing only intensified.  After the longest service of my young career, it was over.  Everyone was fed and the parking lot started to empty.  I had survived, even if I had been screamed at maniacally for the last 3-hours.

I was feeling low.  My confidence was beyond shaken; it didn't exist anymore.  As a parting jab, as Chef threw his apron into the linen bag, I was told to make sure I left the place spotless AND to take the next day off.

BOOM.  Being given the day off like that was essentially telling me to eff-off down the road without actually firing me, and I knew it.  I had seen it before.  As I licked the wounds from my first solo service, I was feeling equally sorry for myself and pissed off at the Chef.  I mean, we had done 75 covers on a night when 12 would have been "busy."

After making sure that the quarry tiles under the equipment had been mopped, and that every inch of stainless steel had been scrubbed I made my way to the locker room.  I hurriedly changed, and slunk out the back door; cutting across fairways and greens on my walk home...chain smoking and planning my early exit from my apprenticeship the entire way.

Thanksgiving 2015: The Day After-Increasingly Grateful

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone. For only the 4th time in the last 25 years, I did not have to work in a professional kitchen feeding the masses - just a low-key 3 people this year.  I have been fortunate that I was still able to join my family for a Thanksgiving meal most prior years, albeit at a table in the dining room of where I happened to be working.  Delicious, but far from relaxing, or "enjoyable."  Usually a few hasty mouthfuls of food, interrupted by antsy glances around the dining room; far more concerned about what the diners at other tables and the service staff were doing than with enjoying the company of my family or my meal.

Needless to say, this year I was able to relax and enjoy the day.  And as I didn't have to worry about keeping the various "plates spinning," as required by running a restaurant, I was able to focus on the holiday and my family for a change of pace.  In my pain au chocolat induced meditative state what this year's Thanksgiving really meant, hit me.

From 2006 until last spring, we had lived in northern New Hampshire, in what can only be described as the quintessential New England ski town...and in the heart of the New Hampshire ski industry.  In addition to working on the holiday, Thanksgiving had been THE day of transition; from little rural town to bustling, throbbing ski town.  I would spend the next 4-1/2 months working well in excess of 90 hours per week to feed those masses of skiers.  My wife would work 7-days a week until the first weekend of April coaching budding ski racers.  It was an exaggerated version of fishing-while-the-fish-are-biting resulting in not seeing family members for days on end.

We put our family on hold for the entire winter.

But this year is different.  For the first time in her life, my daughter has me around on the weekends, (much to her pre-teen chagrin, I assure you).  My wife has days off.  We eat dinner together, as a family, almost every night of the week.  I feel like an active participant in my family...not just a lodger or occasional visitor.

And for that I am truly grateful.

Pickled and Fermented Fennel with Cherries

Most great pickles started as a way to preserve the bounty of a harvest for the bleaker months.  In a modern sense, chefs are starting to make pickles out of the bounty of what they have in their refrigerators; either due to the bounty of harvest, or a bout of over-ordering.

These pickles evolved from the latter: somebody's shopping cart was bigger than their menu.

This method uses a combination of Sandor Katz's "sauerkraut method" (salting and pressing vegetables for lacto-fermentation) and vinegar pickles, and is super easy to prepare.  The hardest part of pickling is waiting for them to be ready!

Fennel-Cherry Pickles

1     tsp.          Whole coriander seeds
1     tsp.          Whole mustard seeds
1     Tbsp.       Whole fennel seeds

1     pound     Dark or Rainier cherries; stems removed, pits removed, and halved
1/2  head       Fennel; cored and sliced thinly (stalks and fronds included)

2     Tbsp.       Kosher salt
1/4  Cup         Sugar in the Raw

as needed       Bragg's Cider Vinegar (optional)



Place whole coriander, mustard, and fennel seeds in a small skillet; toast over medium heat, shaking the pan every few seconds, until the aroma of fennel is apparent.  Remove from heat and let cool.

While the spices are cooling combine the cherries, fennel, salt and sugar in a non-reactive bowl and toss to thoroughly distribute the salt and sugar.  Add the dried spices and mix again.  Transfer to a non-reactive container.  Using your hands press down on the mixture until it releases enough liquid to cover the mixture, (much easier than it sounds, you will want to "crush" and mash the mixture a little).  Cover with cheesecloth, or a clean-breathable cloth, and leave for an hour; after an hour if the fennel-cherry mixture has not released enough liquid to cover, top off with a little distilled water.  Cover the container with the cheesecloth/clean cloth again, and secure with a rubber band.  Let the fennel-cherries stand at room temperature for 2-3 days, or until bubbles start to form (this is good.  That means the lacto fermentation is going strong and producing CO2)

After this initial fermentation, taste your pickles (use a clean utensil to remove the pickles from the container, lest you introduce bad bacteria into you pickles).  If you are happy with the flavor, transfer to a clean container and cover tightly; refrigerate for 2-4 weeks or pressure can for long-term storage.

If you want to go "funkier" replace the cloth cover and let stand until you are happy with their flavor (using the prescribed method for taste testing above).  When you feel they are ready, cover-refrigerate, or can for storage.

This is delicious served with chili rubbed and grilled pork.

NOTE: you can adjust the acidity with apple cider vinegar, but is not neccessary

In a pickle...

Much to my delight my employer came to me last week with the request that they would like to eat more fermented foods.  While I am no Sandor Katz, fermented foods are my jam (so to speak).  And as luck would have it, I was bequeathed several bags of heirloom tomatoes and cucumbers fresh from the garden less than 24 hours earlier.

First thought: Ma' Beers' Pickles.  Sweet and sour pickles, (think bread and butter pickles with more spices and depth of flavor), that I have been making professionally for over a decade.

Done.

Then the tomatoes.  I had planned on making a salad or roasting/dehydrating them, and then I thought, "why not pickle them, too?" So I embarked upon the pickling process only to find that my vinegar supply was woefully low (I like to use rice wine vinegar to pickle tomatoes). At this point it became a "mystery basket" competition, assessing what foodstuffs I had at my disposal and creating something delicious.  I realized that I had a couple of scallions that needed to be used up, as well as a piece of fresh ginger, and a tub of organic shiro miso.  Time to create my improv version of the traditional Japanese pickle: misozuke.

While ginger-miso-tomatoes may sound a little out there, the results are delicious.  And with the onset of tomato season, everyone needs a way to process those excess fruits of summertime.  And these are K.I.S.S easy to make.

Improv Misozuke
1-1/2 pounds          tomatoes, washed, cored, and medium-diced (about 4 cups)
2        each              scallions, sliced thin (about 1 cup)
1/4     cup               shiro miso
2        Tbsp             sliced-peeled ginger root (about a 2" piece)
          pinch            crushed red chili flakes

Place all ingredients in a non-reactive container and mix to thoroughly combine.  Press down on the vegetables and make sure they are submerged below the miso/liquid that is in the container; use a clean towel to clean the sides of the inside of the container (to prevent any spills from becoming moldy).  Cover the container with cheesecloth (or breathable clean cloth) and secure with a rubber band or twine; place in a dark cool place (mine were kept at 76F) for 2-3 days or until bubbles are starting to form at the surface.  At this point remove the cheesecloth and cover the container; the pickles can be stored in the refrigerator for 2-4 weeks or canned for longer storage.


NOTE:  you can also skip the fermentation process if you prefer; miso-tomato salad is delicious too, warm or cold