Mean Girls Part II or The Devil Wears Chef pants.

The first time I met her, she was merely another instructor at school. I was in the chef's office entering some data into a computer with only about 2 minutes to go before class time when she came bursting through the door. I had never had any kind of exchange with this woman, good or bad prior to this moment but she came screaming like a banshee (in a Southern accent, so from here forward anything I write that she said you must imagine in a Southern drawl) accusing me of unplugging a computer in a classroom. Being that she was so rude about it, I didn't even lift my gaze from the screen and merely answered, "Okay."
In a matter of months though, management canned my boss, the head instructor and in his place put her.
She had been in another department. Turns out she was supposedly trained as a pastry chef.
Oh great.
I gave her the benefit of the doubt because I am a professional. I shook her hand, congratulated her and offered my help with anything she might need. A week or two  later, her father passed away. I took up a collection, purchased flowers and all the chef instructors signed a sympathy card. I placed it on a table in her office so that she would see it when she returned to work.
She never mentioned a bloody word about it. No "thanks y'all" or anything.

Still- the boss is the boss. I forged forward. I tried to be the best that I could be. Soon enough though I noticed that this woman had all the social skills of a wet fart in a sleeping bag. They stunk. Morale went spiraling down among the staff. We started to wonder if our office was bugged or if there was a snitch in there because she seemed to know more than she ought to and constantly berated us for complaining. Now one of the reasons that a faculty lounge exists is so that teachers can blow off some steam from what is a very high pressure job. And if we weren't bitching before, we certainly started to now. She repeatedly told us how lucky we were to even have our roach infested office.

I have been the big cheese before and I know fully well what a difficult job it is. There are a couple of things that are important to remember when you have a staff.

•  Listen to them. Get both sides of the story. Start out with the assumption that your team member is right and have their back. It is really important to workers to feel that their boss respects them, believes in them and thinks that they are valuable.
•  Admit to being wrong once in a while. To err is human, remember?
•  If an employee is valuable give them a warning before firing them. Sometimes a situation can be rectified.
• Try to treat people equally and don't pick favorites. You may like some of them more than others but the playing field should be level for all.

Our leader screamed at us. Humiliated us. I kept a secret list on the whiteboard above my desk hidden behind some papers that I called the S.O.W. (Shit of the Week). I will always try to find humor in a bad situation. It did seem as if every week there would be one particular instructor whom she would dump on especially hard. Once she'd finish hounding that person and stormed out of the office, I'd slide the papers aside and say, "well Chef so-and -so, looks like it's you this week" and enter their name.
Not only was she just downright mean but it was hard to respect her professionally. If she was this great pastry chef it would be a real asset to show her stuff a little. The students always asked and she would snap at us when we would approach her. She made up all kinds of excuses why she couldn't or wouldn't do a demo for them. Her predecessor also used to substitute teach once in a while, a great way to be in touch with the students and to understand the perspective of the teachers. She never did, except for one class that was lecturing only. It became clear to us that she knew nothing. Worse than this was her refusal to listen the the chefs about how lousy the syllabus's were or how the requisitions for food were inadequate. If a chef was caught at the stewarding department trying to get a lemon and she was there, God help you!
Morale sunk deeper and deeper. The students were low priority. Shoddy equipment was put in the kitchens and she would get mad at us when it didn't work. Certain chefs could breeze out the door leaving a disastrous mess in their kitchen, others who were not favorited would get chastised if they left a rolling pin on a table. We never felt supported or like a team.  Once in a while her predecessor used to take the department out for drinks and a meal together for a little bonding. Now staff would run out of there to hide in a bar and bitch to one another, commiserating about our jobs. We never felt secure. People were getting fired constantly, management would lie to our faces, we started mistrusting one another and altogether it became a dysfunctional working environment.
When I was promoted to a management position for the evening shift, she zeroed in on me even more. Every morning I woke up to really nasty e-mails about something that I missed the night before. No matter that the place was cleaner now, in better order and overall a good feeling at the school at night, I'd get a snippy note that there was an open container of mustard in the reach-in in K-5!!!!  I started to dread looking at my  messages in the morning.
Eventually she had a hit put out on me. I know it had to do with the fact that another chef and I were dating on our own time and discreetly. She made it look performance oriented. The cowards started blacklisting me. They wrote up reports that were full of untruths so that they could start a paper trail.
Instead of perhaps approaching me and discussing management's disapproval of my relationship with the coworker, together we might have come up with a solution. Something honest would have been the high road. Instead they threatened us, we lied, they lied and it was ugly. We both got fired.
I had been trying to get out of there, I had been interviewing and doing tastings for other jobs. In the long run it had been my plan to leave because of the abuse. What really hurt though is that she badmouthed me, without my being there to defend myself. I became the scapegoat for everything that had been wrong at that place. There is one problem with that though. I don't want to toot my own horn but, everybody liked me. Toot.  Frankly I don't think they believed a word about what she said in connection with me. The outpouring of support that I got from students and coworkers was great affirmation and truly touching.

