I began what I refer to as my first "real" cooking job thirteen years ago this summer. Looking back, stumbling into the modest restaurant called Emily's was perhaps the smartest move in my career. Situated in a hundred year old Victorian house in the sleepy Detroit suburb of Northville, that place was my school, my hobby, my life. In those early days, I just as likely could have ended up in any run-of-the mill turn-and-burn, but at Emily's I found out what real cooking was all about, the refinement and the passion, and a little about the business as well. Describing the kitchen as tiny would be an understatement; there was barely enough room for three cooks. The restaurant's chef and owner, Rick Halberg, became my first important mentor. While I learned a lot from Rick- taste, technique, respect- what I really took away from my time with him I took simply by standing back and watching him work.
For lack of a better word, Rick cooked with a certain sense of economy. Of course, I don't mean that in a financial way, but with an economics of movement and energy. To this day I enjoy watching seasoned chefs cooking, and not on TV, but real food in a real kitchen. The best seem to convey their experience and intimate relationship with their tools and the ingredients as if they were an extension of his or her own body. Rick had this extraordinary sense of calm and fluidity as he worked that amazed me. His was both relaxed but attentive and laid back without losing that sense of urgency. Like I said, it was a small kitchen, but he appeared to glide through the requisite motions, from the reach-in to the pan, from the oven to the pass. I don't think I ever saw him wear an apron, yet he never had a spot on him, even at the end of the busiest service. In those early days, Rick worked the two-man line with the sous chef every single night. With more than a decade of hindsight, I've come to realize his carefully measured movement was a manifestation of both an extremely organized head, and his back-to-basics return to the kitchen, the inner happiness of "just cooking".
In this business such economy is vital. The physical nature of the work, the repetition, the multi-tasking all require some form of internal or external management. But I think it all begins with mental organization. I have my off days, where my actions aren't as precise or deliberate, probably because my brain is all over the place. Those of us who work in kitchens probably know a disheveled spazz line cook or two (or once were one themselves!); it's true that behind a sloppy demeanor there usually lies a cluttered mind. I was once given the advice that to find the most efficient way to complete a task is to ask a lazy person. Perhaps there's a kernel of truth hidden in that, but to me it sounds too much like being a "shoemaker" or knowing how to get by with the minimum effort. To me, economy is more about vigilance and planning. It's a tough concept to teach someone, but so is a sense of urgency. Of course we need both to survive.
Personal economy also leads way to the bigger picture of how we execute service, or set up the kitchen, or even how we conceive a dish. Our method of constructing a dessert with building blocks of several components slowly turns into the dismantling of them, the reductive act of taking away the superfluous. All of this comes into play at the home base, but these ideas become more important when I'm called upon to advise in absentia. I spent some time in Washington DC this week, working on some new desserts for Westend Bistro. The planning and logistics behind this kind of consulting often require thinking economically- the volume, the number of staff, the kitchen layout, the prep time, and budget all inform the decisions of what ends up on the plate. It's often a challenging task, creating something that adds up to more than the sum of its parts.
Leo Marino, Westend's chef, and his team have really embraced the idea of a market-based menu, so my job this time around became easier in a way. This "locavore" mindset really forces you to focus on what is at hand and is a great lesson in economy. While at first restricting, the quality of what Leo is sourcing from surrounding Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virgina suddenly inspired me to keep it simple, not only for those I'm leaving behind, but also out of respect for the product itself. For example, the most exciting dessert we engineered was nothing more than a perfectly ripe roasted peach, stuffed with dried fruits and nuts. Another planned dessert is to be built around the nostalgic combination of cider and doughnuts. While I seem to spend my days refining and calculating on a micro-level, it was liberating to not have to over think a dish. And in reality, few things are more refined than the texture of that peach, or as satisfying as the pairing of warm beignets and spiced cider, yet they're easy to prep and execute and they fit the restaurant's casual concept like a glove.
Though my trip was brief, I did manage a field trip to Dolcezza, an awesome gelato shop in Georgetown. Both sourcing his ingredients from and selling his wares at the same farmer's markets that Leo scours, the shop's owner, Robb Duncan is intensely passionate about his product. Learning the craft in Argentina, he's a bit of mad genius. For "breakfast" that morning, I must have tasted at least a dozen inspired gelatos and sorbets, from lemon-opal basil to lime-cilantro to blackberry-mascarpone. All were amazingly bright in flavor and perfectly textured, not an easy accomplishment. Robb is equally obsessed with the quality of his coffee, which for those who know me well, I can definitely appreciate! Do check out the shop if you find yourself in the area.
Other random bits... The Wall Street Journal finally ran a feature this week that includes a couple of recipes and a video that you can find here. But I'm most excited about the first article of what should become an ongoing series of contributions to the online version of Gourmet. I wasn't sure when I started what direction this blog would eventually take, but this new opportunity will allow me to stay focused on very specific topics here, while exploring broader ideas over there. Just what I needed, more homework!
With economy in mind, I introduced another simple and versatile pastry base while at Westend this week, something we call a crepe dentelle. These impossibly thin and crispy wafers were on the dessert menu when I arrived at Le Bernardin four years ago. Though they were long ago removed, I fell in love with the preparation and bust them out whenever the opportunity arises. Made from a super thin "batter" of butter, sugar, flour, egg white, and water, we bake them in small non-stick pans, then layer them with any kind of mousse or cream. The result is a weightless complexity and contrast that belies the simplicity of its assembly. I'm not yet sure in which guise they will appear in DC, but we played with everything from lemon and hazelnut to dulce de leche as possible fillings.
For general notes on the recipes posted here, please read About the Recipes. And for hard to find ingredients or equipment, please refer to Resources.
