Crowded, hot kitchen here I come!

Here it is. I'm in. The dreaded class where we create food for paying customers, under the noses of at least three chefs who won't hesitate a nanosecond to come down on any errors like a ton of polenta.

I feel like Dorothy, going up the tornado in the house, looking at all kinds of things and people flying by as I look out the window. In this case, knives, potatoes, duck breasts, rondos, slabs of meat, flames, heat, dishes, looming faces of supervisors, haggled fellow students. Drama, emotion, all that Kitchen Confidential stuff. Well, this time there's no Auntie Em to help you, my pretty!

My first task is to find three chefs, each with twelve recipes that I'd really love to prepare. I suppose this means they're favorite foods. Do I even have 36 favorite recipes from one chef?

When I buy cookbooks, I look for variety. What cuisines don't I have covered? Which recipes look good? Is there a good recipe for civet de lapin? So, I tend to jump chefs.

I'm just not a hero worshipper. They're just people. I don't even want to meet a famous chef; they appear authoritarian, arrogant, obnoxious, unpleasant. I imagine myself treated to some combination of ignored, screamed at, dissed, insulted, cussed at. There might be a laughing Buddha style zen master chef, a mentor worthy of meeting out there, but I've never heard of him. Zen master chefs don't get multimillion dollar television contracts or run three star restaurants, it seems. Except maybe that guy in the subway in Japan, serving sushi.

A fellow student who survived the class added some sage advice: don't pick recipes that might be challenging. Pick things that anyone in the class can put together, yet are somehow excellent nonetheless. So much for my crazy chef with grilled and planked meats. Not practical. Although the techniques are relatively straightforward, they do involve hot coals, soaked planks of wood, basting and lots of smoke in the face.

A bit of chef satori

The chef and sous-chef I worked with at the event were great. Everything went smoothly, the guests were well taken care of and they actually seemed like human beings. Everyone put their head down and did their job. They greeted guests with a smile and described their offerings in mouthwatering detail. They had some of the best food at the event. Coincidence? I think not.

They were professional, paid great attention to quality, and helped to restore some glimmer of hope that I could, someday, find a niche in this industry. Although I wasn't asking them for a job, either.

Employment wasn't why I was there. Gaining experience, learning, talking to working chefs to see how they think and act, their approach to food, watching them work and seeing if they enjoy their job were. A bit of culinary exploration wasn't out of the question, either, with so many restaurants present.

Near the end of the event, they released us to wander the event, taste food, quaff wine, sample beer... and check out the other restaurants. Most were staffed by people who looked like they were enjoying themselves. They also looked like they were proud of what they were serving and happy to share both food and information.

One chef, however, was not smiling. He hovered in the space behind a table laden with food samples, scowling. Unfriendly. Unwelcoming. I'd never met him, as far as I know. So why was he scowling? I'd never visited his restaurant. I never sent them a job application. I don't know his name.

Did he somehow recognize me from past comments in this blog and resent something I'd said about hiring, courtesy, professionalism? Yeah, I didn't exactly hold back when telling of my first experiences as a back of the house job seeker - yet those were my feelings. After all, when someone won't even give you a chance, not even an unpaid stage, there's not much risk that offending him will lead to denial of a job. When giving someone a job application - even if it's in bad faith - is too much to ask, there's not much left to say or do, is there?

I suddenly realized that if things had gone differently a year ago, I could have had this guy for a boss. This could be his normal nature, his mien totally unrelated to anything I might have done or said. This man was someone who could have turned my first foray into the hospitality industry into nights of living hell. Or this could be a bad first impression and things could have been great - who knows?

In any case, nobody said that working in a restaurant is easy, and if by some miracle I'm ever hired, I hope it's by someone who leads by inspiration and guidance rather than fear.

So, I'm continuing with my classes, even though they may in the end prove futile in my effort to find paid work in the hospitality industry. If nothing else, I'll be able to cook and bake pretty much anything. I'll probably know enough to open my own restaurant, although the day I decide to do this is the day I deserve to be swept away to a calm place by men with sharp hypodermics and soothing solutions.

