Michael Laiskonis

We Now Return To Our Regular Programming, Already In Progress...

First, I must offer my heartfelt thanks to all those readers who shared their kind words, both publicly and privately. It's very cool to know that so many others see value in my thoughts and ideas. In casually hinting that I may quit blogging, I certainly wasn't fishing for compliments, nor was I trying to pull off some big tease. Deep down I knew it probably wouldn't be the end; I just thought it needed a new direction.

Indeed, I will continue to use this blog as my soapbox of sorts, for general thoughts, musings, and ideas, however infrequently they may seem to surface. In addition, I'm starting a second project, stripped down, less formal, and with fewer words (we can only hope). It will be a bit more spontaneous and freestyle, with an emphasis on the day-to-day stuff we're working on, the raw data behind the process of our cooking, be they triumphs or failures. In other words, it's just about the food. I'm calling it Workbook, and it can be found at www.mlaiskonis.typepad.com.

I'm looking forward to an inspiring and productive 2009!

Things I Learned

 

It's been nearly a year and thirty-something posts since I began this project last January. It's something I've put a fair amount of work into, and like all worthwhile endeavors, I've learned a few things in process. In the spirit of all the annual top ten lists that tend to surface this time of year, I offer you Ten Things I Learned While Doing The Blog Thing...

1. Writing is hard.

Just like chocolate work, or dicing a brunoise, or even expediting the pass, you're only good at writing if you practice it on a regular basis. I think the writing here has gotten better with each post; for sure, the process feels less daunting and takes far less time than it used to. Carrying around a few small notebooks has helped- I find myself writing all the time, in all kinds of situations. If I have a spare moment, I'm probably scribbling something or other (This very paragraph is being written in between orders during a busy December dinner service). Difficult as it is at times, it has become part of my daily routine; whether or not what comes out is worthy of a Pulitzer, at least it keeps my thoughts organized. I've probably written more in the last year alone than in all my years since high school. I like it.

2. Photography is hard.

In an effort to give this thing some measure of visual appeal, I knew from the start that I would try to incorporate as much photography as possible. That forced me to very quickly come up to speed in a digital way. Virtually every image you see was captured in our pastry kitchen, with a pretty basic point-and-shoot. The upside is that it hopefully offers a close-to-real-time glimpse into our world. The downside is that the lighting in that kitchen is horrible. I would love to be including more shots of finished dishes and the steps that comprise them, but they just never come out very well, despite all the fussing about Adobe allows me to do. Instead, what you see are little details and hints of still-life. I had always meant to purchase or construct some sort of lighting rig, but I still haven't made it that far down the to-do list. But like writing, I haven't done much photography in the last fifteen years, so it's good to get back into it.

3. Keep your promises.

That's good advice for life in general, but when you promise something to the electronic masses, you'd better deliver. Whether it's a pledge to put up a recipe or simply post with a predictable regularity, people will hold you to it. My apologies to those who've gently harassed me to complete the things that I started but never circled back to. As for posting more often, I wish I was able to, but hopefully what I do eventually put up is worth the wait. I've always been more concerned with quality rather than quantity.

4. Choose your words carefully.

Of course, it's important to bear in mind that what is written is out there for everyone to see. Unlike a lot media, you can of course change and alter blog material, or even delete it altogether. Yet it's important to choose your words carefully, to remember that on any given day hundreds of readers from all corners of the globe will lay eyes on them. It's sobering, actually. And there is a fine line separating what is appropriate for the public, and what should remain private. It reinforces my belief that in all situations, in personal conversation and on the expanse of the internet, if you talk shit, it will eventually come back to bite you. Not that I've been bitten, I'm just all the more conscious of it.

5. The process.

Maybe this isn't something I learned, as much as it is something I confirmed about myself. I'm rarely satisfied with first drafts of anything, whether it be a paragraph or a plated dessert. I depend on revision. In writing and cooking, I'm always tweaking, tasting/proofreading, fiddling with things until I'm sick of looking at them. Some people prefer to work instinctively; they think it, write it down, and they're done. For me, writing and pastry are very malleable things. And even when I think it's finished, I step away only to return to find all the tiny but glaring typos and nonsensical grammar. If you've been one who's caught a piece within a few minutes of posting, you probably thought that I was an idiot.