Now I live a peaceful existence without a tyrant over me. And I may not be perfect but I'll tell you one thing, if you sent me condolence flowers, I would sure as hell say thank you.

Mean Girls part I

In my last post I gave my spiel on male chefs. I stand by my opinion.

Now I need to let loose on some of my sisters. Ironically the ones I am speaking of are both pastry chefs, which reverts back to my theory (see "Chefs vs Pastry Chefs" post).

It's women like these who give us a bad name. Whether they are just being the stereotypical bitch, or just plain mean, it's totally unnecessary and unprofessional. Here lies the tale of the first one:

I hired a pastry chef for my cafe. Very attractive, smart and talented. Her work was beautiful. She was expensive but if I could get the mileage out of her in terms of production she would be worth every penny. That was my strategy, but not hers apparently.

Before we opened officially, she came in to test recipes and start building a pastry menu. Light, flaky Danish, good cookies (truthfully mine were better) and an astounding chocolate mud cake. The cake was a show stopper. Once we opened it became a number one request by customers both by the slice and to order a whole one.

Though her large ego loved the fact that her cake was very popular, her artiste mentality did not like the idea of producing more than one cake at a time. "The Princess", (which became my code name for her) preferred using the 6 qt. Kitchen Aid mixer as opposed to the 20 qt. one that I had bought specifically for making quantity. She liked to decorate the top of the cakes with the fudgey chocolate frosting and squawked when asked to write Happy Birthday on anything. One day she had an order where she had to make three of them and one would have thought that I had asked her to run barefoot over hot coals. She bitched and moaned, complained and was incensed that she had to stay two hours late to make the deadline. May I add that I had a fully loaded car outside with the rest of the order with the motor running waiting for the last masterpiece to be completed?

I was taught that a pastry chef should earn at least equivalent to what they produce daily in terms of dollars. For example, if they are being paid $100 in a day, they need to sell a minimum of $100 worth of product. This gal needed to bump up her yield to in order to earn her fat salary.

So while people were raving about the baked goods, she only made what she felt like making. When the customers would discover and fall in love with one item, she would stop making it and replace it with some esoteric experiment. I had built a kitchen that was set up for production. The cafe was where we could hook customers on our food, the kitchen was built to make enough for special orders and hopefully even, wholesale. I had restaurants and caterers starting to come see me about possibly supplying them. Instead of complying, I got whining from the Princess when I approached her on this.

