Take my white (side)towel and shove it, and other epic fail moments

I give up. This isn't working. A thirtysomething gal supporting herself can't live on love and minimum wage alone, contrary to whatever the idealists may say. Sure, she could, if she had a trust fund or the support of middle-class-to-wealthy kin. I have neither.

The difficulty of scratching out a living from kitchen work, at least for newly minted entrants like myself, hit me hard last week when I received my first paycheck: PHP1,250 ($28.50) for a week's work, plus PHP175 ($4) in tips. I might have stayed if the restaurant were more promising, but at the no-name Italian restaurant and pizzeria I found myself in, I was doomed to eternal boredom of the guestless restaurant. Days would pass when I would be lucky to be cooking two entrées during an entire eight-hour shift. The cooks would dip their fingers in the food to taste it, and prod me, the trainee pasta cook, to do the same. The fact that I brought my own knives and side towels was a novelty to them. There was very little production work. The restaurant also suffered from management problems - an absentee Italian chef-consultant who only came to the resto once a month to collect his paycheck, a menu that had not been changed AT ALL in three years, and an owner who did not remit employees' income taxes and social security payments. Everything pointed to infinitesimally meager learning, minimal pay and an abundance of suffering.

What was I doing at this gem of a place? Oh believe me, I peddled my CV everywhere. I had to contend with security guards who fancied themselves human resource managers ("Who told you we were hiring?? I'll have to speak with the manager if you'll be allowed to deposit your resume" - what, is there a law against that now?); manpower agency personnel hell-bent on pigeonholing me to the front of the house, service staff who'd look me up and down and scoff, "You? In the kitchen?" - and this while I deliberately wore my rattiest shirts so as not to look too prissy to be gutting fish; imperious chefs who would enquire about my goals and then snort at them ("You, cook in a Michelin-starred restaurant??"); and clueless restaurant managers who would tell me I was overqualified because of my university education and refuse to take me seriously because of my corporate background.

I give up. The local food industry is unfriendly to women like me. It takes even less kindly to those who do not have the right connections. So I'll do the next best thing: I'll work towards setting up my own food-related business. Entrepreneurship is the only option I haven't considered, really.

So. I'm still here in the world of pinstripes and neatly pressed slacks. Well, at least I won't break my back, literally. And I'll earn enough to buy my oven and mixer.

So. Apply as food editor for a large publishing company? Or PR executive of a luxury hotel? Why the hell not? It'll be my revenge on the glass-floored (it's a floor, people, a floor! Not a ceiling!), unforgiving industry that didn't love me back.

My angel is a punk rocker

Something amazing happened to me last week. But wait, let's start with the awful stuff first.

I answered a job ad and reported in the morning to a manpower agency's office in Cubao, Quezon City, which is all of eight MRT stations away from where I live. The vacancy turned out to be for a kakanin maker in a canteen for call center employees. In far, far away Cavite. Now, I have nothing against kakanin. As a Filipino with a natural affinity for all things rice I love kakanin, with cassava cake and bibingka being two of my top comfort foods. But as someone with a rudimentary professional baking education, it is the mastery of bread-baking and pastry and dessert production that I'm after. You can imagine I was dismayed and feeling that I was doomed to languish in the pits of a failed career. What career? I haven't found paid work yet!

There she was again, Desperation. I could see her waving her bloody talons out of the corner of my eye. I decided to go home, cobble together a cover letter, and look for Park Avenue Desserts. I vaguely knew that it was owned by Buddy Trinidad, who is one of the Philippines' top pastry chefs (in hindsight, when I looked up his bio after our encounter, I realized I knew so little about how fierce his credentials are!). My plan was just to deposit my CV and leave. I didn't realize I would be granted an audience with The Man!

