There's a major gap in my literary ramblings that's making it hard to start writing again.
My year as a chef, being handed incredible opportunities, setting a new world record for distance-outside-comfort-zone, having some of the toughest days of my life, is largely unrecorded.
Trying to be a chef and trying to write about it were mutually exclusive. Hats off to any full time chef who finds the time or energy to do much else. In fact, hats off to any full time chef, period. I scarcely even kept a diary, something I've done reasonably well for nearly 40 years.
Maybe one day I'll find time to tell the stories. Like having a salad (and slug) returned on my first ever service. Or literally crawling from bed to bathroom after several 16 hour shifts. Or trying to make bacon and egg pie for 20 tourists on a boat in a wildly rolling sea. Or just how much you can achieve in 15 seconds with abject fear as motivation. But for now it's just too overwhelming. Where would I start?
A line in the sand must be drawn or I'll never write again. It doesn't sit comfortably to skip such a significant chapter, but I can at least manage the last page of that chapter . . .
. . . So I guess I'm not going to be a chef. I can handle the hours, pace, pay, heat, burns and bruises. I worked hard, always longer than I had to. I turned up every single day. I truly cared about the quality of food going out and, having been self employed for the last 10 years, worked with the thought "what if this was my business?".
But I don't have the personality to be a chef. You have to be extremely confident. I'm not, and can't pretend otherwise.
Some people thrive on jumping in the deep end, but I guess I'm more the paddling pool type. Eventually, by working hard and doing my best, I get to play with the big kids, and sometimes even become a better swimmer than them. But the kitchen is an Olympic pool and no place for a lack of confidence. Apart from being personally demoralising, it affects everyone else. Maybe if I'd been shoved in a corner prepping vegetables and slowly worked my way up it would have been different, but that wasn't what happened. I saw other people make the leap from novice to confident chef, so it is achievable. Just not by me.
I gave it my best shot. Given the time, effort and expense, the realisation that I lack the chef gene has been a bitter pill to swallow, and I'm still in recovery. Massive disappointment, but of course not the end of the world. I have other talents.
I loved wearing the uniform and how it felt sitting in the alleyway having a beer with the other chefs after service. I loved the political incorrectness, merciless piss-taking and practical jokes. I loved how it felt when the Head Chef said "good service", or when a customer sent an appreciative comment to the kitchen.
No regrets. At least I won't die wondering. And one of the many good things to come out of my cheffing attempt is that everything else, past and future, seems easy by comparison.
Moving on.
Happy New Year!
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Sunday, January 9, 2011
HOW OLD IS TOO OLD TO BE A CHEF?
This isn't the topic I planned on breaking my long writing hiatus with (been too busy!), but having been kindly mentioned in a couple of blogs on the subject (gourmetguy and Chef Sandwich ), I thought I'd give my view from the top. Of the age scale that is.
The "too old to be a chef" discussion was prompted by Anthony Bourdain's comment in his book Medium Raw, namely that 32 was too old to start a career in a professional kitchen.
I'll be 50 in a few days' time. Last year I went to Chef School. It wasn't something I've dreamed of doing forever, but I've always loved cooking and had a fascination with what it would be like to be a chef. And I suppose there's vague undeveloped thoughts in the back of my head about one day having my own restaurant, for which I'll grow all my own fruit and veges and animals and catch my own fish. (God loves a dreamer). I didn't have to do the course, but knew I'd need all the ammunition I could muster to get a break in the industry at my age.
Midway through the course I read a review in Cuisine magazine about a new restaurant in Wellington. I loved the sound of it, primarily seafood, not stiff and starchy, a bit of a sense of humour, food not "overworked". It was owned by a big name chef who, together with the Head Chef, had operated award winning restaurants previously, in fact Best New Zealand restaurant in 2005. I ripped the article out, pinned it to my wall and thought "yeah, one day I'd like to work in a joint like that".