I will also add that she became very unpleasant to work with in general. The other cooks avoided her like the plague. She did nothing but complain and bitch at them, accusing them of laziness constantly.  She did not like having to share an oven with them, or the fact that she had to walk around the wall to get to it. She would comment and make suggestions on how they did everything, but would screech when I did so with her. After a while even I scooted past her area as quickly as possible before I would hear my name called, upon which I would wince as if someone was pinching me.
Why didn't I just fire her, you might ask? Well, I was starting to consider replacing her with someone less expensive and lower maintenance, but something prevented me from doing so.  Her husband was diagnosed with testicular cancer. She cried understandably, I gave her time off whenever she needed it. One day she started making cupcakes with ugly scoops of icing on top of them. Not only was it too much icing but it looked weird and unappealing. She said they (the ball shaped scoops) were in honor of "the boys". Ew.
You can't fire someone who's got a loved one with cancer. So we all continued to tip-toe around her. I also gave her credit on everything she did out of respect for her talent. I went so far as to introduce her to the famous "Domestic Doyenne" who was her idol, and my former employer. I was making an appearance on the DD's national television show and brought the Princess to New York along with me and a tray of her goodies, including the mud cake. The DD was visibly impressed and the Princess swooned, her ego filled up like a Humvee with a full tank of gas.
Shortly after this, a producer for the DD's show called me to do a segment about me and the cafe. This was a wonderful piece of publicity for us and caused great excitement among the staff, most notably the Princess. On the day of the shoot, a whole chunk of time was devoted to showing how she made her delectable sticky buns and the no-knead bread that we featured at the cafe.
Easter came along, I had to pressure Her Majesty about creating a menu for our Easter brunch. She hemmed and hawed, bitched and stalled. Finally she came up with 3 choices for our prixe fixe that were very simple and would certainly not require her presence for service.
A few days before Easter though, a crisis occurred. While I was running around, greeting customers, jumping into the kitchen to expedite, managing the usual lunchtime rush apparently there was a cock/hen fight in the coop. My father, who was my partner spoke up to the naked empress. She was complaining about something while he had other business to attend to. She followed him up the stairs to the office,continuing with her nagging rampage when he turned to her and said something to the effect that she was a "fucking bully".
Whoa.
The Princess did not like that. Not one bit. So when I came back into the kitchen, there she was sniveling and red-eyed, packing up some of  her stuff. She would absolutely not stand for this treatment, no one had ever spoken like that to her and she walked out. Three days before a fully booked Easter brunch.
In the immortal words of Winston Churchill, "If you're going through hell, keep going", which is exactly what I did. My Pops and I decided that enough was enough and that we were done with her. She had told me she need a few days to think, well not over Easter you're not. Adios. I told her she was not welcome to come back when I spoke to her later on the phone.

Next, I jumped into gear and put on my baker's cap. I called my friend Chef Dave to come in and lend a hand. Together with the rest of the staff we started knocking out the Easter menu. While service continued in the cafe we worked  so hard until we were punchy. I just remember that by Saturday night when all prep was completed and it was only Chef Dave and myself left we were so relieved that we cracked open a couple of beers and he did his famous pole dance on the supporting beam in the kitchen. Nothing like a goofy looking 6'4" guy in baggy chef's pepper pants doing the twirl. Brunch went off beautifully, without a hitch.

The following Tuesday as I was working the pastry station, the Princess walked in all refreshed. "Well hello there, Baker!" she chirped at me. I looked up from rolling my dough and asked her what she was doing here. She was there to do her job, she said. I told her she did not have a job anymore and to finish packing her things. Goodbye and good luck.

Not long after, the segment on the cafe was to air. I contacted the producer to tell her that the Princess was no longer with us, how would that affect the piece? So much had been devoted to our baked product. The producer said it would be no problem because her part had been shot with no sound and in the edit it would work out fine.

I can  just imagine, the Princess serving pretty little pastries whilst her family (not too many friends, for I don't believe she had many) gathering around the television to watch herself on her favorite program. How I would have loved to have seen her face when the wonderful piece aired with me demonstrating a signature dish, various shots of me interacting with the customers, other staff members smiling and doing their jobs. Oh, and with a voice-over narration by the DD, a scene of a pair of women's hands making cinnamon buns and bread. No face and no voice. Especially not a high pitched screechy one!

America's Testosterone Kitchen

A very large toque is not unlike the long front of a sports car, if you catch my drift. Perhaps compensating for something lacking?