6. The importance of community.

For a while, my opinion of internet 'communities' had sunk pretty low, mostly due to the prevalence of so much anonymously posted negativity and ignorance. And unless you know exactly where to look, trying to find clarity among all of the static can be pretty frustrating. Jumping into this process myself, joining the recent surge of food centric blogs- many by other like-minded professionals- I've begun to warm up to the idea of cyber-connection. By planting my flag into the ether, I've had the opportunity to 'meet' and interact with a great number of folks tuned into the same wave length. And all of that shared experience and exchange of information is inspiring. If anything, it shows how the world has indeed become a much smaller place.

7. Pay attention to what others are saying.

With the proliferation of all these blogs, it's not surprising to see a fair amount of repetition in subject matter. Granted, what makes them all unique are the voices and personalities behind them. But it helps to stay current with what others are saying. At one point, months ago, I was going to do a thing on gelatin filtration. "No one has really said much about this before," I thought to myself. It was a good thing that I did a quick Google search first, where I found Harold McGee's article in the New York Times and about a million references to it. Just because you haven't seen it, doesn't mean that it isn't already out there.

8. The 'new' media is pretty cool.

While I'd hate to consider the disappearance of traditional media altogether, the blog process has deepened my appreciation for where we can go with the 'new' forms. There is that static, and the democratic nature of the internet can be a double-edged sword, but as a tool for research, communication, and expression, it's all rather exciting. Though sometimes you might want to pause it in order to fully digest everything, the volume and speed at which creative things are happening in our industry alone is unprecedented. In terms of the blog format itself, I'm eager to do more with it. While the familiar templates are comforting in a sense, the sameness of everything can be a drawback. But there is so much to incorporate into it. Do I add video, should I Twitter, is it a good idea to affiliate myself with this or that network- these are all questions I wouldn't have conceived of a year ago. Though sometimes I step back and see Orwellian elements to it all, it's cool stuff.

9. I cook differently.

Early on, I had hoped that this project of writing about what we do would in turn enrich what we do. It certainly has, so much so that it occasionally turns into a chicken-or-egg question. Did I just write about something we did, or did we do that so I could write about it? There are times that I did cure bouts of writer's block by playing around for no other purpose than to conjure up material. Sometimes it benefited the menu, and sometimes it didn't. Of course, there are also things we've done that would have been forgotten about had there not been a convenient means to record them. But yes, the blog has in some ways changed the way we operate, whether it's that focus on documentation, or simply organizing our actions and tightening our standards in such a way that leaves less room for error. And it has also added to my work load, with media opportunities and side projects, the Gourmet gig being just one of them. Opening up the door and allowing for interaction has also affected us, heightening our self-awareness. Though I've risked vulnerability in 'putting myself out there', the overwhelming positive response has only made us stronger.

10. Things evolve.

About thirty seconds after completing that very first post, before anyone knew to look for it, I sent it out to a handful of people I trust for feedback. One of the initial bits of wisdom returned was to recognize the fluid nature of blogging. You may intend for it to be one thing, but it may likely morph into something else entirely. And in my case, it certainly has.

So what did I want it to be? Many things, I guess. It all started about a year ago, probably to the day. Eric Ripert and I were sitting in the office, reflecting on the busy year behind us, and contemplating the one that lay ahead. At one point he said, "Michael, you should do a blog. It could be cool." Well, of course I should! I began to think about it, finished the last few weeks of the busy season, then went right to it. But was it supposed to be a marketing tool? A catalog of ideas? A diary? Sure, why not.

I do know that it was initially aimed at both the seasoned pro and amateur cook alike, with content that would hopefully appeal to both. That's difficult to do, and as time went on, things started to drift further into the esoteric stuff. Though a fair amount of readers dropped off at that point, they were replaced by twice that many more. I also strove to maintain a consistent format: a story, a real life application, a recipe, supporting images. But that formula would at times impede the process. Those lengthy breaks of more than a couple weeks between posts? That was due to one part of the rigid equation remaining unfinished. I finally decided it was better to keep things fresh, even if it wasn't a complete 'package'. And then the tone slowly changed, too; recently it's veered away from technique and more into philosophy.

While I tried to set high standards for myself at the outset, I'm glad that I also allowed some room to breathe, to let it evolve.