I got brave wrote to ask if they'd consider allowing me to do my 3 weeks' work experience (part of the chef course) there. I laboured for hours over the letter, I desperately wanted them to say yes. Mind you, I hadn't thought through the consequences if they did, namely time off work, and 700km away from home! I told them how old I was. Well, not exactly. I said I was twice as old as some of my classmates. The truth is I was more than double the age of most of them. Unbelievably, they said "yes". My eyes fair bulged and heart thumped when I read that email.
The restaurant was everything I'd hoped for. Great food, friendly staff, customers having fun! I did OK, I tried my hardest. I got "the talk" from both the Head Chef and the owner about how they'd trialled older people before and they hadn't cut it, "but you might be different". Music to my ears. Maybe I did stand a chance of getting a cooking job somewhere, even at my age? Mind you, the Sous Chef told me everyone knows the unwritten industry rule: if you're 35 get out of the kitchen. The other two chefs (bless them) told him to shut up, that if I really wanted it I'd get there.
On my second to last day they they offered me a job. I said yes without hesitation, didn't ask what the job was, or what I'd be paid, and (as usual) didn't think through the consequences, namely moving to a new city, renting my house out, leaving friends and family, being poor. I just knew categorically that I had to do it, and what finer place to learn? I seriously couldn't believe my luck and struggled to focus during service. Thankfully they gave me 6 weeks to sort my life out and get back down there to start work.
While I was away they came runner-up in NZ's Best Restaurant (Specialist Category) Awards. By now reality had struck and I was scared. Spelled T-E-R-R-I-F-I-E-D. Not of the move, but of the work. I mean for Christ's sake, this is a top restaurant, very busy, only 4 chefs, no kitchen hands, 60 - 130 covers a night, and I'm as green as hell. What on earth was I thinking?
When I walked in on my first day they said "right, you're our Cold Larder Chef". Panic. I'm thinking hang on, aren't I just a trainee who'll be following chefs around and saying "ooh, is that how you do it?" Nup, I'm it. My job is to make all the desserts, cold entrees, bread, sauces, salads and dressings. I decide how much to make and when we need to order stuff.
I've been there 2 months now and it's the toughest thing I've ever done in my life, by a very long shot. Tougher than a marathon, tougher than sailing across an ocean two-handed 3 hours on watch, 3 hours off for 10 days, tougher than the toughest day in Toughsville! It's hot, hard, heavy, painful, stressful, exhausting. But I still want to do it. And I've survived the two busiest months of the year. Hell, a couple of weeks before Christmas we were voted Wellington's Best New Restaurant. It got busier! But it will get easier and I'll get faster. I can now make 50 chocolate mousse in half the time it took me initially. I can make crepes using 3 pans at once. I don't need the recipe book for some things.
But is it so tough because of my age? Is 50 too old to be a chef? No, of course it's not, but I hear what Mr Bourdain is saying. Instead of claiming 32 is too old, what he could say is you need strength, stamina, courage. You need to show blind obedience, take the rap even if you didn't do it, never answer back, and don't expect justice. You need to be able to live on chef's wages, not have a normal social life, not be a prude, have a thick skin, turn up for work every day, put mistakes behind you, get used to feeling useless and having your confidence knocked.
The age thing isn't about a number, but more that people in their 30's and 40's may be unwilling to exercise some of the qualities required. Not unable, but unwilling. They're probably accustomed to being confident, in charge, well paid, respected, and have a strongly developed sense of justice. It's not enough to be an amazing cook who throws brilliant dinner parties that took a week to prepare. In a restaurant you won't be cooking your food at your pace. Anyone can learn to be a great cook at home, you don't need to do it for a job. But you can't learn at home what you can in a restaurant: things like wastage, ordering, suppliers, stock control, speed, consistency, pricing, marketing . . . God, there's a mountain of stuff to learn.
Everyone's got their own challenges, but mine aren't about being 50. For many weeks I was so sore I could hardly get out of bed, seriously considering rolling along the floor to the bathroom and hauling myself up the toilet when I got there. But that's because I was used to sitting on my fat arse (I've lost 10kg so far) in an office all day, not because of my age. Being on your feet at a frantic pace for 10 - 14 hours with a 10 minute break is tough for anyone coming from a sedentary job.
