My holiday gift to you.

What a glorious time of year. A time to gather and celebrate with food and gifts. A time to ponder all the gifts you have been blessed with, no matter what form they come in, they are all around us waiting to be accepted. A gift is a thing given willingly to someone without payment... a present. One thing we often overlook however, is that if a gift is only if gift if, it is accepted. How often have we been presented with something and just not taken advantage of it; or not realized that what we were being presented with was in fact a gift; or kept something solely to ourselves without sharing it; I would dare to say that these are wasted gifts. I quite often equate receiving gifts to a glass (me) being filled with a beverage (the gift).Gifts fill the glass. Once full it cannot handle more unless first a bit is removed. You may consume as much as you can, but the next taste is never as rich as the first, as repeated tasting diminishes sensory acuity we drink more and more in hopes of that first rush. And too much imbibing will leave you, well….hurting.

So how does one make room in their glass without getting intoxicated…solution… share it.

One of the greatest gifts I have received is the chance to work at my alma mater, doing what I love and was trained to do. The gift of watching a young person discover themselves and begin the journey of their career is amazing, a gift I relish everyday. But before I opened this gift, there were a few tests along the way. One such test was a Chef's test to see if I was CIA material. A challenge I truly enjoyed. Well, mostly. Right up until the end it was a great day. My food was on point and I was in the zone. As I reached for the sauté pan holding my vegetables for the final dish it was painfully apparent to me that the handle of the pan had made its way under the side towel I was holding for such protection and since it was in fact ripping hot was now searing its way into my palm.

By the time the meal was presented and I was asked into the dining room for my critique, my hand was a throbbing mess. I pressed a paper towel wrapped ice cube into the stigma and made my way into the dining room. I was more than a little pissed off at myself.  And now, not only was I wounded, I had to stand in front of a table and hear a critique on what I thought went rather well, aside from the burn. As I contemplated all this, it hit me, the gift. Gift? How can anyone see this as a gift? Well that's just it, it's your perspective. Faced with this horrible pain, I chose to see it as a gift, and it was. As I wrestled with being able to do something so stupid and careless on such an important day, the gift kindly presented itself. Today wasn't only about me being a "great" Chef, it was about my abilities as a teacher, something I was overlooking in comfort of my zone.

So when asked, " What do you think?" I put away the ego of Chef and put on the humility of the teacher. Starting with the first spoon of soup to the last morsel of chicken, I critiqued my meal. One that I normally would have stood by and defended, I now outlined its flaws and remedies. And as I finished I felt a wave of satisfaction come over me (or maybe it was adrenaline from the throbbing wound) as I awaited the evaluators responses.

"Well, that's just what I would have said." Stated one of my evaluators. And in a few weeks time, I began my journey there as an instructor, and the gifts keep coming.

Gifts come in all forms, some less recognizable than others. But in order for them to be gifts they need to be accepted, recognized and taken in, and be appreciated. But if you really want to make the most of your gift, and have room for more in the process, you need to give some of it away. The more you give...the more room you have for more.

So look around and recolonize all the gifts in your life, and more importantly, share them with others.

Honesty

I imagine we all picture ourselves as honest people. But when you take a good hard look at yourself it is quite possible to see the opposite. At least that’s what a study by Bella DePaulo, Ph.D., University of Virginia, 1996 of 147 people between the ages of 18 and 71, found...

Most people lie every day. Social exchanges lasting over 10 minutes have a deceptive element twenty percent of the time. Nearly a third of one on one interactions involve deceptive behavior or speech. Half of the interactions a college student has with their mother involve deceptive behaviors or speech. And when scientists talk about falsities they don't include pleasantries or polite ambiguities, such as “not a problem" or "I’m good " These don’t constitute "official" lies. However, complementing an awful haircut or telling a someone “the check is in the mail”  both qualify. Studies show that the average person lies several times a day. Some of those are biggies (“I’ve always been faithful to you,”) but more often, they are little white lies (“Of course that dress looks good on you!”), or sweet little lies (“you look as beautiful as the day we met.”) Some forms of deception aren’t exactly lies: comb-overs, nodding when you’re not listening, but they are non-truths just the same. “Lies of omission” allow us to justify mistruths in that we haven’t blatantly lied. Lies can help maintain our self-esteem, but when allowed to escalate, lead to serious delusions beyond our control. Sadly, a completely honest person is a rarity, which makes working in a kitchen so much fun. You would imagine that encountering an honest person in your day would be a blessing.

