Monday, November 26, 2007
people,people
The slide show is compose of a few pics taken in the span of about 5 minutes just to get things going. I will be adding more soon.
the menu
It can start with a smell; a memory, a glance, or a flag waving in the graying sky of dusk. It can be a happy accident or a fleeting melancholy moment, a slip of the tongue, a sepia-toned photo. The creative seed can be born of any of this happenstance and an infinite number more. But one thing is certain for me, it is seldom planned.
I never know what will trigger the need to begin the creative process, or I should say revive it from its dormancy. It’s always there, but the typical day has enough cereal filler in it to suck DaVinci dry. Contrary to what the general public might perceive, most chefs do not spend all their time dreaming up the next Beef Wellington or ham and cheese sandwich. No, after being a purchasing agent, medic, counselor, accountant, referee, dispatcher, teacher, diplomat, salesman, entertainer, warrior and general contractor he/she might get a little cooking done, and in a burst of lucid thought, apply a little water to that aforementioned seed. But it is these little moments that bring the joy.
Sitting down and trying to force out a menu is really difficult for me. I can stare at a piece of paper or computer screen for interminable lengths of time with nary an enthusiasm to apply. Sure, I can slap out a card of the usual suspects, just like the menu engineering books tell you to do, but that does not bring the juice and I just know my lack of commitment will be evident. It’s no good under these circumstances and counter-productive at best. Usually this is the best time to find something that is automatic to do; requiring the least amount of mental effort. Peeling potatoes works, as well as washing dishes. Anything that eases the obligation of providing more than the bases of solutions will serve the purpose. Soon enough I will find my muse, or I should say it will find me, and the motivation to create will reach ramming-speed.
How precious this time is! I can almost feel my brain stem throbbing as the anxious thoughts make there way to paper. It’s flowing now like a dam-burst and my hand cannot write quick enough to maintain the pace. I dig this groove and soon enough I am at it, Henckel in hand, preparing to attack some defenseless food that had the misfortune of lazing in my cooler. Flush with anticipation the cooking begins, the adjusting of tastes, the solicitation of opinions, the glorious finish. On it goes, the clock wisely divorcing itself from my conscious eye, for nothing so vulgar as the passage of time can interfere with this union of thought and skill. Knife, mind and pen are as one, and this trio will conceive a new life.
This is not work. This is euphoria and freedom laid out on a stainless steel counter. That I get paid for this is a delicious irony, although I suspect most of my wages are more than well earned on the banal tasks I alluded to earlier. And as to the whole point of the exercise-- the client, diner, guest? How little do they know that their happiness with the end results is just a bi-product of the circumstance. Of course, they are the reason I produce in the first place. Where would I, or any of us be without a receptive audience? But it doesn’t start with some grand scheme to further the joy of mankind or to attempt to reinvent cuisine. It’s not about a political statement or the overall human condition. It’s all quite ordinary, in fact, and nothing more magnanimous than serving the creative process --and it’s all I ever want it to be.
I never know what will trigger the need to begin the creative process, or I should say revive it from its dormancy. It’s always there, but the typical day has enough cereal filler in it to suck DaVinci dry. Contrary to what the general public might perceive, most chefs do not spend all their time dreaming up the next Beef Wellington or ham and cheese sandwich. No, after being a purchasing agent, medic, counselor, accountant, referee, dispatcher, teacher, diplomat, salesman, entertainer, warrior and general contractor he/she might get a little cooking done, and in a burst of lucid thought, apply a little water to that aforementioned seed. But it is these little moments that bring the joy.
Sitting down and trying to force out a menu is really difficult for me. I can stare at a piece of paper or computer screen for interminable lengths of time with nary an enthusiasm to apply. Sure, I can slap out a card of the usual suspects, just like the menu engineering books tell you to do, but that does not bring the juice and I just know my lack of commitment will be evident. It’s no good under these circumstances and counter-productive at best. Usually this is the best time to find something that is automatic to do; requiring the least amount of mental effort. Peeling potatoes works, as well as washing dishes. Anything that eases the obligation of providing more than the bases of solutions will serve the purpose. Soon enough I will find my muse, or I should say it will find me, and the motivation to create will reach ramming-speed.
How precious this time is! I can almost feel my brain stem throbbing as the anxious thoughts make there way to paper. It’s flowing now like a dam-burst and my hand cannot write quick enough to maintain the pace. I dig this groove and soon enough I am at it, Henckel in hand, preparing to attack some defenseless food that had the misfortune of lazing in my cooler. Flush with anticipation the cooking begins, the adjusting of tastes, the solicitation of opinions, the glorious finish. On it goes, the clock wisely divorcing itself from my conscious eye, for nothing so vulgar as the passage of time can interfere with this union of thought and skill. Knife, mind and pen are as one, and this trio will conceive a new life.
This is not work. This is euphoria and freedom laid out on a stainless steel counter. That I get paid for this is a delicious irony, although I suspect most of my wages are more than well earned on the banal tasks I alluded to earlier. And as to the whole point of the exercise-- the client, diner, guest? How little do they know that their happiness with the end results is just a bi-product of the circumstance. Of course, they are the reason I produce in the first place. Where would I, or any of us be without a receptive audience? But it doesn’t start with some grand scheme to further the joy of mankind or to attempt to reinvent cuisine. It’s not about a political statement or the overall human condition. It’s all quite ordinary, in fact, and nothing more magnanimous than serving the creative process --and it’s all I ever want it to be.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Who talked me in to this?
So it begins. It's not like I don't have enough to do, so why not a blog? I am at the outset dubious as to the quality (and interest) anyone will find here, but what the hell. A career path cut through the not-really-all-that-glamorous world of the culinary arts may yield a nugget or two, perhaps jaded, about, food, art, business or life in general. Maybe not.
I am presently bummed at sending out the last plate of heirloom tomatoes for the season. My stash exhausted, it's time to change the menu to a decidedly root direction. Turnips, baby carrots--sugar right off the brix scale--beets and spuds in various forms will dominate the veggie scene on the card--and they will be delish--but it still hurts to give up the very last vestige of summer.
Oh, but soon the first of the winter truffles will arrive and in addition my collection of squash recipes is at the ready to carry me all the way to spring training (the Indians will win it all this year!)! so things are not so bleak after all.
Okay, well this is beginning to feel forced--I'm just not on for writting tonight--so let's call it a game. Later...
I am presently bummed at sending out the last plate of heirloom tomatoes for the season. My stash exhausted, it's time to change the menu to a decidedly root direction. Turnips, baby carrots--sugar right off the brix scale--beets and spuds in various forms will dominate the veggie scene on the card--and they will be delish--but it still hurts to give up the very last vestige of summer.
Oh, but soon the first of the winter truffles will arrive and in addition my collection of squash recipes is at the ready to carry me all the way to spring training (the Indians will win it all this year!)! so things are not so bleak after all.
Okay, well this is beginning to feel forced--I'm just not on for writting tonight--so let's call it a game. Later...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
