Eureka!

 

Sometimes the only thing better than finding inspiration yourself, is seeing someone else overcome by it.

From a distance, I've been watching a young cook I know, a guy who's not exactly on the bottom of the ladder, but steadily climbing past the middle for sure. I wouldn't say he's gotten ragged or burned out either; let's just say that it's easy to fall into a fog of ennui given the hours and days of repetitive action required by professional cooking. And it doesn't really reflect upon the kitchen or the chef who runs it, this kind of thing just happens. Sometimes it can be a matter of becoming so good at what you do, that without the occasional fire under your butt, you get complacent. I think there are also those cases where all one feels is the heat, and that simply leads to leaving that kitchen with a bad taste in his or her mouth.

 

There's another cook, who after struggling for the first few months- stressed, frantic, and frustrated- finally seems to be hitting her stride. Suddenly, an air of confidence, which in turn generates awareness and excitement, and not least of all, better food. Certainly, these two cooks are at different stages of the game, with varying experience and perhaps different expectations and aspirations as well. Both were in need of that Eureka! moment, that short sharp shock of inspiration that fuels our sense of drive and purpose. For the second cook, I think it just clicked after a singular triumph- one dish, one dinner service- which, however small, allowed the rest of it to fall into perspective for her. Or maybe it was an isolated disaster. Something positive can be spun from that too. But either way, it's about meeting a personal challenge head on, and then pursuing the next.

With regard to the first cook, it was a day off. Not a real day off mind you, but 14-hours doing a stage in another kitchen. We had discussed some options a few weeks earlier, and this particular restaurant came up. It is, in my mind, the most exciting game in town these days. If I were a young line cook looking for a job in the city, I'd be casing this joint myself. This line cook doesn't have one foot out the door just yet; such trails and stages happen everyday all over the globe, regardless of whether there is an permanent opportunity awaiting or the desire for one. Sometimes it's just good to get out and see what other chefs are doing.

 

So the next day I was curious to see how it went. Well, I don't know if 'giddy' is the right word, but I also don't know that I've ever seen someone so energized by a 10am-to-midnight shift in any kitchen. It's that sense of excitement when you have so much to say that you don't know where to begin, so it all just pours out in random bits in fear that some detail might be forgotten in the process. Needless to say, it was the topic of discussion du jour among all the cooks within earshot. The only possible downside to such an onslaught of inspiration is the difficulty in holding onto it long enough to be able to process it all. But it's not like this guy is going radically change his cooking style based on what he saw; the important thing is that he saw it in the first place. Now he knows.

I sometimes notice this wide-eyed sort of thing when we host our own stages; at least it's my hope that we can provide a spark of some kind. And it's not often that it happens, but I've come to recognize the glazed-over look of sheer boredom too. But it's a great feeling to see someone 'turn on' right there in front of us; that in turn gives us a little push in return.

It's really about being receptive. Based on someone's level of experience or awareness, different people will see different things that apply to their world. It might be a technique, the flavor of a sorbet, or how we interact as a team. It's the big picture, but sometimes it's the smallest detail that stands out. Even I got a little rush last night as I snapped this image quite by accident; it hit me that a stack of clean plates represents so much possibility- sustenance, pleasure, and perhaps a potential memory about to be formed:

These Eureka! moments don't necessarily have to be life-changing. We sometimes use them just to get us through one day or a particular task, or it provides the missing link that brings an old idea full circle. We remember vividly the moments that have altered our courses; when we think back on them, we recall with a certain romanticism the mood and atmosphere. The act of remembering them at all can be inspiring, as it transports you to a distinct time and place, a precise moment of 'before' and 'after'.

I've had so many little such sparks that I've no doubt forgotten the majority of them. But off the top of my head, some grand moments, and some just slightly less so...

• There was that dish at Gagnaire that amazed me so much I nearly burst into laughter.

• Blueberry pie and coffee at a picnic table in Massachusetts.

• In Aspen, after an event with Takashi, eating simple Japanese home-cooking from Nobu; everyone else in the room looking over in envy.

• My breakfast of coffee, churros, and about a dozen gelati at a shop in D.C.

• Or breakfast at the Tsukiji market in Tokyo, of raw fish so fresh it was still moving.

• After my own three hour lunch at Arpege, being asked if I wanted to join Alain Passard as he sat and ate his humble salad (yeah, I instantly forgot every word of French I ever learned in that instant, but clung to every syllable he uttered nonetheless).

• Pizza at 2am in Charleston, straight out of a mobile wood-burning oven in the FIG parking lot.

• Tasting my way through a bag full of pastry from Pierre Herme while sitting on the bed of a tiny Paris hotel room.

• The first time I seared a piece of foie gras.

• Philippe Conticini's five course Teaser at Petrossian.

• Albert Adria knew who I was.

• Making mochi- the old school way- in Osaka.

• Tasting my first batch of home-brewed beer. Dumping my second batch down the drain.

• Strolling the garden at the French Laundry between courses, peeking into the kitchen and noticing how quiet it was. After dinner, seeing the word finesse posted above the kitchen door.

• Picking apart lechon with bare hands in Puerto Rico.

• The day I bought a copy of Larousse Gastronomique.

• The unmistakable smell of financiers down the block from Poujauran at 7am.

• My first ever blood orange, from a food co-op in Boise, Idaho.

• Pad Thai with dried cuttlefish and banana leaf in Bangkok- sitting on plastic patio furniture a few feet away from bustling traffic, under an umbrella in the pouring rain.

• Fishing for striped bass off Nantucket, with Susur Lee, Francois Payard, Celina Tio, and Kirk Avondoglio.

• The first time I wrote 'Happy Birthday' on a cake; I got a one-dollar tip.

• Cooking at a winery in Napa: we needed a lemon, and I was told, "Just go outside and pick one."

• Skate sauteed in goose fat with a squab jus. Lunch at Le Bernardin in 1998.

• Meeting Emeril some ten years ago, and him saying, "I'll be hearing about you in a few years."

• The first and only time I've ever tasted raw pulp from a cacao bean.

• Eating the tiniest, greenest, most perfect fava beans you can imagine at Alain Ducasse, while also being conscious of sitting in the space that Joel Robuchon occupied just a couple years earlier.

• Age 16, summer semester at art school in Savannah, calling my mom to ask how to bake a potato.

 

You'll notice the great majority of those moments were the result of travel. It's true, our senses are hyper-acute when we leave our familiar surroundings, so it makes sense that we would notice more. But most of us, myself included, can't just hop on a plane for France or Spain or Thailand whenever we feel like it. And I remind myself all the time how lucky I am to live in a place like New York City. Again, it can be even more special finding inspiration when we aren't actually looking for it, in our everyday, like the cook who found her way in the monotony of mis en place. If you can't get to San Sebastien or Yountville or Bray, at least go out to dinner down the street. Or go to the supermarket with a pair of fresh eyes. Talk to your ingredients; listen to what they may have to say in response.  If there's a food you can't stand eating, force yourself to try it again and ask yourself why. Plant a garden, or at least a pot of herbs, and consider the processes at work. Learn how to make bread, or how to clean a fish; really study the architecture and anatomy. Intentionally 'break' a sauce or ganache and see if you can fix it. Make a dish from the Alinea book or from Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking; as long as it's something you've never done before, the source really doesn't matter.

Look for the answers to your own questions. Then turn every answer into another question. Challenge yourself, if not once a day, then once a week.

It may or may not change your life, but it certainly will make your day way more interesting.