I’m a chef. I’ve never really wanted to be ok with that realization.
I’ve probably been a chef since I sat on the ‘toaster’ counter beside the stove at my Grandparents watching my grandmother fry and over-medium egg with perfect, crisp edges from the rendered bacon fat left behind by the generous slabs that had offered up their fatty goodness for my dippy-egg-to-be. Or perhaps it was when she let us mix and match every ingredient we could reach without a step-stool, into a tongue numbing amalgam of flour, sugar, salt, butter, nutmeg, cinnamon, pickled mushrooms, lemon juice and so on until we put it in the oven, baked it to a golden brown and we all sat down for a piece. (I have a good poker face but nothing beats Grandma Weiser smiling generously and with approval after masticating what could aptly be described as a pasty spice bomb).
Point being, whether it has been the ability to always have access to a bounty of seasonally grown goodness (thanks to growing up on a farm with very diverse plant offerings) or the above mentioned memory that is seared into my conscience like diver scallops are seared to crisp, nutty brown edges in a wonderful froth of browned butter, I have always felt drawn to food. I’m comfortable in its medium. There is actually nothing else that I am more comfortable in. Not parenting, not managing, not hiking, not anything. The task of needing to put three moderately passable courses in front of 10-15 people in a little over a couple of hours may seem daunting to some. I simply want to be shown to the pantry and left to create. Hors d’oeuvres for fifty? Awesome, bring it. Breaking down a whole side of pork to shave dollars per pound off your cost? Merely a walk down my personal commercial kitchen Memory Lane.
What frustrates me is that I don’t really get to do it anymore. Sure, I still cook at home when I can but adding a toddler to your evening reservation list changes things entirely. And I still cook a little at work but mostly just doctoring up what someone is struggling with or taking the time to have a teaching moment about soup texture or how to effectively cook a piece of protein to ensure the balance of tenderness and moisture.
This last part is sadly, only temporary because at some point in the not-too-distant future, I will have new responsibilities that lie more along the lines of fixing our national healthcare system rather than discovering a new way to take a roasted pear and stuff it with bleu cheese granola for a salad course drizzled with reduced Sancerre and perhaps some balsamic syrup.
So the responsible side of me will continue down this nice career path that has been laid out before me…..but don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, food. I’ll be back. Don’t grow up without me.