Getting In Over Your Head

 

Over time, I have found that I've become the most improbable of experts. I reluctantly accept the position with a modest measure of confidence, but there remains an underlying uneasiness. Sure, I've put in a fair amount time, I've worked hard, and I've seen enough to share. But really, who am I to give advice?

 

Seldom does a week go by without my receiving a handful of emails, letters, phone calls, or text messages, all looking for answers. Many questions are simply on the order of, "Do you have a recipe for...?", or "Have you ever tried...?" The most perplexing is being charged with the task of troubleshooting over long distance, "So I made... But it didn't work. What did I do wrong?" Far from being a burden, I happily participate in these exchanges because, as I've always said, there should be no secrets in cooking. And in the event I don't have an answer- which is often- it forces me to find out for myself. Helping others is sometimes the best way to learn new things, especially in an age when so many of our questions involve harnessing (or occasionally defying) the properties of physics and chemistry. And I'm certainly not above consulting others for advice on problems that I'm working on.

 

And then there are tough questions, those that can't be answered by a chart, graph, book, or internet search. These are the deeper questions, sometimes from complete strangers, other times from highly regarded chefs. A line cook in Miami, a teenager in Bangkok, an aunt whose nephew is a culinary student in Toronto, a stage from another restaurant in NYC- they all want advice on where they should work, what they should read, where they should be eating. From other chefs, it can be about mentoring their own pastry chefs, or more often, they are desperately in need of one in the first place. Beyond professional courtesy and a sense of community, I take all of these assignments seriously and respectfully. I'm honored, of course, to be consulted, but I also recognize the responsibility that goes along with guiding the paths of others or endorsing their skills. Perhaps I place too much weight on my shoulders when I field these requests, as if I really were in the position to alter one's course or career. If it's inspiration being sought, maybe the time invested in my response is encouragement enough. But it still leads to the question of whether I feel fit as some sort of a role model at all.

 

Despite the successes and accolades I've received, on paper, I don't have much to boast about. I fell into the business quite by accident; you could even say that cooking provided an easy way for me to avoid whatever was going on at the time. I never went to culinary school nor did I ever stage at any grand temple of cuisine here or abroad, though today I do whatever I can to encourage doing both. I never worked alongside any of the great pastry masters, though I've mysteriously been placed among their ranks. My resume is pretty weak. Some may praise me as being "self-taught", others might say that he who learns from himself has a fool for a teacher. While one can never truly be "self-taught", we can certainly follow our own scenic routes to culinary maturity. And I have to accept that as the very reason why someone might seek me for advice. You don't need a sage to tell you that passion, hard work, and a thirst for knowledge are paramount to success in this business. What makes each of our stories unique are the choices to we made, our willingness to persevere, and the overall attitude we bring into the kitchen everyday. Beyond taste and technique, these are perhaps the most important lessons to share.

 

The drive and hunger in others are easy to recognize, if anything, for the simple fact that they are reaching out in the first place. Skills can be learned, practiced, and refined. But I approach all of the other x-factors with varying degrees of caution. The harsh realities of professional cooking aren't necessarily apparent to those just starting out, or to the career-changers, or to anyone with only visions of glossy food magazines and reality cooking shows dancing in their heads. I don't mean to dramatize or glorify some grand sense of daily adversity, but there is a fair amount of sacrifice at the highest level, and different people are willing to accept different amounts of it. That sacrifice is eventually what drives talented cooks out of the business, or at least to its fringes. When I started out, I had nothing to lose, so I dove in headfirst. In hindsight, I did lose or miss out on a lot of things. I'm thankful for the fact that now, over a decade later, I'm in a position to regain those things, like relationships and financial security, that I initially sacrificed in the name of food.

 

I credit where I am now in large part to sheer luck. Each of my moves came from being in the right place at the right time, or meeting the right person. It was pure chance that I got jobs with Rick Halberg and Takashi Yagihashi, or that I got props early on from someone like Norman Love. A life changing moment, like meeting Eric Ripert, could just as easily not have happened. Granted, it's not all about dumb luck. I did put myself into certain positions, and these mentors all took a fair amount of risk in their generosity with me. Circumstance aside, the crucial factor in all of these career steps was my willingness to jump in over my head. Though there haven't been many, each job I've taken has been more demanding, stressful, and terrifying than the last. I've often said that the day you don't feel that pit in your stomach as you walk into work, that's the day to start looking for a new job.

 

In a nutshell, that's my advice. Push yourself and those around you. No matter where you are, bleed each environment and situation of all that you can. You have to be selfish to a point, while also learning the fundamentals of respect. If you want it bad enough, the sacrifices will seem petty, and the personal returns will be far more valuable in the long haul. Most importantly, be willing to jump into the deep end. I hate to say it, but a measured dose of self-imposed fear can be useful motivation. There will surely be failures and mis-steps. I've made a few bad choices along the way, and I've made many more bad desserts. But they must be embraced and learned from. While it's important that you own your mistakes, the beauty of this business is that, quite literally, every day is a new day.