    I had just finished showing my cook how to do the mashed potatoes for that evening’s service. I am a bit of a stickler for the details; the simpler something is, the more perfect it should be. There is a bit of feel and finesse when it comes to a proper mash, but when you make it in larger quantities, slight deviations can lead to a very different destination altogether. Weigh the potatoes, weigh the dairy, heat the dairy, season, fold it into properly cooked potatoes that have been slightly dried to a flaky mass. This simple measuring procedure allows for minimal mixing and results in a lighter, fluffier potato. So I finished the demo, reiterated the importance of the steps, and left the cook to do their work whilst I examined the other stations prior to service.

    As I finished the inspection of the line, the stations and the consequent dishes and components for the service, I turned as I reached the end of my circuit and began heading back down the line in order to make sure my directions were being followed and the service would be a success. For the most part the cooks were doing their part, following instructions. But, as I got closer to that first cook, the one making the potatoes, I realized there was something amiss. There she was. Huge mixing bowl that was allowing my beautiful potatoes to cool down as she worked...pouring cream directly from the ice cold container (neither being heated nor measured) right into the already cooling mass. As I came up behind her I was scarcely at a loss for words…

“What do you think you are doing!?!” She wheeled around, quite astonished I was there.

“We just went over this! Cook the potatoes...dry the potatoes….mill the potatoes...keep them hot...measure the cream...heat the cream...add just what you need...season….mix minimally so as not to make gummy potatoes!!!” No response...nothing.

“And what are you doing!?! THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE!!! What were you thinking !?!”

I have to admit, I might have gone a bit over the top, but honestly this was flagrant. I stood there glaring, waiting for a good explanation. But what I got, well...was so uniquely honest, it stopped me dead in my tracks.

“I’m sorry Chef…” she began, In a split second my mind rushed through a thousand or so rants, bombasts and expletives that would pound the treacherous cook as she tried to lie her way out of this one. But my plan of attack was thwarted, for after the ‘I’m sorry Chef’ came the most honest of statements.

“I didn’t see you coming.” That was it. No excuses about not understanding, no plying for sympathy, just honest admittance of ‘I knew what I was doing was wrong and I thought I would get away with it, but you caught me.’

“Well then,” I stammered. I could feel myself doing a double take as I spoke, “let’s do it again.” I concluded as I tossed the bowl of cold, gummy spuds into the compost.

    So, do we really believe we are going to get away with it? Well if you look at the numbers, yes. With deception being so commonplace amongst us, it would follow that we do not believe we will get caught. I mean who would be fool enough to create a deception with the knowledge they were going to be found out; but we do. And we do get caught; everyone gets caught. You might think you got away with it, but deep down inside you know they know or at least someday they will find out. Maybe they already know and are just seeing how long you can go before you do the right thing and come clean. Regardless of the position of your hand to the cookie jar, the best bet in all situations, is be honest. What makes us mad, the original offense or the lie that covers it up? Most often it is the escalation of distrust from the perpetuation of the initial transgression, revelation and repentance usually leads to a reconciliation, but lies always lead to more lies, breach of trust and an inevitable falling away. So, be daring and innovative; be honest.  And believe you me, you can trust me on this, because as far as you know, I’ve never lied to you.