***
 

So, does all this have an air of finality? Well, it may indeed be a eulogy. It's been a year, and though a great one with a lot to show for it, I may stop the blog. Maybe it's time to take stock and see what other directions it can take. Or, you may check back tomorrow to see that I've put up something new. I'm not sure yet.

I did decide a couple of months ago to take on a much larger project. I'm banging it out, slowly but surely. Just the other day, I read this sentence at the end of Albert Adria's Natura:

When other professionals say the magic words to me: "I'm going to write a book", I tell them that the life of a professional is a gun with six bullets and writing a book means letting off one of them, so it is important to make the most of the situation and throw yourself into the project in order to give it your best shot.

Perhaps the blog is that bullet. Or because the blog has been so instrumental in realizing a potential book, maybe continuing on with it would help inform and guide the process for the book I'd like to write. Either way, something will surface. It may be different words in a different place, or just more of the same. As for content already here, I think it may be a useful resource to some people, so I won't mess around with it.

Thanks for reading. Here's to many more happy days.

 

Taking The High Road

One of my favorite aphorisms from Fernand Point's Ma Gastronomie is the one that says a cuisinier should "never dirty his apron outside of the kitchen". I've always interpreted this as, 'be cool, don't talk smack, and remember that your reputation precedes you both in the kitchen and outside of it.' There were a few moments over the last week that reminded me of the importance of positive attitude, or better put, professional demeanor. The way we carry ourselves at work- how we deal with the stress, long hours, and other people- reflects upon our character and ultimately dictates that reputation.

We recently hosted a press conference in connection with an upcoming culinary event. It was a breakfast deal, which we do on occasion, but just seldom enough that it usually throws our morning routine into minor disarray. Of the dozen or so chefs attending the event, only one ventured back into the kitchen. As we scurried to replenish croissants and muffins and fresh fruit, it was Thomas Keller who snuck back into the pastry corner to say hello and to thank us for our efforts. That small gesture was not lost on me, nor the star-struck staff who talked about the celebrity sighting for the rest of the day. I've written here before of my respect for Thomas, not only for his cooking but also for his professionalism and seemingly perpetual state of calm coolness. I also admire the thoughtfulness and generosity in his willingness to recognize everyone in the process.

I've heard the phrase 'responsibility of the chef' attached to a few different causes of late, mostly sustainability and whatnot. For me, it's on that humanistic level where responsibility really begins. Everyone that plays a role, from the farmer, to the cook, server, and dishwasher, all deserve their due credit. And then there is a slightly different kind of obligation, one that I've also mentioned before, that once you put yourself out there, you have to be accessible to a certain degree. And maybe that accessibility is more in attitude than actual presence. One of the reasons that I've always maintained a respect for a guy like Emeril, is that despite whatever heights he reached, he never forgot where he came from: the kitchen.

 

The second incident I did not witness, but eventually came to moderate. Apparently, some words were exchanged, ultimately, over a silpat. But it could have been anything. Minor, but significant enough; no doubt similar altercations play themselves out in kitchens everywhere, everyday.  It's that moment when the stress, the rush, and heightened energy give way to an inevitable lack of calm.

Given the slightly militaristic atmosphere of top restaurants, that there are frayed nerves and occasional verbal abuse probably comes as no great shock. Of course there are the tired, cliched conflicts between front and back of house, but also the discipline handed down the chain of command in the kitchen hierarchy, from the chef all the way to the lowliest commis. I didn't come up through the ranks of a particularly rough environment. Those who have often wear that experience like a badge, or sometimes, like a barely healed scar. With time and distance, the stories of temper tantrums become the thing of legend, and can even be entertaining, though I'm sure that at the time, the teller of said story was not laughing. For some chefs, I think that fierce style is often inherited by those that endured it, for others, they may have felt enough humiliation to know that they would never care to inflict it on a new generation of cooks and waiters.

For sure, there aren't as many tyrannical kitchen bosses around these days. I'm all for keeping the rules, the standards, and intensity, but without the barking to back it up. Over the years, the futility of such a display becomes all the more evident to me. If anything, I simply find it a huge waste of energy, impeding the economy I strive for. Not to mention that at the end of the day, fear, humiliation, and guilt are not really the best motivational tools. It sounds very 'new age' to consider this, but happy cooks just might make better tasting food.