Gay, straight, fat, thin, tall, short, American, Italian, Mexican- they can't get enough of themselves.
The male chefs are big, they're loud.  When you get a bunch of them in a room together they call each other "dude" or "man" or "bro". This is usually in a conversation where they are one-upping each other. Who has worked more hours straight in a row, who gets the best weed, who has the worst burns, on and on. If a female so much as tries to open her mouth during one of these brag-fests, she will be completely talked over. There is no room for her in this jungle.
Male chefs bark orders out. They bond with other male chefs, even if they hate them. I've seen young, inexperienced and kind of dumb guys get accepted into the fold before a female would. Often by opening their mouth and bragging about something (i.e. secret bbq sauce, the most expensive wine they ever drank or how much weed they could/would/should/ smoke).
Even the nicest ones can't help themselves when it comes to being overbearing to their female counterparts. It's genetic.
I've seen women chefs who are mean, perhaps compulsive, downright nasty or crazy but it's just not the same thing. Not to say that female chefs don't have egos. Some of them have terrible ones and they get branded "bitches" of course. These gals aren't a picnic either.
Male chefs might call you "honey" or "sweetie" or "darling". Or I've gotten "Miss" from time to time.
No, that's "Chef" to you, buddy.
It's not mean spirited, it's really not. They are not being cruel. These guys are just full of themselves. The kitchen is the jungle, they are warriors who are sent to kill. They must do the tribal dance to impress one another. They must pound their chests and yell. They rattle their spears (knives) and see who has the biggest peace pipe and who has the best weed in it.
A female chef comes to the jungle in a different capacity. If she is a single mom like I was, she carries her babies on her back, quietly washes the laundry in the river, kills an animal, butchers it and cooks it. When she is done for the day, she cleans and goes to her hut. She does not have the time nor the need to show off.
The male chef must be heard. He needs underlings to be spellbound, colleagues to be impressed. The female has mouths to feed and is efficient in how she does it.
In my early days as a cook, I know that I missed out on possible promotions because I did not have time or frankly the need to hang around. In my first post-school job a way less qualified cook cut in front of me on the line. I worked pantry/salad station in the day, he did in the night. I constantly came in to find that he had used all the dressings without replenishing and left the low-boy a mess. Overall he wasn't that great but he just kissed up to the chef constantly.  If I had done the same, as a female employee it could easily have been misconstrued and would have been the cause of gossip. He was lazy and a putz but he was accepted into the tribe.
My former partner the pastry chef ( male plus artist = super ego) did not talk to me for two days when I suggested that though he was more experienced than I, since I would be putting in the same ungodly hours that maybe I should be paid the same amount of money as him.
Some of my best friends are men. I've gotten pretty tight with a number of male chefs. I have always enjoyed the camaraderie of the kitchen. Horsing around, crude jokes. I've been known to be just as bad as the guys are. It's just that like the proud peacock with his feathers fanned out, the male chef has a lot of bravado and can be very insecure down deep. He'll squawk if you threaten him. You must be careful when criticizing men. Truth is they have very delicate constitutions and can be crushed easily.
When it comes to strength, yes they can lift the 60qt stockpot or work with a bloody hand wrapped in side towels because they are too macho to go to the emergency room and later have 12 stitches and a wicked infection.
But it would be refreshing if just once in a while, during a who's got the biggest, bestest or greatest session, one of them might turn to the lady in the room and say, "What do you think?"

Keeping it Simple.

Rome wasn't built in a day...

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago there was a lady who went to Italy and when she was there, she found out who she really was.

She was meant to have her hands in the food, washing, prepping, cutting, rolling, patting, baking, frying and finally designing it on the plate, giving it to people and watching their faces light up when they ate.

In Italy she smelled for the first time what young, unfiltered, virgin olive oil was.  Bread that had a crust that was crisp, an interior that was chewy with just enough salt to make your mouth water. Fish that melted in your mouth that only needed olive oil and lemon, perhaps some fresh herbs. Wine that was plain, served in a pitcher.

The lady pursued her new dream, to get behind the stove.

