Nice Kitchen Boys*

end of a damp damp trail

low tide island in Turnagain Arm

I’m, like, pretty okay at cooking.  I can reliably make a diverse array of dishes that taste good and range in appearance from not awful to actually appealing.  I also have a healthy sense of humility (bordering on devaluation) about my abilities.  Luckily, I have crossed paths with some thoughtful, diplomatic cooks who helped affirm and grow my skills.

A memorable kindness from my fancy restaurant days was my favorite sous chef overlooking that I called him by the wrong name half the time after he warmly greeted me at the start of each shift.  (In my defense, John and Paul, the charcuterie guy, looked alike, were both friendly, and my mnemonic device of “he’s a member of the Beatles” got me nowhere.)  Feeling he was genuinely glad to have me there somehow made the gougeres bake better.  Also at this restaurant, without being a bit patronizing, my favorite line cook taught me the proper and most efficient way to sweep the insanely busy and crowded service kitchen during dinner.  Resetting after each rush is a practical necessity as well as a mental form of cleaning house, to clear out the past and go on with what’s next.  Yet another good soul there told funny stories and helped me improve my atrophying knife skills while scoring, blanching, and peeling the 500 pounds of tomatoes we processed into petals.  He was able to draw me out from shy servility and I came up with a time-saving organizational scheme.

When I turned up in Antarctica with precious little line cooking experience, my trainer friend cooked all the breakfast eggs to order while I stood frozen in terror beside him at the giant griddle.  He invited me several times to “just jump on in whenever,” and remained chipper and patient while I neglected to do so for the entire three hours.  In fits and starts I wobbled through the next day, and he praised me as though I had done him a huge favor.  After a couple weeks I could run the whole show myself (and hungover).  I try to remember from this that ignorance and naïveté can just be temporary.

This summer I have the pleasure and occasional inner unworthy-squirminess of working with two cooks both incredibly talented and pathologically nonchalant about myriad challenges and mishaps.  They accept and manage my errors of judgment and execution without batting an eye, and collegially share suggestions and solutions.

This isn’t supposed to be all humble-aw-shucks.  What I want to get at is the good faith/optimism/encouragement that some people emit, like sun beams that we can turn and face like a flower seeking photons in order to unfurl.  Many thanks.

*All of these examples happen to be guys.  I’ve efinitely been graced by more than my fair share of kind and generous kitchen gals as well.  Especially dear Lisas.