Thanks

  In light of the Thanksgiving Holiday I thought it appropriate to take on thanks-giving (or more to the point gratitude); and for purposes of illuminating through contrast, entitlement. We no doubt live in an immensely egocentric society. People feel entitled to nearly everything; a job, money, food,  happiness, health. But what do we truly deserve? What’s that you say? Nothing? Nothing, that’s right nothing. You are entitled to nothing. You may or may not have rights granted to you from the collective, but the world itself owes you...you guessed it, nothing. There are no guarantees in life; happiness, work, money, success, love, tomorrow, anything;  you name it we think we deserve it (so long as it’s good). There is only one thing we can be sure of, we are mortal. Everything else is a gift. And as such, deserving of our thanks. Sadly, our ego centrism (and plenty of successful marketing) makes us feel entitled to both our needs and wants.  Our ego, and behavioral patterns are formed an early age. A healthy behavior pattern of growth in understanding our needs in relationship to and with others is the desired outcome. But, selfish or egocentric patterns also emerge, which is considered unhealthy in mature adults. As one might imagine, ego centrism and entitlement are more prevalent in higher social classes, and lead to narcissistic personality traits. These immature or childlike traits signify the early stages of psychological and emotional development, yet persist into some adults. When confronted with physically mature, cognitive narcissistic people, most normal people feel obligated to NOT give in to them. Studies have gone on to show that ungrateful, narcissistic people tend towards states of anxiety, anger and depression, and experience a higher percentage of poor relationships than grateful people. This can be due in part to a failure to meet the unrealistic expectations that egocentrism demands, as well as and society's refusal of entitled demands. On the other side of the coin, grateful people experience improved health and better, more open relationships, better recovery after adversity and more stable emotional conditions. Studies also show these changes can take place simply by our attitude; thinking we are grateful (as opposed to focusing on what we didn’t get) can actually improve emotional and physical health.  Additionally, people just enjoy being around you more. Grateful people are statistically happier, go figure.

    Probably the most difficult of situations to be thankful for is that of facing failure. People will fight tooth and nail not to fail, even after it’s already occurred. We argue the call in hopes of changing an outcome long-since determined. We fail to realize that failure is an essential part of learning, and when taken in stride can be a powerful learning tool associated with more synaptic formation than success. So when people have the opportunity to hear that they have failed and, consequently, receive another chance, I am often puzzled by the level of anger expressed. It is a rarity when we hear those amazing words, “Thank you” when someone fails. But if you take a moment and stop and think about it, it is probably the best thing you can say in such a situation.

    There was an occasion when I was administering a cook’s test, a benchmark experience that allows a Chef to know if a cook is ready for the next step in their career by cooking a simple meal (first course and entree), in a given amount of time. The cook is judged not only on the quality of the food, but additionally their preparedness, cleanliness, timing and demeanor. It’s always an eye opening experience when you evaluate in such an environment. I was anticipating that this particular day was going to be a good one, as on my roster of candidates was a cook who I knew to be strong. I was expecting great food from her; she was a rock star, always prepared, always executed well. The day, however, did not proceed as either of us had imagined. For some reason or another she had a bad day…. Really bad. A meticulous cook with a great palate and more than adequate command of the competencies, I expected to be enjoying myself as she presented her plates. Needless to say I was disappointed. The dish itself spoke volumes to the disheveled condition that her station was in as the components fell lackluster onto the plate. I didn’t even need to say anything, she was well aware of the food's condition and the subsequent position that put her in. At the end of it she wound up not passing this particular test, even though we both knew what she was capable not only passing, but knocking it outta the park. It was tough though, a matter of a point or two; at her worst she was better than others' best. And at that moment proximity of passing the test warranted arguing the point, or in this case points needed to secure passage from the kitchen.

“Is that what you really want?” I asked, “To pass? You never struck me as a just pass type of person.”

She sat quietly for a moment, thinking.

“Or do you want to take advantage of the opportunity before you to come back and crush it?”

There was a slow melting of her stern demeanor into a softness of realization.

“If you convince me to pass you, that low score sticks! But… If you take it again, you have an opportunity for perfection.”

She nodded, realizing I was not out to stop her, but rather to position her to recognize her full potential. Potential we both knew she had.

“I want to do it again Chef.”

    Well, she came back and by as many points as she missed passing the first time she missed the perfect score the second time around. Now, that's what I expected in the first place, near perfection.
When it was all said and done she was much happier with the outcome. We passed each other some years later and she pulled me aside.
"Chef, I'm not sure if you remember me..." She began.
"I sure do." I quickly added.
"Well, I didn't understand it at first, but 'Thank you', I learned a lot from you. I'm glad you didn't let me squeak by that first time. After that, I've always approached everything more prepared. It was a great lesson. Thank you."