The first thing he asked me was which school I graduated from. It rang a bell. "Ah, you're a student of Martha's (Ebro)." To my teacher chef Martha, our "Mahal na Diyosa", I'll forever be grateful, because your name opens doors! He asked me a few more questions about my background, and then he said the most thrilling thing anyone has ever said to me: "You're hungry. I will take you in. You're welcome to come in and learn, sort of like another apprenticeship. I don't keep any secrets. I share everything I know with my students." And then he said he would forward my CV to people in his network, mentioning in particular two big names: a French chef and a Colombian guy. I swear, I almost wept!

This was on Tuesday. Well, he kept his word. I was summoned to an interview on Saturday at Restaurant CiҪou. It was scary, of course, and the prospect of working there makes me want to slash my wrists out of a combination of fear, joy and rapture, but hey, this amazing opportunity, and that of learning from him, was thrown in my lap courtesy of my angel the punk rocker.

Have I been a good person? What have I done to deserve this unbelievable, and wholly unexpected, piece of good karma? Now I just hope I don't screw up, or he might whack me with his guitar - okay, maybe not, because it's too precious to risk breaking it on my pate. Maybe a rolling pin instead?

I start reporting to him tomorrow. I'm so excited I wanna be sedated! Okay, that's me borrowing from one of his musical heroes. I'll shut up now before he happens to read this and really does decide to whack me on the head for my foolishness.

My Goose Station diary

Things I did during my stâge at The Goose Station:

October 1:
-broke spaghettini into pieces for fideua negra
-diced watermelon for Beet Garden. Fail!
-peeled, ricered and sieved potato for mashed potato
-prepared mashed potato with truffle oil
-put avruga caviar on top of Caviar Surprise
-helped assemble/plate Beet Garden, Unagi Foie Gras Terrine, 24-Hour Steak; Yogurt Foam, Granola, Mint, Mangoes & Berries; Bittersweet Farewell
-picked out mint leaves for Yogurt Foam dessert
-helped assemble Bittersweet Farewell
-deveined and prepped foie gras
-learned how to make brioche
-saw how sous vide cooking is done

Tasted:
-Fideua Negra
-Yogurt Foam
-Savory Macaroon
-oreo-like thingy with boursin

October 2:
-assisted in expediting
-helped plate Eggs Benedict; Squash Soup; Quail; Chocolate Candy Bar
-saw how 24-hr steak is portioned out (150g a la carte, 50g table d'hote)
-learned how lamb sauce and steak sauce are made
-placed in charge of hot station's chiller. Organized it.
-participated in general cleaning. Bled to death (almost!) from cut on right middle finger
-planned employee meals for next 5 days and ordered ingredients for them

October 4:
-cooked employee meal (chopsuey)
-fried the onions for 24-Hour Steak
-learned how quail is fabricated
-learned how demi-glace and tomato sauce are made
-expedited and plated and did better at it :)
-“fired” squash soup and learned how to make it
-helped cold kitchen assemble desserts
-made brioche
-mep for next day's EM (pork salpicao)

October 5:
-fried the onions for 24-Hour Steak
-learned how to make Seared Foie Gras
-learned how to make Potato Glass
-learned how to saute quail
-learned how to make marinade for lamb. Sealed lamb and marinade in vacuum packs for cooking in immersion circulator
-learned how to prepare Farmer's Egg and plate it
-learned how to cook veg for 24-Hour Steak

October 6-7:
-made tapenade
-made cones using fillo pastry for welcome snacks
-learned how to fill cones with foie pate
-plated Beet Garden, Caviar Surprise, Foie Gras Terrine
-mise-en-place for cold station: diced watermelon, sliced honeydew, made beet coins, blanched edamame,
-cleaned up cold station's chiller
-helped with inventory of cold kitchen's supplies
-set up pass
-made welcome snacks and Bittersweet Farewell

Screwed, almost

I can't believe how close I came to getting screwed. I went yesterday to the posh hotel, which I shall call The Golden Fan, where I was going to do my apprenticeship. Lo and behold, I was told that my file had been placed in the "did not pursue" category. I broke out in a cold sweat despite the glacial air conditioning. I was about to be thrown out on a limb - after having quit my job I had visions of myself moving into a tent made of discarded election posters (national elections had just ended) and selling gruel (with puréed newspapers as extender) to survive while waiting for another internship opening.

