JUNE
Every moving thing that is alive shall be food for you.
CHAPTER 24
THE DAY I’M PROMOTED to chef de cuisine I buy a pair of shoes with a pearl in the bottom of each sole. At work I wear flats or sneakers, but heels are fitting for special days. These are designed so that you would never know there was a pearl nestled in the soles if you didn’t flip the shoes over. I feel great when I walk in them, knowing that a pearl follows my every step. As a gift to myself, there is nothing better. I wish a day as special as these shoes would come to me. As chef de cuisine I have to oversee the kitchen and be responsible for almost everything that happens. Being promoted within five months of coming back to Nove is very quick, even for me. Yet the staff seems to think I was the right choice. I might have been seen as a threatening presence. But I never left the kitchen and my knife was glued to my hand and I did chores people hated to do. I came to work early and prepared all the ingredients for the stations and made sure everything was perfect. If I missed the last train after working in the test kitchen, I napped on the cot in Chef’s office without bothering to change my clothes. I wasn’t exhausted or tired. Like someone born in a kitchen, I cooked all day and I thought only about food.
The kitchen feels familiar and comfortable, more than ever before, much like a small universe rotating in an orderly way or a small house made just for me. The rattling of dishes and the psst-psst of steam and the crackling of food in pans and the bubbling of water: The sounds around me are like the rhythmic reverberations of a mysterious bell. The perfect order of each person working at the stove and the cutting board, chopping and frying and boiling and plating in unison, is consistent and beautiful, an intricately choreographed dance. I remember Grandmother saying that the door to the kitchen should always be open. This lively clatter seeps into the dining room from the open kitchen, filling it with a happy, musical ruckus. I especially like the busy noisiness of Friday nights, when we have the most customers. My entire being is elated as if I’m eating food with too much saffron. I see the true beauty of all ingredients. It’s been thirteen years since I started cooking, but only now am I beginning to know what I’m doing. The ends of my fingers are alert, like I’m the world’s best safecracker. I think I’ve regained balance in my life.
Once, during my cooking classes, as we made the mayonnaise for poulet roti, one student grumbled playfully that she didn’t understand why she had to stir egg yolks at a constant speed, causing everyone to laugh. I explained why, seriously. Otherwise the molecules will become unstable and the mayonnaise will separate. There is balance in taste, too, and an unbalanced taste can’t captivate the eater. In order to create harmony, you have to think about balance, and to get balance in the kitchen you have to follow seemingly insignificant but crucial rules.
The new prep cook was fired within two weeks because of his failure to follow the rules. He put garlic, which has to be chopped and sliced and minced by hand, in the food processor behind Chef’s back, but was caught when Chef came into the kitchen unexpectedly in the early morning. In Italian food, garlic is as important as the indispensable tomato. We inevitably use a large amount throughout the day. To maintain the freshness and the sharp scent of garlic, you can’t freeze it or chop it before it’s needed. You lay the knife flat to smash cloves of garlic, never using a food processor. As soon as you put garlic in a machine, its scent disappears. Chef’s rule is that people who can’t be bothered to handle garlic by hand don’t have the right to cook. Garlic, especially roasted, shiny, brown garlic, sweet and creamy, is one of Chef’s most favored ingredients, used in almost every dish at Nove. Whirring it in the food processor behind Chef’s back is worse than stealing wine or meat. Very rarely does Chef personally fire someone. But there are no exceptions if it has to do with violating the most basic rules of the kitchen. When he does fire someone, Chef is firm and cold and detached. That new cook, who was about to take out a garbage bag leaking liquid, ripped off his uniform and left the premises. He might have thought, All this over stupid garlic. But we all know Chef was right.
We decide to hire two more cooks, including a saucier. We have twenty applicants, about half of whom graduated from the American CIA—the Harvard of cooking schools—and the Italian ICIF. If educational background were the only factor considered, I wouldn’t have the qualifications to become chef de cuisine. During a break on a Sunday afternoon, Chef and Manager Park and I conduct interviews. I don’t want to participate but Chef insists, as if he knew we would notice different qualities and open up a good debate. Of the twenty applicants, I like A and B, Chef focuses on C and D, and Manager Park picks B and D. So Chef and I chose completely different applicants.
Patience is the most important characteristic of a cook. Otherwise you won’t be able to get through days of doing the same thing over and over again in a narrow kitchen. The kitchen staff is a small, friendly army. Sometimes it’s good to be an individual, but you also have to be able to work with others. Both Chef and I believe that the head chef has to keep a clear head at all times, be meticulous and steady. All applicants submitted an Italian recipe they were most confident in making. A and B’s recipes revere the simple and the basic, and C and D’s are individualistic and creative. Chef says A and B are overly plain and unimaginative, and I argue that C and D ignore the basics and are show-offs. I stand my ground even though I know Chef has a good eye for these things, and Chef digs in his heels. Finally, in the spirit of compromise, we choose B and D. They won’t have a hard time fitting in: Neither is the product of a formal culinary education, but both have the most experience. It’s an accepted wisdom in the industry that you can teach someone to cook but you can’t teach them personality. So it’s not a bad choice if the cook loyal to the basics and the creative cook have gentle souls. Still, I feel defeated.
CHAPTER 25
WHAT ARE YOU DOING this fine Sunday?”
“I don’t know what to make with this,” I smile embarrassedly.
“With what?”
“A carp.”
A hearty laugh reverberates through the phone. It’s been a while since I heard Uncle laugh. Uncle can make phone calls to the outside twice a week, on Wednesdays and Sundays. I’m off today but I still came in to work. Because we ordered a larger than usual shipment of perch and croaker, they threw in three carp. I start to get nervous when people don’t order seafood dishes, leaving the fridge filled with fish. Like steak, fish is expensive but easy to cook. The simpler the dish, the better its taste. But I need to cultivate a different recipe, something other than baking and frying and steaming.