   Attitude is truly everything. It could be possible to walk away from the same situation with two different outcomes; one where you felt entitled to succeed and upset that you didn’t, or one where you were grateful for the opportunity to have another chance. Everyday you wake up with breath in you you should be thankful you have another chance. You are not entitled to money, nor happiness, a job, success, nor rewards. Certainly these are the natural outcome of good behavior and good choices, but not a must or given. The sooner you realize it, and are grateful for all you have, the happier you will be in life. Everyday you are given another opportunity to move your life in the right direction, or the direction of your choosing. You should be thankful for all the wonderful things in your life, as well as the not so wonderful things, because after all you’re still alive to experience them. So know that when I wish you a Happy Thanksgiving it is truly heartfelt....true thanks from a sincere heart for all the blessings and challenges in my life. You should be thankful too, just look at the data. Because statistically speaking, if you’re not thankful, you are probably moments away from being miserable.

A Perfect "10"

Serving others is a tough job, but there’s something about service that just makes it all worthwhile. Looking back it seems a bit counter-intuitive that anyone would want to make their living in service to others. Typically those in the service industry lack: consistent hours, holidays off, flattering clothing, ample rest, downtime, and are additionally expected to be polite even in the face of guests who border on the occasionally hostile. Not exactly the poster child of reasons for getting into this. And yet we do. Hmmmm, perhaps there’s more to it than we initially see. To that point, MRI studies indicate that we have parts in our brain that activate when we “give”, which can take the form of donating, volunteering and, for those select lucky few, finding an avocation. Indeed most people have an intrinsic need to look outside themselves for meaning; sometimes this is in the form of assistance to others, sometimes in service to others. Whether we are wired to do so or acquire it as a learned behavior, exposure to service at a young age leads people to tend toward service. And service driven people have benefits in their learning, having deeper and intimate understanding of the learning and subsequent behaviors, and additionally develop intangible skills of munificence and genuineness. Either way, there is that spark of altruism that seems to surpass compensation as a reason for doing something. People in the service-centric life benefit not only those they serve but this basic need we possess, not merely for self actualization, but for eleemosynary purposes as well; gratifying ourselves as we realize we are helping others.

It was a day like any other, reservation book was full, 325 reservations in our 110 seat room. We were going to be busy. To add to it, the phone was ringing off the hook and people were looking for a nice place to eat. You see, the World Cup was in town and as such lots of people needed to find dining arrangements. As expected, the night started off with and maintained a frenetic pace. There was no room for errors; the machine needed to be well maintained to keep it on the tracks.

“Chef! Chef, we have a VIP on table 51.” my food runner darted into the kitchen to inform me followed quickly by the Maitre ‘d and the server.

“Chef, VIP on table 51.” they repeated.

“Got it guys, thank you.”my nonchalant-ness did not work for them.

“Chef! VIP!”, they repeated the message.

“I heard you the first time. VIP, table 51. Now why don’t you get out there and see if they want a drink. I thought you said they were a VIP, so why don’t you get them a drink!?!” With that, the server and food runner sped off into the dining room through the swinging door.

“And what about everyone else? How should I treat them?” In my eyes, everyone is a VIP.

“Chef, I don’t think you understand. This VIP…” he persisted, and while I entertain the notion that VIP status does exist, I really do protest when it comes at the expense of the naturally-given expectations of my normal clientele...my regulars, who are perhaps the most important people of all, and doubly so when the alleged VIP doesn't even want to be treated differently. They just want to be treated like everyone else. Nonetheless, my Maitre ‘d continued,

“It’s Pelé !”. Well now, you could hear a pin drop. I’m not sure if you have ever worked in a kitchen, a kitchen filled with Spanish speaking guys from Mexico who play and watch soccer religiously every weekend. Pele is a pretty big deal. Admittedly, I was even a little gobsmacked. I mean I played soccer as a youth, was weaned on stories of the famous bicycle kick that won the world cup, went to Cosmos games with my dad, and now this cultural icon who played his way out of poverty shoeless with a ball made of tied up rags was in my dining room. I felt humbled.

As I looked into the dining room, I could see a small commotion building at the table.

“OK then, why don’t you get out there and give the man room to breath...and perhaps enjoy his meal?” I motioned to the Maitre ‘d that his attention was needed in the dining room. And as he looked to where my eyes were darting he concurred and ran off into the dining room.

    Needless to say there was a bit of distraction amongst my line cooks that evening. At every chance they would gaze longingly into the dining room in hopes of catching a glimpse of this hero. At times I would even catch them by the swinging door, peering through into the dining room for a better vantaged view. They wanted to meet him so badly. It didn’t help that a few of my waitstaff broke character and violated my rule about guest privacy and asked our guest for autographs. Which they flaunted as they went periodically through the kitchen and warranted a talking-to later on. Regardless, from that point on, he was treated as any other guest, unharassed. We prepared his table’s food, sent it out and kept on with the night.