The self doubt - am I really useless, I can't go any faster, it's impossible - is that any harder for me than it was for the 19 and 20 year old chefs in my kitchen when they started? I doubt it, more likely a character flaw than to do with my age.
Being short (5'2") is challenging. I'm at full stretch with a bit of a jump just to get a bowl. I stand on a pot for some jobs because the benches aren't built for Hobbits. In fact I have to stand on a pot to reach most equipment. If the microwave stops and my item is at the back I give it another 2 seconds to get it to the front where I can reach it.
I wouldn't dare pull the "it's tougher being a woman" card, but some aspects of it are difficult. I won't be so vulgar as to specify, but hey, at my age I won't have to worry about that much longer, and what better place to be menopausal than a busy pro kitchen where there's no chance you'll ever notice a hot flush in the existing inferno? And huge pots are heavy. I thought I was strong before, but I'm positively muscle-bound now. There are still some things I can't lift. I find a work-around.
I could have taken an easier route, in a less busy cafe or similar. But this is the restaurant I most wanted to work at in NZ, and I can't believe my good luck to be there. The owner, chefs, front of house, sommelier, barman, are seriously good, they know their stuff inside-out and they're nice people. In fact they're excellent people for giving me a chance!
The only time age has been or will be relevant to me is 15 (drivers license), 18 (pub) and 65 (pension). Oh, and maybe 100 (telegram). I shall probably be a great chef by then. If not, it won't be for lack of trying :-)
The "too old to be a chef" discussion was prompted by Anthony Bourdain's comment in his book Medium Raw, namely that 32 was too old to start a career in a professional kitchen.
I'll be 50 in a few days' time. Last year I went to Chef School. It wasn't something I've dreamed of doing forever, but I've always loved cooking and had a fascination with what it would be like to be a chef. And I suppose there's vague undeveloped thoughts in the back of my head about one day having my own restaurant, for which I'll grow all my own fruit and veges and animals and catch my own fish. (God loves a dreamer). I didn't have to do the course, but knew I'd need all the ammunition I could muster to get a break in the industry at my age.
Midway through the course I read a review in Cuisine magazine about a new restaurant in Wellington. I loved the sound of it, primarily seafood, not stiff and starchy, a bit of a sense of humour, food not "overworked". It was owned by a big name chef who, together with the Head Chef, had operated award winning restaurants previously, in fact Best New Zealand restaurant in 2005. I ripped the article out, pinned it to my wall and thought "yeah, one day I'd like to work in a joint like that".
I got brave wrote to ask if they'd consider allowing me to do my 3 weeks' work experience (part of the chef course) there. I laboured for hours over the letter, I desperately wanted them to say yes. Mind you, I hadn't thought through the consequences if they did, namely time off work, and 700km away from home! I told them how old I was. Well, not exactly. I said I was twice as old as some of my classmates. The truth is I was more than double the age of most of them. Unbelievably, they said "yes". My eyes fair bulged and heart thumped when I read that email.
The restaurant was everything I'd hoped for. Great food, friendly staff, customers having fun! I did OK, I tried my hardest. I got "the talk" from both the Head Chef and the owner about how they'd trialled older people before and they hadn't cut it, "but you might be different". Music to my ears. Maybe I did stand a chance of getting a cooking job somewhere, even at my age? Mind you, the Sous Chef told me everyone knows the unwritten industry rule: if you're 35 get out of the kitchen. The other two chefs (bless them) told him to shut up, that if I really wanted it I'd get there.
On my second to last day they they offered me a job. I said yes without hesitation, didn't ask what the job was, or what I'd be paid, and (as usual) didn't think through the consequences, namely moving to a new city, renting my house out, leaving friends and family, being poor. I just knew categorically that I had to do it, and what finer place to learn? I seriously couldn't believe my luck and struggled to focus during service. Thankfully they gave me 6 weeks to sort my life out and get back down there to start work.
While I was away they came runner-up in NZ's Best Restaurant (Specialist Category) Awards. By now reality had struck and I was scared. Spelled T-E-R-R-I-F-I-E-D. Not of the move, but of the work. I mean for Christ's sake, this is a top restaurant, very busy, only 4 chefs, no kitchen hands, 60 - 130 covers a night, and I'm as green as hell. What on earth was I thinking?