Flashback: November 2010, waiting for a call. Any call.

You can fool some of the people... not that I really considered myself one of these people, but still I thought at least someone would call, e-mail or maybe send a message to my chef/instructor to let him know why they ignored his recommendations and left me twisting in the wind. That someone would answer one of my messages even if it were just to tell me, "sorry".

At this point, my perception of the restaurant industry, and chefs in general is not exactly at a high point. Some of these guys made big-headed architects look positively humble, and with much less justification. Although some people I talked with were straightforward and correct, never promising to recontact me or otherwise stay in touch, others were poster boys for case studies in bad human resources management.

Before, I considered chefs in local non-chain restaurants to be artists exploring new culinary frontiers, delving into fascinating flavor combinations, and living for the joy of bringing great, unique food to hungry people. I thought they, like people in other industries at a management level, would act professionally, with courtesy and respect for others. Or at least go through the motions of doing so.

I naively thought that chefs would want to hire people passionate about food, regardless of their age. That in fact, someone who had traveled, sampled other cuisines and cooked in other parts of the world would be seen as a valuable addition to a team. That kitchens had at least some minimal degree of collaboration and exchange of ideas, like in that video about El Bulli (yes, comparing El Bulli to Sacramento's dining establishments is like comparing mud pies to beef Wellington, but still...)

Now, my opinion of the norm has shifted. I see many of them as poor managers imbued with a large dash of arrogance. People who don't look for broader skill sets than someone able to stand upright, brunoise a potato or julienne a carrot as fast as possible for the least possible amount of pay.

Worse yet, I'm beginning to think that I'll never even be given a chance. That this whole culinary arts thing is a waste of time, at least as far as actually working in this industry goes.

People tell me not to give up, that I just haven't met the right people yet. That a place exists where I could contribute something and be accepted as a comrade instead of a nuisance.

The job situation: December 2010

To date, not one of the people I contacted for a kitchen job has called me back. Not all that surprising for those who just said to drop off a job application. A bit more surprising in the case of Matt Woolston of The Supper Club and David Feldman at Matteo's Pizza and Bistro, since they had been communicating up until I met the enigmatic Mr. Feldman.

Granted, I was asking them for something, not the other way around. If they'd never said to keep in touch, or that they would contact me, I'd have no issue. But they did. Shouldn't this mean that they should at least follow up with an e-mail?  

I would have understood if he'd said, "We only hire people with previous restaurant experience, and being in a culinary arts program does not count." Even, "Call us when you complete the program." Even "Go away and never come back." That would have been direct and straightforward. But "I'll contact you when I'm not busy" leaves an expectation that my qualifications were acceptable and that hiring at some future date could be a possibility - and that further communication would actually happen.

I continued for a while to send updates to Matt Woolston, who had previously replied almost immediately. Now, the rule had become absolute silence on his part. Ditto for Mr. Feldman, as the messages were cc'ed to him.

I find it very strange that prior to actually meeting them, these people replied quickly to my e-mails, and were more than willing to communicate. Yet, strangely after meeting with Dave Feldman, neither he nor Matt Woolston would even acknowledge my existence. My past experience hadn't changed - in fact, I'm more qualified now than I was then due to having completed more lessons and prepared more dishes in class. Yet, absolute silence.

I started to ponder what factor could have caused such a drastic change of attitude. I had gone to the interview well dressed, with short, clean hair. I spoke clear English, and did not ask for an advanced position nor too much money (unless "anything minimum wage or above" classifies as "exorbitant").

Could it be that I was not the typical nineteen year old student looking for his first job? Could it be that actual experiences and a life were a liability? Could these people actually be practicing age discrimination? If David Feldman was not practicing age discrimination, wouldn't he have asked me to fill out a job application as proof? He could always trash the application when I left, but at least I'd have felt that he was at least somewhat sincere.