The hiring manager must've seen the desperation in my face threatening to erupt any moment and ending with me jumping up and down like a deranged monkey on her paper-cluttered desk. So rather than risk having her filing system upset by some bushy-haired baboon, she decided to hand me my endorsement papers. Off I went to be "interviewed" by the sous chef, with said "interview" consisting of a five-second head-to-toe size-up and a grudging "I'll borrow her for the Thai banquet" mumbled to the HR assistant escorting me. I knew the sous chef doubted my grit. I would've been skeptical too - someone aspiring to work in the kitchen does not usually set foot in it in a prissy lace-trimmed camisole, a knitted robe-like wrap and pointy patent leather ballerina flats. All the toques looked at me too, and I could barely suppress the impulse to slink under the grease trap.

After that minor humiliation, we strolled over to Laundry to make provisions for me to borrow one of their chef's jackets. Wearing your school jacket is fine if you work away in one of the Golden Fan's cavernous hidden kitchens, but not if you hold fort at a station that puts you in contact with guests.

And then, that was that. I ascended the stairwell back to the front of the staff entrance, wiped the cold fear-sweat from my brows, hobbled away from the premises, and searched for a dark corner where I could put my knees together in an upright fetal position, and rocked and rocked until I lost consciousness and awoke to find that I had killed and eaten my pet Madagascar hissing cockroach.

Cooking Dirty by Jason Sheehan

Reading 'Cooking Dirty', Jason Sheehan's memoir of his rise from plongeur to (non-celebrity, but that doesn't matter) chef, is giving me the creeps. Mom, I promise not to do drugs and cook at the same time! Maybe I'll do one or the other, but not simultaneously, nyahaha!

Nah. You know me. I've always been the good girl.

Seriously, his stories of drugs, filthy kitchens, juvenile pranks, assault, meaningless sexual encounters on top of bakers' prep tables, hands dipped in 400 degree deep fryer oil and putrid locker rooms are enough for me to momentarily contemplate putting my tail between my legs and begging for my cushy office job back. Except anatomically, I do not possess a tail. And my pride would cause me to slit my wrists than go cowering back to my glamorized role as keyboard pusher who picks up after Big Media Company's other news desks.

And I love making food too much. And I'm not a quitter.

I hope you have the tongue of an angel

"Maybe that's really your calling because your progress is so quick," said my friend Preppy Boy when he found out I was going to do my internship at a luxury hotel.

Sana magdilang anghel ka. In my culture, to say magdilang anghel is to say that a person has just uttered something akin to a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Sobering up

I read this on a pastry chef's blog:

“You made these? But you’re such a little girl!”

–Male restaurant owner (and ex-model) in his early 40’s. He was looking for a consultant to improve the dessert menu in his incredibly popular and upscale coffee shop. He’d just seen and tasted two desserts I’d made (a warm apple tart tatin and a flourless chocolate cake) and loved them but could not, for some reason, connect the talent on the plate to the woman who had prepared them.

I was 32 years old.

****
I will probably get this a lot, since I enjoy/suffer the blessing/curse of looking younger than my years.

And oh, the animals I will be working with! http://www.myspicedlife.com/?cat=3. So, I've realized, my classmates juvenile behavior is just a preview of egregious things to come.

Today's Specials

The day's food articles that caught my fancy:


The Eggbeater blog and Serious Eats dish out some advice on working in a restaurant or professional kitchen.

Get the padre some whimsical food-themed ties for Father's Day.

I want to work here!

I've decided to compile a list of establishments that offer good career prospects for newly minted chefs. These are places that foster excellence in the art of making food, and while you might want to strike me down for having the temerity to think that great chefs like Hélène Darroze or Thomas Keller might accept little old me into their kitchens, this list at least gives me something to aspire to.