I've also come to realize that such aggressive reactions tend to arise out of frustration, when there is a complete lack of control- an incident in the dining room, a burnt tray of tuiles, a broken stack of plates. If the damage is already done, what good does anger and yelling really do? Does it work toward solving the problem or effectively prevent it from happening again? Probably not.

Without doubt, there are natural human impulses that take over in stressful situations, an extension of 'fight or flight'. As I continue to foster a sense of calm intensity in our own station, I often think of an old spoken-word bit from Henry Rollins. His story describes a scenario that sent him over the edge into an infantile rage. His behavior was confronted by a stranger, who simply said, "Do you realize what you are? You're a decorator." And that's truly what most inconsequential ranting and raving is: artifice and ornament, often unattractive and in the end, counterproductive. And far from earning respect, it often harbors resentment.

 

I've always been fairly mellow. Intense, sure. I'm quite fond of the facetious quip, "I have plenty of friends outside of work, I don't need to make new ones at work." And believe me, I've had my ugly moments. Indeed, at one point in my past, a contingent of servers dubbed me the Cake Nazi. I've yelled and screamed and stamped my feet. And more recently than I like to admit.

Mistakes do happen. Whether or not there are valid reasons behind them, in our milieu, they are still unacceptable. And those errors or lapses in judgment can really piss you off. In addition to the hundreds of 'pleases' and 'thank yous' I utter everyday, I try to handle the worst situations with a stoic acceptance, that in five seconds, let alone at the end of service, it's not going to matter. While the incident that sparked it will quickly be forgotten, the volley of foul language will be remembered. At best, I spin it into sarcasm or humor; at worst, I try a constructive form of 'tough love'. And though I may see a dozen things everyday that set me on edge, real change comes, not by bitching about it, but by more thoughtful means. I also find that if I don't whip myself into a frenzy during the course of the day, I tend to sleep better at night.

 

My evolving attitude toward the job also spills into 'civilian' life. Sure, the pace of restaurant work and the hectic nature of living in this town certainly breeds a distinct strain of impatience. I still get annoyed with crowded subway trains, and clogged sidewalks full of people who are far too slow and have no idea where they are going in the first place (The reference to murmuring "Behind you!" in the grocery store on this great blog was something I instantly identified with!). But the stress I voluntarily sign up for, the rush that makes up most of my waking moments, has taught me not to sweat the small stuff. And as our short-attention-span society becomes ever more obsessed with instant gratification, I've learned to appreciate the random quiet moments.

I don't mean this in some sort of conceited way, but I find the problems and frustrations of the straight person's 9-to-5 world amusing. I can't imagine ever complaining about something so trivial as the weather. I can't remember the last time I was ever actually bored. I have no concept of what it's like to be a 'clockwatcher'. And when someone says they're too 'busy' to do this or that, I just smile and nod sympathetically, though I may be howling with maniacal laughter on the inside.

And I certainly don't equate food preparation with far more dangerous occupations, where a good day is one that you're still alive to appreciate. But when you're under the gun for twelve hours at a stretch, when you consistently push your physical and mental limits, a lot of life's hang-ups become insignificant. There remains much to get upset over- war, poverty, injustice of all kinds- but most everything that falls just short of that is indeed a piece of cake.

 

The final reminder of this whole train of thought came just last night. We had a returning stage who has dropped in a few times over the past year. Due to the fact that my staff is dug in pretty deeply, and that I field at least a dozen requests a week, he knew coming in that there was no chance of securing a permanent position. Yet he mentioned that of all the places he's been, the environment we've created is the most civilized, and in fact embodies all the reasons he entered the field of cooking in the first place.  I was humbled for sure, and rather than suspect an obsequious attempt on his part to gain favor, it simply hit me that maybe we are doing a few things right.

 

I wrote a few weeks back about all of the great reading material hitting the shelves this season. I thought I should include The Big Fat Duck Cookbook, which I'm ever so slowly beginning to pore through, as well as Natura. The most fascinating aspect of the latter is Albert's writing at the end, which offers the tiniest peek inside the head of perhaps the most creative pastry chef around. I could read a whole book of such thoughts. And hopefully you've all got Johnny Iuzzini's Dessert FourPlay on your lists; I was able to get a review copy last summer and I can't wait to see the full package. That project was in the works for a long time, and I'm happy to finally see it realized!