I talked to some friends about looking for work when you're no longer under 25. One said to die my hair, the darker the better. Another said to eliminate all college degrees from my resume. "Lie about your restaurant experience" added another. One wise person said, "Do all three. It can't hurt, and since they're not hiring you when you're honest, what have you got to lose?". Another said, "Too bad they only want people with no experience or other skills that could really be useful - like photography and sketching. Not to mention having eaten food in a lot of restaurants in a lot of different places so they know what it should taste like. Guess they just want young and cheap." As opposed to older and cheap, I suppose.

Perhaps saying "I'll get in touch when I'm not busy" is equivalent  to the "emergency powers" clause of a banana republic's constitution, where all kinds of rights are granted to the people, but can be suspended under certain conditions. All the dictator need do is declare the conditions present and suspend all constitutional rights indefinitely. So, presumably he knew he would always be busy, thereby negating his need to ever recontact me. This still doesn't explain Matt Woolston's silence, but at least it's an explanation that any Vulcan would accept.

Flashback: October 2010, La Petite France

Maybe I would have better luck with a bona fide French chef? Maybe someone coming from a different background would see things differently...

Besides, for once speaking French might actually be useful for something besides talking to francophones.

We had a nice talk about the restaurant industry, how difficult and uncomfortable the work is, ingredients, Mother Sauces and what it's like to work for a chef. None of it was encouraging, but I'd heard it before - except the part about the mother sauces. I filled out an application form, and at least felt that for once I'd had a decent conversation instead of a brush-off.

Also a nice change, there was no promise to call me back. He just took my job app and said if something developed he'd be in touch. Assuming I still wanted the job, and had not come to my senses.

Flashback: October 2010, Latitudes Restaurant

Acting on a tip from a classmate, I went to Latitudes Restaurant in Auburn and talked to Pete, one of the owners. They had been looking for help in the kitchen for several weeks. Unfortunately, they decided to hire their dish washer or someone for the position four days before I arrived.

Nonetheless, I filled out a job application, had a brief talk with the owner, and left.
"We'll give the new guy a month - if things don't work out, we'll give you a call."

Flashback: September-October 2010, Matteo's

Should have interviewed the kraken instead...

________________

UPDATE: It seems that the person named in this article is no longer with the restaurant. There's a new person in charge. Still, it's not a place I'd like to return without a few months of experience in a restaurant kitchen and some solid recommendations from chefs they respect.

________________

Flashback to my totally unsuccessful attempts at landing even a temporary, part-time, poorly paid job in a restaurant in the autumn of 2010:

This time, things were less encouraging. Worst. Interview. Ever. "Most hypnagogic interview", "Interview from the Twilight Zone" and my perennial favorite, "WTF?!" are equally appropriate. I suppose "Gone in sixty seconds" works too. "Volver" doesn't.

My chef instructor had also contacted Matt Woolston, owner of The Supper Club and Matteo's.

Upon contacting him, I received a reply: "Shoot me a weekly reminder and I will forward this email to Chef David Feldman who takes over the realm at Matteo’s on 10/1."

I had fond memories some nice meals long ago at Savoy 614 in Folsom, where Mr. Feldman was involved in the back of the house.

After sending an update, I received a more encouraging message from Matt Woolston:

"Thanks for checking in!

I will cc Chef Charlie at Supper Club and Chef Dave at Matteo’s and let them know you are looking for some hours.

Feel free to email them directly with your availability.

Matt"

Finally, things were moving forward! A message from David Feldman was encouraging:

"I would like to schedule a time to speak with you in person. I am at matteo's all week, minus wednesday and am available to talk any time. Please let me know."

So, I went in the next Thursday. I entered through the back service door, walked through the kitchen and found Mr. Feldman up to his elbows in fish. Apparently "any time" has different meanings to different people. Since he did not respond to my e-mail asking for best hours, I went in the morning well before service. Bad time, apparently.

Upon meeting David Feldman, I felt about as welcome as a hissing cockroach at a food hygiene convention. He fixed me with an uncomprehending yet hostile stare, and asked what I was doing there. I mentioned our communications via e-mail and a bit of my background.

"Any restaurant experience?" he asked. "No", I replied, "That's what I'm here for."