Asitane
Istanbul
Owner: Mr. Batur Durmay
Specialty: Mediterranean
www.asitanerestaurant.com

Bebek Balikci
Istanbul
Chef-owner: Ertugrul Karabulut
Specialty: Fish, mezze
Review:
www.bebekbalikci.net

Borsa
Harbiye, Turkey
Tel: 212-232 4201/02
Fax: 212-232 5856
www.borsarestaurant.com

Camino
Oakland, California
Chef: Russell Moore
www.caminorestaurant.com

Caprice
Hong Kong
www.fourseasons.com/caprice

Chez Panisse
Berkeley, California
Chef: Alice Waters
www.chezpanisse.com

Coi
San Francisco, California
Chef: Daniel Patterson
www.coirestaurant.com

Eleven Madison Park
New York
Executive Chef: Daniel Humm
Tel: (212) 889-0905
www.elevenmadisonpark.com
Reviews: A Daring Rise to the Top

Els Tallers
Managers: Pau Escriu, Anaïs Chauveau
www.siuranella.com

French Laundry
Napa Valley, California
Chef: Thomas Keller
www.frenchlaundry.com

Island Tang
Central, Hong Kong
Owner: David Tang
www.islandtang.com

Le Caprice
St James’s, London
Director: Jesus Adorno
www.le-caprice.co.uk

Lung King Heen
Central, Hong Kong
Specialty: Cantonese
www.fourseasons.com

Mikla
Istanbul
Owner: Ms. Ece Aksoy
www.themarmarahotels.com

Per Se
New York
Chef: Thomas Keller
www.perseny.com

Sunset Grill & Bar
Istanbul
Owner: Baris Tansever
www.sunsetgrillbar.com

Swissôtel Bosphorus
Istanbul
General manager: Gerhard Struger
Specialty: Continental
www.swissotel.com

Taillevent
Paris
www.taillevent.com

Tierra Brindisa
Specialty: Spanish, tapas
www.tierrabrindisa.com

Vetri
Chef-owner: Marc Vetri
Specialty: Italian
www.vetriristorante.com

The wizened chef

I worry about being too old - I turn the big three-o this year - to successfully change careers. People like to say it's just a number and I desperately want to believe in that fantasy, but I know I will be confronted by the physical, plenty-of-heavy-lifting aspect of my new career, as well as its ugly, ageist face: older chefs are much less appealing to employers because they are seen to take fewer culinary risks (and offer less adventure and surprises to diners).

I wish I'd heard the kitchen's call as early as 13-year-old Greg Grossman.

Article: The most gastronomic street in Paris

The FT's Simon Kuper writes about the rue Paul Bert, a Parisian neighborhood that has become a guidebook darling for its excellent restaurants, food and wine stores and even a food bookshop. The sidebar also mentions how the proprietor of La Cocotte, the bookshop, decided to quit her PR and marketing job and become a pastry chef - yet more affirmation that I'm making the right decision. After all, we always hear about people who quit their office jobs to start cooking, not the other way around.

Article: Mastering the art of food

Ging Steinberg's article in Appetite Magazine talks about her experiences while completing her degree in Food Studies and Food Management from New York University. One of the interesting things she did was research intensively and write papers on food-related issues, including one about why adobo is considered the national dish of the Philippines.

Article: Ottolenghi café’s smiling food

The FT's Nicholas Lander writes about an Israeli journalist-and-academic-turned chef who serves up "smiling food" to diners at Ottolenghi, his chain of London-based cafés.

Ottolenghi worked in academia and as a journalist before coming to London in 1998, aged 30, to train at Le Cordon Bleu institute. He had wanted to become a chef at an early age, but it was not a profession that was looked on with enthusiasm by his middle-class parents. His success has won his parents round, but Ottolenghi says his father cooks with a deftness he feels he can’t match. “He’s a professor of chemistry and somehow he has this intuitive understanding of what should be in a dish and what shouldn’t. That’s what I want to achieve.”

Photo from www.normblog.wordpress.com

Welcome to Luto-Lutuan!

