I am going to wrap up my “series” on Mentee-ing with a round-up of important people in my food life that have directly impacted my actual life. If I don’t mention you personally, it doesn’t mean you haven’t been impactful. I may just be saving you for a later past.
Upon arriving in Paris, only to discover that the small sublet apartment I had arranged weeks prior was no longer available, I trudged my way to a quaint little (cheap) hotel for the evening. My plan to get my bearings to and from the restaurant, which was closed on most Sundays, was a pre-cell phone challenge. I somehow found 14 rue Grands Augustins and the well-lit menu board next to the entrance. My plan was to copy as much of the menu as I could, then head back to translate it, using the knowledge that a three-week Culinary French block at the CIA would provide. I got the gist of the menu.
The next morning when I arrived @ 8 am with the letter from the Owner and Chef, Jacques Cagna, in hand and little more than a “Good Morning, Chef”, with my best French accent, of course, I quickly learned that Chef Cagna was out of town and he had not told the Chef de Cuisine that I would be arriving to begin my stage that morning. Some nodding and handshakes ensued, and I was finally ushered in and down to the employee area/basement/wine cellar. I had my knives and was ready to work, and assumed, as any American would, that someone would be able to communicate with me. Not the case.
The time spent in Paris is worth a whole post at some point. Still, I will say that being part of that restaurant and kitchen, under the leadership and guidance of Chef Cagna and his staff, was truly inspiring, as my quest to create delicious food, thoughtfully prepared with local, seasonal, and accessible food stuffs continued. Allowing me to be a part of his world, even for six short months, gave me the confidence and fine-tuned skills that I had only read about to pursue the goal of becoming a chef.
Although I was offered to stay in Paris and continue cooking for the unbelievable wage of $250/month, I realized I missed America, Cheesesteaks, and my family. I returned to Philadelphia, adjusted my attitude accordingly, and was hired on at ECCO by Chef Michael McNally and Sous Chef David Wurth.
It was the perfect landing spot. Michael was quietly one of the best chefs I have worked for. And I was there to learn and find my way in this tiny 28-seat gem with an open kitchen and a staff of 10 total. Everything was made in-house using local/seasonal products, and everyone was serious about work. All of the other cooks went on to run amazing kitchens, including David, whose quirky handwriting was used to pen the Daily Menus and all the recipe cards. He eventually opened Cross Roads Food Shop in the Hudson Valley. We took somewhat similar paths to get where we got.
A few years later, after eating Black Eyed Pea and Smoked Hog Jowl Soup at a new spot called Jack’s Firehouse Grill, I went to work for Jack. He was a crazy country boy who just happened to have been trained by some of the country’s best French chefs of the day. He was the most resourceful, efficient, and intense chef I had worked for to that point. Not a lot of recipes, and nothing went to waste; we all worked really hard for Jack. He was Food Network TV-famous. Along with City Chef Bobby Flay they were Grillin’ and Chillin’. We had the opportunity to host a VP Debate at the restaurant, and we also cooked for President Bill Clinton at his second inauguration in Washington, D.C. He taught me the importance of preparedness, communication and speed, but not always by example.
We also got up to a good bit of hijinks, often involving habanero peppers, alleged moonshine, and bear runs. Although he fired me, I cooked at his wedding and we are still friends.
One of the most important chefs I ever worked for was William Quigley at The Commissary in Philadelphia. He was the Executive Chef, and yet didn’t teach me how to saute or make a sauce; he taught me to never be late, no matter what. I was 20 and had to be at work at 7:30 am. I overslept, rushed to get there, but was still 15 minutes late. He was waiting at the time clock, and he proceeded to tell me how much I let him and my coworkers down by being late. How selfish and inconsiderate I must be to think that my tardiness didn’t affect others. He was angry, disappointed, and worst of all, he was right. It meant more to me coming from him than from one of the other managers because he had seen something in me while I was working the Piano Bar cafe lunch shift. Not a particularly busy shift, but I managed it. He had asked if I could help with some other prep for the take-out Market. I made giant batches of Spinach Pesto, Potato Salad, and Cole Slaw. All along, I was honing my skills on the 10” Wusthof-Trident Chef’s Knife he suggested I invest in as I was learning to slice, dice, and chop. And he was the chef who recommended I consider attending the Culinary Institute of America. He even wrote a reference letter that somehow moved me up on the waitlist, knowing that would mean I would be quitting sooner than promised.
I couldn’t let him down. I couldn’t let myself down. And IFYKYK, I can’t stand tardiness.
“The truth is, one must be inspired to cook. For, You Know, we always learn from others and end up teaching ourselves.” - James Beard, on the menu at An American Place circa 1987.