I live in an air conditioned world. From the car to the gym to the kitchen to the store- my skin is protected by a bubble of preprocessed air and comfort in the understanding that I no longer work in the thunderdome. But things are changing around here and it's high time that I get started on the journey.
The mailbox was full the second time I called. Everything around me was crumbling into ruins of a once glorious and fulfilling life and with every message that didn't make it onto Chef Weissman's answering machine seemed to suck the remaining hope from my mind. Dead end job, dead end relationship, one cat who bit my face when I slept, friends that never called- what in the hell was I doing. It rang again and again there was no room for me on that machine or in that town or in anyones lives. It was getting bleaker and I was getting more and more anxious. Until the vietnamese food and caller i.d. changed everything. Four missed calls. BJ was trying to get back to me about where exactly this place was on broadway and what time I wanted to eat. I passed "Vietnam" on my way to work, passed the Whitte Museum and before Trinity somewhere mashed between a mexican taco joint and a thai/chinese franchise. But four calls seemed excessive even for someone that may or may not be lost in yuppy downtown on a motorcycle. Calls received. LBJ, Andrew Weissman. Something strange happens to you when you first talk to someone famous. You've seen their picture, heard them speak, read their work all without ever shaking hands. But when they address you by name, call you even, there's something electric in the confidence it transfers. How was Williams Sonoma, are you still living on the northside? Would you like to come work for me in my kitchen? You see I enter the army tomorrow. I'm signing my papers and handing my life over to a man and his idea of perfection. My mantra for this experience is "mental control and concentration". When I started cooking there was one thing I've always worked for and that is complete control over all that is chaotic. The tickets are spit out one after another and the oil in the pan is on fire, the scallops just got sent back because the lady thought that oysters were scallops and the other way around or something. Everything that can go wrong will and usually does. But Chris knew a guy once named Javier who worked sauté and even when it was all coming down on him with satan's fury he never looked out of control. I never met him, only heard about the incident when he burned joey potatoes with a pan because the kid didn't say "behind" once when crossing the hotline for something. The stories indicate that he was a bad bad man and I believe them. Tomorrow I start with a menu meeting and I'm looking for a way to balance what little confidence I have with humility and grace. It's about mental control and concentration mixed with the usual quality and class. Here to for this is a kitchen log and it will be filled with all that I learn, see, do, ruin, and redeem. Don't think for one second that this is no longer about life- because from this point on the kitchen is my life.
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