I'm starting this online journal because I've decided to switch careers and study professional cooking. How did I get here? I'm really an editor and writer by training and profession. For almost a decade now (gasp!), I have worked in various positions for an international media organization that outsourced some of its operations to my home country, the Philippines. When I started the job so many years ago, I liked the work, the corporate culture, the people and the pay, so I thought, “Hey, this could work, you and International Media Organization could grow old together!” Fast-forward a few more years and here I am, disenchanted with the corporate culture, some of the people, the pay and the work that was making me feel all dead inside. I had a disturbing suspicion that life was passing me by as I sat at my desk researching company news and editing copy. So I daydreamed, imagining myself as a food and travel writer gulping down pisco sour with Chilean locals or combing the souks of the Middle East.

The interest I developed in food grew into a desire to turn it into a career. After all, travel is practically a job requirement for chefs because they have to keep learning about other cuisines. I grew envious of white-suited men and women who could, with steel, fire and their bare hands turn a pile of leaves, a stick of butter, a slab of meat and a few lashings of broth into plated works of art that elicit sighs of rapture from appreciative diners. I wanted to wield a pepper mill with panache, julienne carrots as though I were dancing and knead dough with conviction. Okay, I'm getting carried away. You get the drift.

So, stoked by cooking shows, food books, articles and blogs, I decided to become a chef. I knew professional cooking would also be a hard life; I'd heard of chefs sleeping on the street because they couldn't afford to pay rent (Mats Loo), of chefs taking a finished plate out of an apprentice's hand and throwing it against a wall if they were displeased about how the the dish was prepared (see Heat, Bill Buford). Friends tell stories of chef-friends showing up pockmarked by burns, or with one hand wrapped in gauze after running a knife through it. The kitchen is a boys' club. There are crude sexist jokes (Heat again). Does a female chef get groped in the walk-in freezer, I wondered. Westerners write about this in books and blogs and talk about it in online message boards but as far as I knew, no Filipino had ever written about his journey into professional cooking.

And so, here I am. Pardon the avalanche of self-importance seemingly emanating from that sentence. It's not the case at all. In the first place, I am not even sure if this career change is going to prove successful. And, I don't even dare to be like others who, having graduated from cookery school and earned a measly year or two of experience, answer their cellphones with “Chef X speaking.” Pardon me, I dare not bandy the title about. What I want to do is chronicle my studies in cookery school and my journeys afterwards and share it with friends in the hope that it becomes entertaining and instructive. As far as I know, no Filipino has ever blogged about their experiences in culinary arts school. I'm not sure if it will inspire others who want to embark on a similar career path, but at the very least, it will be an eye-opener to those who want to enter the industry. I am not being paid or influenced by any commercial interests, so you can trust me to call something for what it truly is.

What do I want for myself? I want to keep writing, of course. I look up to Doreen Fernandez, Gilda Cordero-Fernando, Ruth Reichl, Jan Morris and Pico Iyer (the latter two are strictly not food writers but oh, they still rock!). A formal study of culinary arts would hopefully give me kitchen cred when I write about food and if fate is kind, perhaps someday I might approach even a tiny smidgen of their literary greatness. Wearing my toque, on the other hand, I look up to Sau del Rosario, Gene Gonzales, Gaita Fores, Helene Darroze, Jill Sandique, Jessie Sincioco and Grant Achatz. I pray that a Michelin-starred chef or establishment might deign to take me under their tutelage. In five years, I will probably try to become an industry-certified professional. No, I don't want to be on TV! I do, however, want to open my own place someday, and come out with a book celebrating Philippine cuisine. And I want to cook in France, where the tradition of culinary excellence began.

Ah, such lofty goals. By publicizing them, I run the risk of embarrassing myself if I fall flat on my face. You can hold me up to what I've said but please be kind in the event of failure. However, in case I grow a bloated, celebrity chef-like ego spawned by success, please, all of you who are truly my friends, slap me and bring me back down to earth. In the meantime, I will try to perfect both cooking and writing, and hope that you and I find the whole process both useful and entertaining.