"We don't currently have any open positions."
"Well, you said to come in to talk, so here I am. Maybe something will open up in the future?"

"And you want to work on the line?"

"Yes, but I'll take any position."

"Well, I can't talk now. I'm busy. I'll call you when I'm not busy."

"Thank you for your time, and I look forward to hearing from you soon."

The whole thing was over in three minutes or less. It seemed that all he wanted to do was get me out of his kitchen, and the sooner the better. I couldn't tell if his fixed gaze was the result of shock, surprise or some other reason.

He uttered something like, "Uh, well, I just got started here, and I'm not sure where things are going... "

The guy has at least fifteen years of experience as a chef, as far as I know. What the heck was that comment about "just started" and indecision? He'd been in this position for supposedly two weeks, and logically one might think he would have had an idea where he was going before he even started. You would also think that with that much experience he would not need two weeks to figure out what to do in his kitchen.

Maybe I really don't "get" this profession. Aren't chefs supposed to be perfect masters of the culinary arts, able to create a gourmet meal from the most meager ingredients on a moment's notice? Turn a sow's ear into... well, feijoada. But that's another story.

Another bottled message cast, this one floating low in the water, its glass cracked, water seeping in, the kraken's tentacle reaching...

Needless to say, this meeting did not involve filling out a job application. If I'd been asked to submit a job application, I would at least have some feeling that my application, however unsuitable it might be, could somehow end up in the hands of someone who might actually give me a call.  I would not feel as though I'd been summarily judged and dismissed without any chance of a most beneficial outcome.

Flashback: September 2010, Crush 29

grape No. 29.

On the recommendations of one of my chef instructors at school, I wrote out a resume and ventured forth to meet some chefs and test the employment waters. Little did I know that none of the people I talked to would ask for a resume. They go by looking at you and by what you put down on your employment application, apparently.

My instructor went beyond my initial question - which restaurants are good to work for - and actually contacted some chefs he knew (and he knows a lot).

The first contact was Darryl Madeira, at Crush 29 in Roseville, with a message: "have him stop by the restaurant and i can talk to him"

So, off I went, arriving at 3:00 pm when things in the kitchen were slow. We talked for about ten minutes. Or rather, he did. I managed to get a few questions and comments in, but the main conversation focused on how he did a favor for someone who couldn't take the heat and got out of the kitchen by leaving a note on Darryl's windshield and disappearing. Somehow it seems that I was put into the same boat as this person, who as far as I could tell did not even attend culinary arts classes before getting the job.

At the time, there were two prep positions currently open and I should talk to the sous chef when I brought back my employment application. He also stressed, as I recall in a life and death manner, that I would need to write my availability on the application and that, once written, it could never be changed for any reason. No. I must have heard wrong, although the application did have spaces for available hours. Restaurants really must do things differently, since I thought schedules were made and updated at regular intervals to adapt to conditions - not fixed in stone on an employment application.

I returned two days later at the same time. "Darryl is our running errands. Nobody knows when he'll be back." Huh? This was my first hint that restaurant management is different that what I'd imagined. I would have thought that since this guy runs the kitchen, he'd give a return time.

Employment app in hand, I returned several days later. This time, I arrived around the beginning of service time, figuring that he would be there. He was. He was too busy to talk so I gave him the application, thanked him, and left scratching my head. If he was so busy, what was he doing at the front of the house talking to the hostess?

I returned yet again, only to find that he was again out of the restaurant. I left a note with my name and phone number on it with the hostess and departed without ever even meeting the sous chef.

I chalked it up to this being a new industry for me, and that things must just work differently. The restaurant is obviously successful, so this must all be business as usual.

I tend to look at employment apps like messages stuffed into bottles and cast into the river. Some may wash ashore where they'll be read and acted upon; others sink into the mud (the bottom of a drawer somewhere) and disappear forever. Check off one message cast into the eddying water, spinning slowly away in the current as it passed out of visibility in the murky, silt laden water.

By the way, the song on their web site is "Une Belle Histoire" originally by Michel Fugain. Their version is obviously not M. Fugain, and I have no idea who sings it except that she has an accent.