Beginnings

'Be here at noon sharp, and stay out of the way!’ I had finally worked up the nerve to walk into the back door of the old french kitchen’s door and asked if I could come and ‘watch’. The Chef was also an old French man who had a calm yet blood curdling demeanor with a side of butter. I was fifteen at the time, close to finishing high school and newly moved to the States with a good dose of loneliness and boredom. All the while not realizing I already had an attachment to the kitchen and food. After the first week or so I had, in my own way found how to ‘stay out of the way’. The dish pit had an almost unobstructed view of the line and chef’s pass. I had found a safe space in this chaotic place, the kitchen. Clink, hot pan, clank, behind, sharp! Scrubbing large stock pots none of the like I'd ever seen before, large enough for me to sit in. In liquified ways everyone moved at lightning speed, the yelling, camaraderie, smells oh the smells, but lastly the end result on the plate. I was in a spell. 

I’ll admit I'm a bit too agog at times matched with had a stupendous case of curiosity, which in hindsight I realized had probably driven the cooks to a point of madness. One evening just as dinner service was about to commence I was crammed into the corner at the dish pit flecking a case of tarragon while hurdling out question after question to the poissonier. Not knowing when to shut my mouth the chef walked over and told the line cook to show me with actions but not speak. Chef demonstrated this while cooking a skate wing in silence from start to finish while glaring up every minute or so to stare straight into my soul. He plated it found a fork and gave it to me and said ‘see it’s now quiet, and you've learned something’. I did. First, finding that I now loved skate and second, my first real understanding of how the hierarchy of the kitchen worked. While Chef had stepped away from the pass to school me into silence the Sous Chef had taken the position there. Everyone else followed suite and knew exactly which areas needed to be filled and how to execute those new responsibilities. They all stepped up. They where a team and this happened instantly and organically. This also showed me where I stood, if at all, on this social totem pole. I was flecking herbs - you do the math.

I will say, after that experience I had learned a lot. I had started to get the hang of when and how to ask my questions; direct and quick. The very next day I brought a little note pad with me the I scribbled all the answers in it. With my newfound realization of the kitchen hierarchy. I found to never speak when chef was speaking - a major mistake I will never make again, I swear. Becoming more comfortable after a couple weeks I was presented with more tasks, such as cutting little vegetable and frying small quail eggs for hour d’ouvres and the likes. It made me nervous that I would fuck up in a heartbeat but, was also very pleased with these new challenges especially when the cook or chef seemed gratified with my end result.

These were my first days, this was my start.