A Confession

Okay, I’ll admit something I haven’t said before. As I’ve gone through school and now through many of the outlets at the hotel, I’ve been unsettled by the number of people who, not to sound too elitist (but, well, okay...), have an utter lack of passion and, even worse in my book, zero curiosity. I’m thinking here about classmates who refuse to try any food they haven’t already had (let’s review... these are people training, theoretically, to be chefs... it’s like a Lit major refusing to read a new book.). I’m thinking about a guy I worked with in the bakery whom I liked, despite what I’m about to say about him: his sole source of information about the world was Fox News, which he took as gospel. We had many a long, tedious (for me) conversation that usually began with him provoking me with a statement along the lines of "The only reason other countries hates us is because we’re the greatest country in the world."

Where do I begin with that one? How about countries don’t hate countries, individual people in countries do, ok?

But I digress...

Anyway, the last year has been an adjustment because I got spoiled working in journalism, being surrounded by people for whom curiosity is a job requirement. Not to sound elitist again, but I’ve been regularly disappointed by most of my peers at school and now at the hotel in this regard. The exception, particularly at school where I have much greater interaction with them, has been my chefs, who all read and travel and speak a bunch of different languages and seem driven by both a passion for their craft and a need to learn more about everything around them.

Which is why I want to mention my favorite place that I’ve worked so far at the hotel, which happened to be the pastry station for the fancy-pantsed VIP dining room and its room service offshoot. It was my favorite place not because of what I did (mostly prep work, with one exception, since they didn’t want to trust finished product to a student, which I understand), but because of who I worked with.

The guy running the station was from Missouri, and originally majored in biology with a plan to become a reptile specialist "way before that Crocodile Hunter guy was big," as he put it. During his sophomore year, however, he had an existential crisis about what to do with his life and decided instead to become a chef. So he up and moved to France, learned the language, supported himself working as a personal chef to a wealthy family while attending Le Cordon Bleu (the original, big deal one, not the spin-offs here in the States). Since then, he’s worked with some of the biggest names in the biz and even turned down a job in NY with a very big name because he felt they wouldn’t get along.

Have I mentioned the guy just turned 27 a couple days ago?

Yes, he has a touch of ego, but in the funniest way... when a new chocolate souffle recipe he thought up on the spot was put on the menu by the pastry chef, he danced around the room singing "This is why, this is why, this is why I’m hot!" Then he declared he was going to go wild on the town, paused and said "who am I kidding? I’m going to go home, make myself a rum and coke and fall asleep on the couch."

(That I learned on my first day he and I like the same kind of rum, Gosling’s Black Seal Black Rum, has nothing, really nothing, honestly, to do with my approval of him. Well, maybe a little, but mostly because when we were rum-inating on the topic, he said "one time when I had too much of it, I drew an anchor on my arm with a Sharpie. Arr.")

At the same time, he was a tough but encouraging boss. When my madeline recipe came out a few grams (not ounces, grams) short, he calmly said "That’s ok, don’t worry about it. You just get to make it over again." When he showed me stuff, he explained everything, start to finish, and would ask me things to see if I was thinking, like "why would you not want more gelatin in this?"

After overseeing me through every step of the apple tarts guests received as part of a welcome basket in their room, he let me do it on my own, too, instead of micromanaging students the way some do. (I’ve become the queen of sheeting as a result, sheeting being the process of feeding dough through a sheeter that rolls it ever thinner until it’s tart-worthy.)

Every day when I arrived, he stopped what he was doing, shook my hand and welcomed me. When I left, he shook my hand again and thanked me for a good day’s work. It’s a small gesture, and he did it for everyone who worked for him, but it conveys a kind of professionalism that I admire (as an aside, I think it’s a French thing, as I’ve noticed all the French chefs I’ve worked with do that).

When I asked what he wanted to do next, he said he was thinking of going someplace where he didn’t speak the language and couldn’t even read the alphabet, just to give himself that charge you get when thrown into a new and overwhelming situation. Huzzah!

When he complained about how guests just wanted bigger portions with smaller flavors (vanilla or chocolate, please, maybe banana if they’re feeling a bit adventurous), he lamented "they’re not like you and me. They don’t know food. They don’t care about food. They just want a big dessert to show off to the next table, like their big car and big house and big designer suit."

I love this guy! But seriously, aside from really liking the calm yet focused way he ran his kitchen and his attitude towards life in general, knowing him gave me hope, as corny as it sounds, that there are more intellectually curious, talented and rum-loving kindred spirits out there in this new industry I have thrown myself into.


Here’s a shot of the Boy Wonder showing me a plate up of a molten cake (note his perfect quenelle, damn him...) and exhibiting the classic hunched-over, suffering-for-his-art posture of a pastry chef. I didn’t see it at the time, until I was downloading the photo, but look at the grace in his left hand. That’s something I’ve noticed about all the really talented pastry chefs I’ve seen in action. They may be blustery or oafish or whatever, but when it comes down to working, they get a bit balletic in their moves. It’s a small gesture (like shaking someone’s hand), but to me it speaks of craft and centuries of tradition that can’t be replicated by machine, at least, not yet, and hopefully never.