Self mythology

Since the first post was nearly a love letter to Italy, and more specifically, to the Piedmont, I felt I had to go cranky on this one, just in case who’s reading got  the idea that this is an idyllic food blog. Well, it isn’t.

Turns out that I had a fairly good reason to shift from Pollyanna to Grumpy. Yay (!). That concerns mainly two aspects that filled me with expectations before even getting here, and as soon as “the dream” became my routine, I realized some of it – a very small part, I must say - was mostly bullshit.

Having cooked professionally for some time, and having worked with (and learned from) chefs that are quality obsessed, in kitchens were everything had to be freshly made, everyday, with very little usage of freezing facilities, my standards are considerably high. The thing is I was expecting to find even higher standards around here. I mean, we’re in the middle of the promised land of fresh produce, everything is so fragrant, so shiny, so plenty and so wonderful! You’d think that any restaurant would have daily deliveries of chickens still hooting, vegetables covered in soil and eggs still warm from inside the goose. You’d get that impression after meeting a chef who is described by some as the “Paul Bocuse of Italian cooking”, and who claims to be a very rigorous purist, using only ingredients that are locally sourced and being close friend to the suppliers of “super produce”, in his own words.

On top of that, you’d get the idea that this chef masters cucina Italiana like no one else, and he could be that mentor you’ve been searching for so long. The one who’s gonna break you, making you give your blood, sweat and tears, and still believing that you’re never gonna make it - there’s just not enough lifetime for you to improve enough as to reach his level of excellence. For those who are not following me, thinking “who on Earth would want to work like a dog and still be made feel like a useless piece of shit, day after day?”, let me explain: cooks crave that feeling. Of course, they have unhealthy rates of masochism in their system:  these people choose a job that will make them work on average 15 hours a day, with a lousy pay, get cuts, burns, sore feet and back problems and become socially inapt, since the only thing they can talk about is food. Well, not the only thing, but the other subjects are sex and drugs, which won’t make social interaction any easier on a controlled and civilized environment. Back to my point: if you’re willing to become unsuitable for pretty much everything else there is in life, you want to excel at this one thing you picked as a career. And during your first years in “the industry”, there has to be this inspiring figure whom you look up to, who is worth the effort you make, and who’s fully licensed to be rude and abusive at his staff.

Then one day you get a job in this legendary chef’s kitchen. It’s not exactly busy, but then again, we’re not in the high season, and few customers may imply more time for learning about the dishes, the region and its ingredients, the chef’s background… That’s when the scene starts falling apart: you receive one delivery and ask the chef where those gorgeous green leafs come from, offering yourself to go to the producer with him on your day off. All you get as an answer is: “it’s made by a good old friend of mine, and you can’t go there ‘cause he is a very private person”. Fair enough, he’s not willing to share his secrets with you, after all, you’re just the new guy. Might be a good moment to break the ice and get to know him better, ask him how he started, who’s he worked with… “La mia nonna” is his answer. Period. Never employed by other chef, from grandma’s kitchen to his own business. Actually, as soon as he says that all his culinary knowledge came from his granny, he starts to disqualify cookery schools, Michelin starred chefs and cooks who work at restaurants around the world, as if the only food worth of real appreciation was the one he makes. From that moment on, you clearly see that opposition taking place before your eyes, all the time:  when he asks you to make a brown stock and you diligently cut and brown vegetables and meat, you’re yelled at. His way: just put the whole raw vegetables and chunks of meat in cold water and leave it there for several hours. You see a fish standing out of the fridge for 45 minutes during service (which means: hot kitchen). You get rid of it, just because you can’t afford serving that to a person who’s paying at least 100 euros for dinner. And once again you’re yelled at! Your day consists basically of preparing huge loads of food and freezing it, just because it’s cheaper to buy enormous amounts and it’s easy to have everything frozen. It’s fundamental to play his trick: customer arrives, doesn’t know what to ask, he says he’ll sort out something special, very spontaneously, and in a few minutes, dinner is served! Not freshly made, not sorted out from the products that were available on the day, as this client would love to believe. Just whatever he decided to defrost on that specific evening.

Of course, in the case of a civil war or nuclear accident, it is perfectly possible for the staff to stay locked in the restaurant for several months, you never know. Seriously, the blast chiller and the vacuum sealer serve the sole purpose of preserving food for ages. Freeze en place!

What I’m trying to say here is that apart from the disappointment and the frustration of working in such a fashion, it’s just annoying. Because you see self promotion and marketing making all that work, when you learned that only extreme dedication and passion can lead to success. Maybe that won’t suffice, but without that there’s no future in fine dining, no matter how sophisticated your advertising strategies are. You see a chef saying that cooks don’t manage to stay in his kitchen for a long time because he is too tough. Bullshit! They can’t do it simply because he has bad habits. It’s not too much work, but the opposite: shortcuts all over the place. And the end result is sold for outrageous prices, to naïve customers who buy not only the food, but all the package, to end up envisaging a new Paul Bocuse in the Piedmont.

After this protest, I feel that if I jumped to my next insatisfacton I might make too many enemies at once. Who would want that? For now I’ll just say that it’s somewhat disturbing to see idolatry in an academic environment, and that I’m here to study, not to become a militant. I’ll elaborate the subject in another occasion, mainly because I don’t have a lot of elements to support this strange feeling I’ve been getting. I’ll make sure that before it happens, I’ll work on a post full of adjectives, flowers, colors and poetry about how wonderful is the world of food!