    Once the meal was over they stayed at the table for a while, as one might imagine from sojourners meeting in a distant city. As part of my routine I checked on the guests in the dining room to make sure we hit our mark. And, I eventually wound up at Pelé’s table.

“ How was your meal this evening?” I opened, making eye contact around the table to elicit responses.

“Fine”, “Wonderful”, a chorus of compliments; just what I loved to hear.

“Very good.” Pelés deep rich voice echoed out. I blushed, my cooks were nearly falling over themselves peeking out of the kitchen.

“I’m so very glad.” pause, “ I must apologize for the commotion earlier,  we do not typically treat our guests like that.” I was referring to the unprofessional way our staff solicited our guest. At which point the waiter crumbing the table shrank away. “I’ll chat with them later about that.” The table smiled and giggled.

“Thank you Chef, everything was really wonderful” he continued.

“Thank you Sir, it was an honor to serve you.” bowing in the direction of the table, I began to dismiss myself. “Please enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Wait.” He stopped me in my tracks, “may I please say thank you to your staff?”

“Mr. Pelé Sir, I couldn’t impose.” I truly disagree with soliciting guests. They are just trying to have a meal, but it soon became apparent that this gentleman enjoyed enough privacy tonight.

“But, if they could, I would love to say thank you in person.” He continued.

“Sir, that would mean the world to them.They have been tremendously excited all night that you are here.” and with that I motioned to the kitchen, my crew nearly falling over themselves exiting the kitchen.

    One by one Pelé greeted and spoke to my crew in the near empty dining room, and the unfamiliar feeling of an air conditioned dining room was nearly as uncommon as this type of recognition; certainly from someone they emulated so much. Watching this great man treat my guys with gratitude and appreciation was again humbling. They cherished the intimacy, handshake and personalized memento allotted each one, right down to my dishwasher. It did bring to light the benefit of my policy when they compared the simple signatures he put on the scraps of paper of those who pestered him earlier to their own treasured keepsakes.

“Thank you so much Sir, have a beautiful evening.”  And with that and a handshake, I made my way back into the kitchen.

    I’ve never seen my crew so happy cleaning the kitchen. The common drudgery seemed a bit lighter today after such recognition for what they normally do everyday because they love it, which is to serve.

You might think the crew's reward for their service was the attention from a celebrity they admired. In truth, they would have accomplished the same success that evening regardless of the guest...regardless of the gifts or adulation they received. The work was its own reward; it was just a little more obvious that night.

Apathy; The Legend of Princess Broccoli

People often ask me, “What’s the toughest thing to cook with?”. It is quite often, to their surprise and without hesitation, that I quickly answer with something other than an exotic ingredient , “Apathy” I respond. “It is the most difficult thing to cook with.”, and before the inquisitor can mount a counter, I continue to describe my choice and how most ingredients are at least predictable. An intelligent mind can look at a tomato, salmon or grain and realize it will behave much like itself or similar ingredients in other circumstances, seasons and techniques. Through enough exposure a talented cook can determine what they are working with it and thus how to treat it. But Apathy? What is a Chef to do with someone that just doesn't care? It’s not PC to just call people out in polite society; we tolerate everyone, right? But a kitchen doesn't play by the rules of polite society. It’s a "do it right, right now" way of life; a steady onward progression of the group under mindful leadership towards the elusive yet nonetheless pursued goal of perfection. No excuses accepted. So when someone does something wrong, we have the common decency to call them out so they can correct themselves, preserve the integrity of the group, and accomplish the task(s) at hand so we can succeed or at least continue on in the right direction. But when someone just doesn’t care, that simple thought now brought to action, or in this case inaction, becomes habitual and can easily spread into the very moral fiber creating apathy in not only in that individual, but those they contact and contaminate; and not only in our simple tasks but potentially manifesting into moral callousness and indifference systemically. Einstein said, “The world will not be destroyed by those that do evil, but by those who watch them without doing anything.” This ironically tacit acceptance society has towards apathetic behavior is objectionable, and sometimes you need to consider going a little further and flush the culprit from, and for the good of, the pack.

