Appreciation of Art

Line work is by the very definition harsh. It’s degrading. Cooking in an open kitchen, watching “foodies” strutting their food network prowess, unaware of the components that contributed to the dishes set forth. Do they appreciate the medley of vegetables that are perfectly sliced in brunoise fashion? Do they taste the symphony of salty, sweet, heat, acidity? Do they know the labor intensive process to produce that streak of reduction? And just like that, the art is gone in one swallow followed with a sip of wine that complements the flavor.

Today my biggest life irritants could easily be resolved by one splurge. Fine dining. There’s a still vacancy, if I do not splurge one night a week. Unlike the usual San Francisco foodie, I appreciate a fine meal. I am privy to the labor and love it entailed to produce such excellence. Especially when a server sets a dish before me; I can’t help but admire the plating and the accompanying aroma. I’ve been known to buy the line each a shot of Patron for a superb meal.

I have retired my chef’s jacket years ago. Although my short stint in the industry was just a spit in the span of my life, but it was an experience unforgotten. I was a runt amongst cooks striving for the success of chef some of them hailing from the likes of Bouley, Jean-Georges, Wylie Dufresne, DiSpirito, and Bottali. I was humble and I held my own under their guidance.

Gone are the days of twelve-hour shifts of cussing, constant sexual harassment, cigarettes, cussing, cooking, cigarettes, burns, cussing, cussing, cigarettes, midnight happy hour, and more cigarettes. I miss the hurly burly of cooking in a restaurant. I miss the challenge it put forth and the glory at the end of service. I miss the company of cooks in all their haute ego and modesty. I have learned that simplicity is complex. I have come to understand the complexities of the never ending creation and master to the art. Instead, I embellish my quiet nights to the likes of Top Chef or No Reservations.

Time to time, I’ll receive emails from my old cronies. Some opened their own shop, meanwhile others to French Laundry, Cru, and El Bulli. I am fortunate to know that there was a time in my life that I rubbed elbows with greatness.

This is Shellie breaking my sauce ... back to you, Bob at the studio.