Harvest America CUES BLOG

There was a time, maybe not too long ago, when you knew very little about food and cooking. There was an initial moment, maybe as a young guest in a restaurant, or possibly as a “first job” dishwasher, when the light bulb switched from off to on. It was a new taste, something exceptional, a surprise, or it may have been a moment when the busy breakfast cook pulled you from the dish machine to help set-up plates on the line – whatever it was – you woke up. Culinary skills were non-existent, but the possibility was there. “I think I might like to do this!”

That first time you held a French knife in your hands you were a bit nervous and very unsure. Those cuts were haphazard, and the pile of onions was a real disaster until someone showed you the right way to hold the knife, how to cup your other hand to guide the knife and remove the fear of cutting your thumb off, and that a sharp knife produced clean cuts and less chance of accidents. Remember that? You learned something that day, something that would stay with you for your entire life. With practice you became faster, more consistent, and very confident in that ability. You added a skill to your bag of tricks.

Remember that first plate of food that you slid into the pass? It had only been a few hours as a line cook, but that steak or fish portion was your first work of art as a cook. The steak was returned (under-cooked and not the medium rare the guest had ordered). You felt the anguish of failure, a moment of defeat, and anger at your own incompetence, until a fellow cook took the time to show you how to “feel” the doneness of a steak. The light switch worked, and you began to understand. Each steak built your confidence until anyone new to the kitchen would marvel at your ability to be “spot on” with cooking steaks and chops. With practice you became even more proficient, consistent, and dependable. Confidence grew as you added another skill to your bag of tricks.

Over time, the same experience held true through preparation of stocks, soups, and sauces; learning how to sauté properly, clarifying butter, turning vegetables into perfect football shapes, roasting prime ribs, coaxing popovers to rise, balloon, and keep their crusty exterior while remaining soft and creamy inside. Within a year of moving to the line you were able to work all stations with confidence. Your fellow cooks could depend on you and the chef was pleased that he could trust your work.

And then, another milestone moment occurred. With a friend in tow, you made a reservation at a noteworthy new restaurant in town. The chef was praised by many, and you wanted to see what it was all about. Why would someone just as skilled as you receive so much recognition? You and your friend ordered a sampling of different menu items and bite after bite you were struck with a barrel full of emotions. Everything was on a different level. The flavors were complex and perfectly married on the plate with other ingredients. The vegetables were fresh, perfectly cooked with a bit of snap, but not too much. The sauce was as smooth as silk, and the plate presentations were right out of an art museum. With each course you were struck with a mix of excitement and sadness. Excited because it was so damn good, and your expectations grew with each new dish; and sadness because you realized that you were nowhere as good as you thought you were. You had much to learn, and your bag of tricks was suddenly inadequate. It was a moment like the one you read about when the guitarist Eric Clapton first saw and heard Jimi Hendrix perform. Clapton had been considered the greatest guitarist of the time, until he experienced Hendrix. He even considered hanging up his instrument at that moment, but then decided to dedicate himself to becoming even better. It was that kind of moment for you.

Over the next few years, you focused on learning the “right way” of doing things in the kitchen. You became friends with other cooks who were more skilled than you and felt that a day without learning something new was a day wasted. You worked on building your palate and understanding flavor; you studied plate presentations – symmetry, color, and texture combinations, and how to build your own unique signature. You visited the farms where produce was grown, the fish markets where round and flat fish were sold off incoming fishing boats, visited meat packing plants and discovered more about different grades of meat, and even invested some off time working in a local bakery to discover the difference between bread and great bread. Your choice of employment was based on what you could learn more than how much you could make. The goal was to increase your value first and then see where your career path would lead. Every day you grew as a cook, replacing many of those old bag of tricks skills with ones that were more refined.

After a few years you sought opportunities to shadow chefs who would share the management skills needed to hold the ultimate kitchen position. You invested your own time to learn about menu planning, purchasing, cost controls, and even a touch of marketing. You observed how different chefs operated their kitchens and how they worked with employees. Some were autocratic while others more democratic. At each point in time, you grew and learned how to build your own style until one day a chef called you in the office and offered a sous chef position. Your bag of tricks was getting quite full of some skills occasionally being replaced by better versions.

It became important to understand people – those with whom you worked as well as those who you served. Everyone was different, everyone had a story to tell, and everyone provided a new piece of knowledge about traditions, culture, flavors, challenges, and why who they were impacted how they performed. A student of the world around you, everything found a place in the profile of the chef you would become.

Becoming a competent and confident chef is a lifelong pursuit. It is sometimes cerebral, occasionally emotional, but always tactile. Everything we choose to experience, everyone we meet, each person we work with or work for will provide something new to add to that bag of tricks. To become a chef means that you must dedicate yourself to learning something new every day, to keeping yourself open to new ideas, and to being your own worst critic. It means that you must relish the chance to learn and then (and this is most important) to SHARE that knowledge with others in the way that your mentors did with you.

Looking back on that first pile of diced onions, that first plate slid down the pass, that refire on a steak improperly cooked, and those “a’ha” moments when you realized you weren’t yet as good as you could be – it is important to relish those moments and the choice you made to use them as something teachable. You are where you are because you chose to accept the challenge to improve, now it is your turn to guide others to do the same.

PLAN BETTER – TRAININ HARDER – RELISH THE CHANCE TO LEARN

Harvest America Ventures, LLC

Restaurant Consulting

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