It was another typical day in the kitchen (I know I should stop saying that, it always turns out to the contrary) and we were getting ready for another service. There was a beautiful roasted chicken entree on the menu that day, and it was going with simply buttered broccoli, the most conspicuously troublesome broccoli. For some reason broccoli in its simplicity has the ability to bring an unprepared cook to their knees. Today was such a day. One of my cooks began at his task, prepping broccoli, that’s all, broccoli, two cases, five hours from now, on the line, ready to go.

Klunk. He drop placed the two crushed ice filled cases on the floor next to his station. His body language screamed he was not thrilled at the lackluster task of simple veg prep.

“You gonna take that ice outta there, or put a sheet pan down so it doesn’t melt all over the place?” I asked, giving him a chance to do the right thing.

“Yup”.

“Yup?” I repeated.

“I mean, Yes Chef.” he quickly corrected himself. Verbally anyway. His slack-jawed attitude was evident and only further punctuated by his lack of follow through on the direction regarding the ice. He was not enthusiastically taking on this task and that was as clear as the pool of water now forming on the floor.

Klunk, he plopped a cutting board down on his station and took out his knife to begin.

“Don’t forget to get your water on, and lot’s of it. Think ahead, think ahead.” I coached, swinging my arm like I was trying to get a runner to round the bases.

“Yes Chef.”

Shoonk (that’s the sound his knife made making its way through the vegetable with minimal exertion). He managed to trim his first oleracea, pushing the usable spears towards one side of the cutting board and the debris towards the other.

Shoonk, he continued, building to the opposing-self encroaching- piles.

Periodically I would pass, trying to get a little better performance, some care, perhaps some attention to detail; as the piles were now limiting the cook to about six square inches of usable cutting board, the piles of servable food and debris had now run together into one and the ice had made a dangerous situation on the floor.

“C’mon Princess”, you know I’m trying to be nice when I give you a sarcastic nickname amidst a cluster of failings. However ‘Princess’ really did sum up the attitude towards the banality of the task. Needless to say, my newfound nickname did not inspire.

Shoonk.

“How about you getting something to put all that broccoli into so you don’t mix my side dish with my compost, Princess....”

Shoonk.

“And how about a mop. Remember that ice I told you about two hours ago? Well it's not ice anymore. You're gonna kill someone. MOP IT UP.”

Shoonk. I was reaching the end of my rope with this guy and we weren’t even halfway there time-wise and he was even less the way there volume-wise, only having completed about half a case of the two cases assigned him. As for now I had other cooks to deal with; I’d have to come back and check on Princess later.

You would imagine that if you did not enjoy something you would try to get it over as quickly as possible and not dwell in your misery. Get it done and move on to something you enjoyed, good at it or not.

Needless to say service quickly approached, the broccoli was finally fabricated, and I made my way over to inspect.

“OK, now let’s start blanching.” I looked around the station expecting to see some boiling water, maybe an ice bath. Nothing. Princess was a little antsy right about now. He knew I was upset at his less than stellar approach to his task today, and he knew that this would most probably send me over the edge. He was right.

“Are you telling me that you’ve been here for nearly five hours working on that broccoli and you never put the water on?” My voice was steadily on the rise.

“Five hours! Five hours and you chopped broccoli. That’s it!” I could tell by the fact he was aerating his tongue off his bottom jaw like a cow with its head over the fence that a response was not forthcoming. There wasn’t even a concern, possibly for the verbal thrashing he was in the middle of but certainly not for the condition he left the kitchen in, that is, not ready for service. Quite frankly the attitude bothered me more than anything else. He legitimately didn’t care; that’s what infuriated me.

“You better find a way to make ten gallons of water come to a boil in the next 15 minutes, blanch and shock all that broccoli and reset your station for service or you WILL have a ..." , well, you can imagine how colorful the language was.

The remainder of the kitchen steadied on. They did not want to join in this. I couldn’t blame them, this was disturbing.