When I walked in on my first day they said "right, you're our Cold Larder Chef". Panic. I'm thinking hang on, aren't I just a trainee who'll be following chefs around and saying "ooh, is that how you do it?" Nup, I'm it. My job is to make all the desserts, cold entrees, bread, sauces, salads and dressings. I decide how much to make and when we need to order stuff.
I've been there 2 months now and it's the toughest thing I've ever done in my life, by a very long shot. Tougher than a marathon, tougher than sailing across an ocean two-handed 3 hours on watch, 3 hours off for 10 days, tougher than the toughest day in Toughsville! It's hot, hard, heavy, painful, stressful, exhausting. But I still want to do it. And I've survived the two busiest months of the year. Hell, a couple of weeks before Christmas we were voted Wellington's Best New Restaurant. It got busier! But it will get easier and I'll get faster. I can now make 50 chocolate mousse in half the time it took me initially. I can make crepes using 3 pans at once. I don't need the recipe book for some things.
But is it so tough because of my age? Is 50 too old to be a chef? No, of course it's not, but I hear what Mr Bourdain is saying. Instead of claiming 32 is too old, what he could say is you need strength, stamina, courage. You need to show blind obedience, take the rap even if you didn't do it, never answer back, and don't expect justice. You need to be able to live on chef's wages, not have a normal social life, not be a prude, have a thick skin, turn up for work every day, put mistakes behind you, get used to feeling useless and having your confidence knocked.
The age thing isn't about a number, but more that people in their 30's and 40's may be unwilling to exercise some of the qualities required. Not unable, but unwilling. They're probably accustomed to being confident, in charge, well paid, respected, and have a strongly developed sense of justice. It's not enough to be an amazing cook who throws brilliant dinner parties that took a week to prepare. In a restaurant you won't be cooking your food at your pace. Anyone can learn to be a great cook at home, you don't need to do it for a job. But you can't learn at home what you can in a restaurant: things like wastage, ordering, suppliers, stock control, speed, consistency, pricing, marketing . . . God, there's a mountain of stuff to learn.
Everyone's got their own challenges, but mine aren't about being 50. For many weeks I was so sore I could hardly get out of bed, seriously considering rolling along the floor to the bathroom and hauling myself up the toilet when I got there. But that's because I was used to sitting on my fat arse (I've lost 10kg so far) in an office all day, not because of my age. Being on your feet at a frantic pace for 10 - 14 hours with a 10 minute break is tough for anyone coming from a sedentary job.
The self doubt - am I really useless, I can't go any faster, it's impossible - is that any harder for me than it was for the 19 and 20 year old chefs in my kitchen when they started? I doubt it, more likely a character flaw than to do with my age.
Being short (5'2") is challenging. I'm at full stretch with a bit of a jump just to get a bowl. I stand on a pot for some jobs because the benches aren't built for Hobbits. In fact I have to stand on a pot to reach most equipment. If the microwave stops and my item is at the back I give it another 2 seconds to get it to the front where I can reach it.
I wouldn't dare pull the "it's tougher being a woman" card, but some aspects of it are difficult. I won't be so vulgar as to specify, but hey, at my age I won't have to worry about that much longer, and what better place to be menopausal than a busy pro kitchen where there's no chance you'll ever notice a hot flush in the existing inferno? And huge pots are heavy. I thought I was strong before, but I'm positively muscle-bound now. There are still some things I can't lift. I find a work-around.
I could have taken an easier route, in a less busy cafe or similar. But this is the restaurant I most wanted to work at in NZ, and I can't believe my good luck to be there. The owner, chefs, front of house, sommelier, barman, are seriously good, they know their stuff inside-out and they're nice people. In fact they're excellent people for giving me a chance!
The only time age has been or will be relevant to me is 15 (drivers license), 18 (pub) and 65 (pension). Oh, and maybe 100 (telegram). I shall probably be a great chef by then. If not, it won't be for lack of trying :-)
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