One thing I enjoyed about working in a professional kitchen was the decisiveness of the end of a shift. The kitchen is a place of intensity, where there is no time to be idle, but when the restaurant's closed, it's closed. And its people are truly off the clock.Read More
There's a folder on my computer dedicated to half-baked business ideas of mine. Though I haven't taken the next step in testing their underlying assumptions, saving them to a place I can easily access them at a later date provides a misleading bit of comfort:
"I'm not giving up here, it's just not the right time to work on this right now. So this will be here until later when the time's right."
I'm self-aware enough to know I'm not being honest with myself.Read More
“I’m done with the carrot pureé, Chef,” I stated as I placed the small bottle of it on the stainless steel workspace in front of him. He had handed it to me moments earlier and asked me to garnish one of the dishes with it.
“That doesn’t go there,” he replied back, without even looking up.Read More
It’s possible for a grown man to cut himself with scissors.
Something the kitchen staff didn’t believe until I came down from the garden that day with a bleeding left ring finger. Sure—a pairing knife can deliver an unexpected poke while prepping vegetables or an oyster knife can slip mid-shuck, but don’t scissors have idiot-proof plastic handles?Read More