Chefs v Pastry Chefs

They are two different breeds entirely. I'm a chef. I like to bake but I'm not a pastry chef. Pastry chefs have to work very precisely and there is also a fair amount of science involved with measurements, temperature, etc.. We chefs (cooks ) can throw something in a pan, sear it, toss it, throw a handful of stuff in there and it's done. Making a wedding cake for example is incredibly time consuming and requires much patience. Chefs don't have this. We don't want to have to spackle and wait and spackle again and measure and be real precise. So don't get me wrong, I do give props to the pastry chefs. Somebody's got to do that job.

The real difference is temperament. The pastry chefs are the delicate geniuses of the business. They prefer to work when no one else is around in very quiet surroundings with no distractions. Chefs wouldn't be able to work if they didn't have distractions- we constantly have to communicate with each other, the waitstaff, the dishwashers.

Pastry chefs are very high maintenance. They must have the best and they must have all the tools. I had a gal who worked for me who didn't understand why I didn't just put in a whole other oven (which of course would need a hood- the most expensive part of the whole deal) right where she worked so she wouldn't have to walk all the way to our ovens and have to share them with the cooks.

Another one that I started a business with had to have the state of the art bakery equipment. This included a 4 deck bread oven with all the bells and whistles, imported piece by piece from Italy for the mere sum of $70,000. Meanwhile we met a guy in another part of the state who made amazing bread using a souped up pizza oven and a spray bottle. Must have been trained as a chef.

Chefs make it work. We can jeri-rig anything and produce what we need. We're like the Mr. Wizards of the industry. We don't care if we have to use a food processor that's duct-taped together and you have to stick a knife in it to make the connection for the motor to work. We don't care if we have perfect Lexan containers- that's why we order yogurt and feta cheese so we can re-use the plastic tubs they come in. My crew and I were catering an outdoor wedding (in a hurricane, I might add) and the stove in the house stopped working. We had a grill for cooking but we used it as a warmer and got every hors d'oeuvres out on time. Cooks can make a bain-marie out of anything. Tongs are an extension of our hands. We laugh at heat and fire.

Pastry chefs need quiet and solitude. Chefs are known for pants-ing each other. We also have a lot of big sharp knives.

Chefs dig the adrenaline. We like heat and we like speed. We need to get busy with a row of tickets up for us to get out. We like the pressure. Call us crazy but at least we are low maintenance.

You'll catch more flies with honey, brown teeth...

I was open for breakfast for a while, basically a continental breakfast. We served gorgeous home-made pastry, yogurt with fruit and granola, a daily fritatta. Did not do food to order- I didn't want to staff it. Think of it as a higher quality Starbucks.
There were some regulars that came in. They got the concept. There are plenty of diners and fast food places around to get an egg sandwich.
One customer came in quite frequently. He had a curly bush of hair on his head left from the disco era and brown teeth, also probably stained from those days. A little guy, full of himself and one of those who'd "been in the restaurant business". Those of us who are actually in the business can tell those who really were and were not, the moment they open their mouth. He was full of it. And being the expert that he was he offered to give me his cookbooks and lots of advice. If I said good morning to him he would trap me and go on until my eyes glazed over.
One day he got ornery. He wanted eggs. He wanted them here. He wanted them now. I gently and kindly explained as I would to a kindergartener that we don't make them. Perhaps if he had been more appealing or polite I might just have done it. But I decided against it because sometimes if you do a special order once- that's it, they expect it all the time.
So brown teeth says to me, "ya got eggs? ya got a pan? Go scramble me some eggs."
I have a temper. It comes to me in a white flash and a sudden bout of Tourette's syndrome where what comes out of my mouth I cannot be responsible for. But to my credit I swallowed it. I looked at him incredulously and walked away. I wasted all that kindness on that 70's relic to be treated like a kitchen wench. I went in the back and came up with all the comebacks that he rightfully deserved to be given. Only I shared them with my staff in the back and not him. Such is the treatment we endure often. It's why we "in the business" do like our alcohol.

Lazy-ass Americans

When I was growing up kids got jobs and some of them were pretty menial. I even worked with my best friend in her mother's office as janitors after hours. Of course we took a lot of breaks where we ate M&M's and smoked (there were real-live ashtrays then and it was not a crime to smoke indoors). However, point being that we vacuumed, cleaned, dusted, etc. and got money for it. My brother worked as a dishwasher in a restaurant. This was not uncommon then.
We-he-he-hell...let me tell you. Those days are SO over.
Americans do not do these jobs anymore. When was the last time your neighbor's kids rang your doorbell and offered to cut your grass or shovel your snow? During the Carter administration?
When was the last time you saw an American kid taking the garbage out to the dumpster at a restaurant? Or mopping the floor. Maybe, and I don't mean this as a dis- if he is developmentally disabled.
If you don't cut your own grass chances are you have a bunch of Spanish speaking guys who jam into the front seat of a truck together who do.
And the guy washing your dishes, doing the cleaning, the garbage and worst of all, emptying the grease trap is a Luis or Carlos. Not Jimmy or Brian.
I went through over 20 dishwashers in my first year of this business. It was a joke- because I believe in laughing my way through life but it was a real problem. I had guys that showed up for work drunk, guys that drank on the job, guys that decided it was too much work and never showed up again or guys that never showed up, period. I had women do the job too. Some were really good, some had the same issues. Too hard of a job.
Now, not all of these folks were Americans. There were plenty of Hispanics who didn't care for the job either. But, the fact is that the ones who were the most dedicated were the hungriest and are from South America. They come from a hard life. They take huge risks to get here. They live in poverty without all the trappings that we take for granted. They have family back home that they send money to. My favorite one that has stayed the longest is grateful for the opportunity to work, has a smile from 8am to midnight on the days he works a double (as per his request) and in turn I am helping him. He is learning English, I am training him to do other jobs such as kitchen and bussing. He's good for me and I'm good for him.
I guess as parents we are to blame for the youth of America not doing these jobs. My own son would no more wash a dish here than he would at home. They don't have the work ethic and I suppose it's a side effect of comfort. Too bad we lost some things when we gained some things.

If you don't like it, don't eat it.

Never have I sent food back to the kitchen in a restaurant. Only- only if meat was undercooked and needed another minute or two on the grill. That's it.
If I don't like my meal, I say to my dining companion "this sucks" and either don't come back or order something different the next time I dine there. Never do I look for a freebie either. Cooking is so subjective, what's my taste is not necessarily yours. It amazes me how many times I have a server who comes back to the kitchen and reports that the customer didn't like his whatever, it wasn't what they expected, etc... and they look at me like what should I do?
Good question- what should I do?
My feeling is that anytime we screw up- and we do, we eat it (figuratively). If the meal takes too long, if the order is incorrect, it is our fault and I'll comp you or buy you a glass of wine or dessert.
If the mashed potatoes don't taste like your mama's, that ain't my problem. The kitchen's responsibility is to make the food true to the recipes, consistent, hot or cold, seasoned properly, out in a timely fashion and plated beautifully. If we don't do that we are not doing our jobs. But if you just don't like it that's not my fault. The fact is about 98% of my customers love our food so we must be doing something right.
Another one I love is the customer who complains about the whole meal but they've eaten every scrap on their plate. Yeah, you really hated it.
I had a whole family for a holiday brunch who complained about every course, sending food or messages back about everything that was wrong. They were clearly looking for a free meal. Sorry, the Easter Bunny didn't bring free brunch in your basket this year, folks.