“There’s a kettle of boiling water in the prep kitchen.” A fellow cook chimed in. And with that, Princess Broccoli finally found his second gear. He was off, there was boiling water somewhere in this kitchen and finding it was a life or death situation. I know, you would never imagine that cooking broccoli was this difficult, but if you try hard enough, or not, you can make it so.
Finding a pot of boiling water elsewhere Princess thought himself to be out of the woods. But with one quick motion, as he plunged all 20 pounds of broccoli into the pot, his hope came crashing down as the boiling water water was reduced to a tepid pool; those five hours of preparing quickly unraveling as the once brightly colored flowers festered in the overcrowded bath. To further compound the situation, Princess, stressed desperately for time now, without shocking (quickly cooling) the broccoli, dumped the hot broccoli back into the previously used, un-rinsed cambro and proceeded back to the service line; the drab, busted florets all but crying out in silent anguish over their dismissive demise.
Klunk-Klunk. Princess dropped the two still steaming containers of now devolved ambiguous paste of dull in a huff.
"All set Chef." His short gasps of air into his huge frame all but caused his shoulders to heave as he blurted it out. "Ready for service."
Wow, I was amazed. Princess really thought this was ok. That all that mattered was the situational positioning of the item without concern for its quality; this lack of care, this apathy, is ultimately what did him in.

"Ready? This is ready!?!" I gestured to the steamy vaguely green garbage. "Look at that poor broccoli Princess! Ruined!"
"We can't serve it Chef?" he clawed at the sand surrounding the precarious pit into which he was plunging.
"What do you think?", I chided, thinking he would catch my inference.
"Sure, what's wrong with 'em?" Princess replied. The steaming buckets still between us, its color fading like camouflage at dusk.
"This! This is OK with you!?!" I flipped a bucket onto the counter. The putrid disintegrated vegetables smploshed onto the counter awash in their own brackish embalming fluid. The broken sulfur bonds from the bracius smelt like hard boiled egg day at the nursing home. I turned and pointed out the roasted chickens that were accompanying this mess.
"And, you want to serve THIS" I pointed to the sludge, "with THAT?", pointing to the beautifully crisp and golden skinned roasted chicken. He nodded....I snapped.
"OUT! GET THE F(explicative) OUT OF MY KITCHEN!" I rotated my shoulders so my finger was now pointing at the door. "You heard me, OUT PRINCESS! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!" The rest of the kitchen scrambled to compensate for the now physically, although previously mentally, vacant station.
Believe it or not, the cook who roasted the chicken managed to get the side dish completed before service, properly and beautifully I might add. It's amazing what someone can do when motivated and not handicapped by an atrophied member.

Perhaps we could learn about beneficial intolerance of debilitating attitudes from kitchen life. Maybe, just maybe, the world would benefit from a little brutal honesty towards people who don’t care if they ruin it for the rest of us . PC aside, if you're getting in the way of the herd, the nicest thing we could do, is let you know. Aristotle said that, “Tolerance and apathy are the last virtues of a dying society”. Look around, does this strike a relevant chord in the world you see before you today? Well, do something about it, because if you don’t see the relevance, trust me, you are destined to norm yourself to those apathetic people's behavior and debilitating ennui. Studies show uncertainty in people exposed to apathetic people experience decreased motivation. Yay for us. On a plus side though, motivated people are actually reinvigorated by apathetic people; so which one are you?  Perhaps once again we could take a page from kitchen etiquette, as abrupt and ruthless as it is, and do our part to save society and eliminate apathy from among us. Give them a good swift kick in the lassitude. While some consider apathy an emotion, it is actually the denuding of emotion; emotional atrophy. The antithesis of love or hate, which wholly embody passion, apathy is devoid of passion. It condemns us to indifference, unresponsiveness and dispassion. It can literally demotivate you into physical (lack of) response, create lethargy and paralyze you. It creates a melancholic malaise that there is no hope, no chance of happiness or self fulfillment; so why bother trying. The apathetic are just bystanders in a play that they have no meaningful role; an ironic self fulfilling prophecy. Do we really need this around us as we are working hard striving towards our goals? We owe it to those around us and ourselves to eradicate these toxic torporiants before they infect the whole of the herd. It really is the nicest thing you can do for them. And don't worry too much about them, they probably won’t care anyway.