 

This process, this evolution, has to be constant. At each stage of development, there is more and more to aspire to. Stagnation is damnation. Often, I'm the first of my team to get tired and burned out, despite my responsibility to lead by example. And while I certainly take inspiration, direction, and cues from my own bosses, progression always feels better when generated from within. That's ultimately what drove me to pastry early on: the relative autonomy, trust, and opportunity to be a self-starter. The counsel I can give to my direct peers has become the most fulfilling in this regard. By comparing notes, so to speak, I've been better able to analyze my own trajectory, my past and my future potential, as well as the smallest details of the everyday. An out of town pastry chef recently spent a few days with us; what she took away wasn't so much about technique or flavor, but more about the spirit and atmosphere in the kitchen, how I manage, and how we bond as a team. Seeing what we do through another's eyes helps me notice our failures, but also our triumphs, the things I take for granted.

The need to constantly re-evaluate goals and aspirations is vital. With continued exposure, I force myself to step back now and then and ask why I pursue this project or that opportunity. I'm careful to accept certain offers with personal integrity in mind; rather than seeking 'fame' I say yes because I like new challenges. Several years ago, back when I was helping to moderate the pastry forum on eGullet, there were many passionate discussions among working pastry chefs focusing on our roles within the brigade, and in the media and culinary culture at large. Such a thread may have arisen from airing a common personal challenge or frustration, before taking on new life as an intense philosophical debate. I recall responding to one such musing with a simplistic five-point plan for success (or  perhaps just inner peace) that I offer here. (Download From Pastry Chef Recognition- eGullet 2003). I wrote this while still working in Michigan, and reading this now more than five years on, I would certainly add more nuance, based on my experience since. But I still stand by the overall message. The only emphasis I might add in hindsight is, that above all things, do it for yourself first. After that, the rest is just cake.

 

For as long as I can remember, I've noticed this bit of graffiti periodically popping up in our neighborhood. Every few weeks- usually on the days when appliances are allowed onto the curbs for garbage pickup, or at the end of the month, when apartments are turned over and someone eventually deems this piece of furniture or that television unworthy of moving- this altruistic vandal leaves his/her tag. It's always the same slogan (with or without the fish), and always scrawled on the abandoned, the refused, and more often than not, an electrical appliance or symbol of modern convenience (pictured here, a microwave oven). I've seen and heard my share of street philosophy and gutter wisdom over the years, so I usually don't pay attention to such things. But it reminds me that I have to set newer and higher goals myself. When asked what I'm going to do next, as I often am, I tend to respond that I'm already living my dream; for ten years my goal was to be right here, right now. But that's not good enough. You always have to keep your eye on the deep end. It's time to practice what I preach.

 

This coming week will find me catching up with things in Washington DC and Philadelphia, checking in on seasonal menu changes and specials. But I'll be back in New York just in time for what has become my favorite holiday, Thanksgiving. Over the past few years I've come to develop a ritual: I take Wednesday before off to roam the city, shopping for food, constructing the next day's menu as I go. I shared the story with Gourmet, which you can read here.

Comments

[quizmad]

Everything will work out. Happy Thanksgiving Chef.

[chris ford]

This is a great and inspiring post. Many many thanks for your perspective. As I prepare for my first executive pastry chef opportunity this post is extremely helpful. Thanks Michael!

[chadzilla]

Nice article in Gourmet.
How gracious of you to leave your door open to your staff.
It reminded me of many years ago when I was a young line cook in Rhode Island, miles away from home and family. Our restaurant ended up being closed for Thanksgiving, and the executive chef invited a handful of us transient cooks over to his home for what was one of the best Thanksgiving meals I've ever had. The experience of that holiday fare in New England gave me new perspective on history. Plus, the chef would not allow any of us to help him the entire day, as we were his guests in his home. I will always appreciate his generosity.
Thanks for the memory jog.

[Ted Niceley]

Great piece, food for thought!
Have a great Thanksgiving,Michael!
T

[corybarrett]

Don't think for a minute that this "lovely article" gets you off from my random midnight pastry texts.

[Michael Brown]

How did I ever miss that you had started a blog? Oh, well, I guess I know where my evening is going.

And speaking of diving without checking the depth of the water . . . I did this year.

My best and Happy Thanksgiving to you.

Michael
Cincinnati, Ohio

[Jeremy]

Hi Michael,
Great post, Thanksgiving is also my favorite food holiday,not that we are celebrating anything except perhaps a fall harvest, friends and just the love of cooking, oh yeah and eating!
Going to go read the Gourmet article and get inspired while my gizzards confit,my quince poach and I bake my pies and cakes tomorrow.
Happy Thanksgiving!

[Michael Laiskonis]

First, to 'quizmad' and a couple of others who asked privately, by all means, everything is great! I didn't think the post would be taken as something dark, but rather as extremely positive!

Cory, I'm always happy to be a part of your thought process, no matter what time of day.

Michael, I occasionally hear of your successes from a certain Cincinnati pastry chef. Congratulations!

And thanks, of course, for all the kind words.

[Alan Hlebaen]

Thanks you so much for writing this. I have been on the fence for a while now as to what I should do next. And this has helped me tremendously!

[summer]

thank you for always being there when i needed you, whether you knew it or not. happy thanksgiving.