Of course, this lady is me. I've had quite a career with many ups and downs. In the last year I went from having a promotion and a great summer, to the fall where I was fired. Since then, there has been much time for introspection and questioning what the hell I'm doing and do I even want to do it anymore?

Besides being fired by people who were ignorant, I went on to work for some others who were pretty clueless too. Once you get to the level where I have gone, it's hard to work for knuckleheads, as I have written about previously.

And so I wonder, is this all there is? Did I reach the highest I can go? I'm feeling very over it all. I don't think about food all the time, I do not watch food tv or read all the food blogs and magazines. Not interested.  The whole business is just too precious. Food is getting so convoluted and away from what it is meant to be, nourishment for the body and soul.
Did the bastards win? Those who put me down, or my foolish choices get me to a place that I just can't seem to come back from?
I don't really know. But I do know that the last two weeks have been enlightening. Here is why.

First- I finally went back to Italy. It had been seventeen years since the last time. Though I didn't really have the money, I did have the time. My son and I went to Rome. It was there that I remembered what I was all about.
Simplicity.
Simple ingredients, simple preparation, simple presentation.
Rome is full of ancient ruins and people sitting at cafes eating pasta and drinking wine, out of pitchers. I remembered who I was and that there was a place that existed that had inspired me. I had just been out of touch with that spirit. I had been pushed around by horrible bosses, wacko clients, the restaurant business and simply being worried about making money.

On our last night we went to the Jewish Ghetto where we dined on carciofa alla guidea (artichokes in the Jewish style), something that I had never forgotten. The artichoke is fried so that the leaves are crisp and salty almost like potato chips. The choke is cooked through and tender. I had tried many times to make it, but it was never quite the same. It was so good, I ordered another.

We ate pasta that was truly al dente, ate that chewy bread, drank the grape-y wine. I drank sambuca, had gelato, drank more sambuca and got another gelato.  I was trying to get every last crumb of Italy in my mouth.

When we returned to New York, I still didn't know where I was going but I knew where I came from.

This week I am working for a private client of mine. They asked me to come to their family vacation home on the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland. These were clients of mine way back when all I wanted to do was open a bakery. Now, having been there, done that- I have a new appreciation for nice people who will pay to have me cook in their home.

No lie, I'm working my ass off. From the moment I got off the train I took what would be the first of many trips to Whole Foods. I have been non-stop cooking and baking.  Right now as I sit here, my knees and feet are throbbing. My hands are dry from washing them so much, the joints in my fingers are stiff.  But my heart feels wonderful. Here is why.

First, these people are truly nice people. Many wealthy people who hire private chefs are not. Now that I have been around the block a few more times I feel truly blessed to be working for them again. There is a mutual trust. They trust that I am going to make great food. They give me money, I make it happen. We discuss menus and ideas but I have a very long leash and get lots of creative leeway. Unlike the micro managers who ride you, which  ulimately kills off any creativity- these people believe in me and treat me with respect. This has made me regain some of the confidence that I lost.

Today I have run out to the store twice, driving the lady's Mercedes SUV, I work in a drop-dead gorgeous kitchen, brand new appliances and an open view of the water. Yesterday I went out shopping for some necessary equipment and dropped a cool $1500 or so.

I have baked bread, cookies, brownies, cakes, tarts. I have roasted, grilled and sauteed. I have bent over countless times, opening and closing drawers, the refrigerator, the oven.

Then, the payoff. The happy faces, the compliments. The food disappearing off of the platters. The group is happy, they love my work. Though working hard, I am relaxed. I know what I am doing. I'm a thoroughbred running around the track again.

Unfortunately, I don't work for this client enough to fully pay my bills. I still have many unanswered questions to face about the next chapter in my life. Happily though, I think I am finished with the last one. I will never forget my students and the experience of teaching, but the pain and anger with the politics can get filed away now.

When I get back on the train on Monday to go home, with my aching feet and grey roots that desperately need a touch up I will bring my rejuvenated outlook with me. Though to completely different places, these two trips have reminded me of that lady who found her passion in Italy, and the satisfaction of doing great work. The joy in keeping it simple.