Happy Mistakes

As many of us know, Columbus did not set out to find the new world, in fact he came across it much by accident. The thinking he had found a shorter route to Asia still bears his mark as we refer to Native Americans as “Indians”. Eventually we came to the realization that these were not India Indians, rather people of a different land altogether. This in no way diminishes the awesomeness of the discovery of the new world, but rather heightens it when we look at it through the scope of a “Happy Mistake”. As much as we may not enjoy the mistakes of our lives, there is no denying that the mistake is truly our own. Our mistakes have our fingerprints all over them. What comes next is the tricky part, we need to learn from them. Sounds simple enough, but studies show that we can learn from our mistakes, but only if we want to. The two typical responses the brain has to mistakes mirror closely our fight or flight instinct when faced with stress. First, and best is when the brain addresses a mistake as a problem that needs solving. The brain increases attention during the next decision making process, as if to avoid the pain repeating itself from the first mistake, increases the chances of making a good decision, and fostering learning through positive confirmation. These people take critique well. The second response is not so good. When faced with a mistake the brain simply shuts down, taking it as defeat, we flee from the mistake's pain. Such people react better to positive reinforcement.  Studies also show that you are more prone to learn from a mistake if you believe (truly, don’t fool yourself) that you have room to grow in your knowledge. Some offenders of this include people who think they already know it all, successful people who deny the need to know any more and people who believe intelligence is immutable. These people are less likely to learn from their mistakes because they pay less attention to them as a learning tool.  With such an arsenal at our disposal it would seem silly not to tap into this explosive resource for learning. Instead of the "woulda coulda shoulda" mentality of counterfactual thinking which debilitates us into daydreaming about our whatif universe, embrace the mistake, learn from it and use it as the fuel to fire your growth.

In one of my many past Chef lives I catered. I really enjoyed the challenge of producing under extreme circumstances and with changing boundaries. It was exciting. Stakes were high and mistakes were costly. On one such occasion I found myself and my crew in the middle of nowhere at a palatial home to cater a New Year's Eve party. Aside from being some twenty miles from anything resembling a store, it was a late night affair, so even if we could get somewhere for supplies, chances are they would not be open. This sort of event needed to be extra perfect in its planning and execution.  We checked our mise en place, double checked it, loaded the vans, checked the lists, and made sure we had all we needed to WOW another customer; and we set off on our way. The night went off without a hitch, all the planning and double checking was sure paying off as we wined and dined our client into the night...and morning. The theme was dinner by the bite. The entire menu, served course by course, was all bite sized, a progressive meal served in hors d'oeuvres form. That way you could eat as much or as little as you wished, and not worry about lugging a plate around, just your glass. Well, it was well past midnight as we started on one of the final courses, dessert spoons. I loved these. We scooped little quennels of creme brulee onto dessert spoons, sprinkled with sugar, and caramelized each spoon individually. People loved them, too. I began on the first round, I thought I must be tired, they weren't caramelizing like usual. Maybe it was the torch I was using. I adjusted the flame and got back to work. After a few more passes of the torch I realized something must be wrong, these brulees were not....well, bruleeing. I tasted one. OH MY G....salt. Are you kidding me? SALT. I turned to the young cook who was in charge of packing the dessert mise en place.
"Did you taste this?" I sternly asked, equally as disappointed in myself at this point for not doing so before using it.
"Ummmmm, No, it looked like sugar...and it was on the pastry bench. So I figured..."
This was bad,
"Check the coffee station!" I blurted out to one of my servers, "make sure that's not salt too." I quickly brought in the servers and began to retrieve all the spoons that had made their way out into the party. But what to do now, middle of the night, middle of nowhere? Hopefully the host had a bag of sugar in the cupboard. Wouldn't you know it, not a grain. All the sweet and low you could imagine but no sugar. My mind went into overdrive. Luckily the cook who put together the desserts was not in charge of the coffee station. The coffee was safe and had enough sugar to get the desserts going again. Luckily, too, the guests had a good sense of humor about that initial round of salty custard spoons. They didn't miss the chance to give me and my apprentice some good-natured ribbing about it for the rest of the night.
Now I know what you're saying, that doesn't sound happy at all. And you're right, it was dismal. I should have checked, I should have tasted. But you know what, after that night, I always did. And happily, a mistake like that never happened again.

Mistakes do happen, not much we can do about it, it’s part of life, we are imperfect. What we can do lies within our reaction to them. In that moment we may not be happy about it, but that moment will pass. Be happy, maybe not that you made a mistake, but that you survived it, and perhaps even are the type of person who has learned from it. And that experience will add to the others and form the person you are presently. And if you are happy with who you are today you should realize you are you because of all the experiences that led up to this moment, including all the mistakes.