On Learning...

For Your Consideration,

Cooking doesn't pay well 99% of the time. Dish washing pays even less. Fortunately my 19 year old self had fewer costs associated with my existence other than food, rent and entertainment; with food being a major pro in the world of cons that face a budding chef. Free meals, stolen meals and pilfered food are the standby of every low-level dishwasher, prep cook and line cook. Above that the risks are to high to continually eat on the company dime but when you are young and stupid and hungry, well that walk in fridge just looks like Heaven's larder and you govern yourself accordingly. Now, I wasn't one to lift any big ticket items but I watched a good deal of food walk out the door at The Sands and subsequent kitchens I have worked in and rare is the occasion where anyone had to answer for it other than the head chef who would be fired due to mysterious cost over runs.

I guess Bourdain was on the mark when he said that kitchens are filled with gypsies, thieves, degenerates and addicts... or similar words to that effect. I have worked with them all and I suppose I myself have embodied those descriptions at different times in my spotty career as a cook.

So, rent is paid, I'm fed.. Entertainment. At the time this consisted of the shared PlayStation that graced the TV stand that was likely found in the alley behind where we lived and was hooked up to the television that either Tulsa or Sam had procured at the time of our domiciling together. This was supplemented with as much pot as we could afford which was also communally shared with whomever was crashing on our couch. Usually a rotating cast of ne'er-do-wells who had come into town from the suburbs where we had all grown up together. At the time I considered liquor an extravagant expense and limited my consumption to merely 2 or 3 nights a week. My average day consisted of either semi-attending classes at Emily Carr where I was slowly letting pot induced apathy and the hunt for pussy degrade my marks leading up to me being put on probation during my second year and subsequently just saying fuck it to the whole pretentious preposterous idea that a 19 year old has any idea what the fuck they are talking about when it comes to life and therefor art. That, or: Working from 4pm until the early morning hours at which point Tulsa and I would catch the last train and head home to the apartment, come down from the litres of free caffeine in the form of Coca Cola we had consumed all night and play the PS1 until dawn. Actually more often then not he would play as I lay in a marijuana induced stupor and just watched... Or hammered out some lame excuse for Art that would be critiqued later that day - often positively due to my ability to bullshit my way through a critique.

This went on for about a year.

I was unaware that I was learning anything at the time other than how to do a job. The job paid me and I needed money. That was it. We made shitty food for shitty people and didn't give a damn about anyone or anything other than ourselves and the heavy metal that blared non-stop from the stereo mounted precariously above the world filthiest meat slicer which still despite the grime retained a razor sharp blade. The guards had been removed because they slow you down and what remained was a pathogen laced death trap just waiting to shave a thin 1/16 of an inch off your thumb causing a wound that just does not want to stop bleeding. We fought continuously with the stupidly hot servers that worked the Bayside Lounge which we provided greasy pub fare to as well. In order to increase their tips wait staff would always be trying to finagle free sides and dips and all manner of food out of the kitchen for their customers. We may have been robbing the place blind but I'll be damned if you are getting an extra 2 ounce side of blue cheese dip for "the cute guys at table 8" without a motherfucking chit. So, learning to cook and learning people skills and learning that I was not attractive to these women. I never fucked a server at The Sands but my stoned 19 year old ass was definitely not operating at a level that these women were after. That being: Not a dishwasher and preferably able to afford his own dinner, let alone hers.

We went through 3 Exec Chefs, 4 Bar managers and 3 menu changes in the nearly two years I worked at the Sands. Stability was not a constant in my life and this chaos was perfect for my young mind as I raced to keep up with new rules and new personalities. This schizophrenic work place also had a rotating cast of cooks and dishwashers many of whom were in much worse places than me socially and mentally. I still hold is you are over 25 and not a refugee, if you are dish washing it's now a career because something has gone horribly wrong. Dish washing provides jobs for the borderline unemployable and immigrants legal and otherwise and this allows people who surprised me on a day to day basis in regards to self attire to have jobs and be useful contributors to society or at least provide for the family they brought here from some place that makes Vancouver look like a rosy perfect land of opportunity. This is all very important because well... those dishes won't wash themselves and mashed potatoes have to come from somewhere, right?

Back to me... and cooking. There were certain times that would go down that I wouldn't be at work. Also known as weekends; the work week was spent planning on how we could get the most fucked up on the least amount of money and hopefully see a show or meet some girls. Part and parcel of not being at work was the necessity of sustenance. Eating.

In order to eat you need to either have someone cook you food, or cook it your damn self. Up until this point in life food had either been cooked for me by my mother or by a professional or I had opened the bag/box, reheated the can, or untwisted a lid. My new found knife skills and developing palate provided me with an opportunity and a discovery.

I fucking loved cooking.

I'm a guy. I can't have babies. I cannot create life, but you know what? I can kill something and make something edible, tasty, and beautiful out it. I wasn't great at it off the bat and my ingredients were poor bachelor meets 4th year arts major. But from the start I seldom lived on reheated food, Kraft Dinner or Mr Noodles. The three of which were a constant staple for most of my friends. I learned how to cook rice and pasta and added things to them that made them good. Not just edible but damn good.

You see it all comes down to my Mother. (Sorry Mom) My mother was the one who primarily cooked for my family - my Dad being more of a baker and responsible for desserts and treats. My Mom's English background provided her with 4 methods of cooking. Boiling, Roasting, Frying, and Boiling. Add to that her spice knowledge including garlic salt, salt, seasoning salt, pepper and the result is bland Canadiana based on cheap whole cuts of meat, frozen vegetables, a starch - usually potato based and white trash salads with a choice of Thousand Island, Ranch, or Zesty Italian dressings by Kraft - Trust me that my discovery of the Caesar Salad at the ripe ole age of 12 precipitated me eating almost nothing but chicken Caesars at restaurants until i was about 14.

Fucking gross.

My mothers cooking which sustained our family but failed to entice the palate or challenge the senses mixed with living in Spruce Grove, a semi-rural suburb of Edmonton created a perfect storm of culinary darkness and comestible despair. My experience with Ethnic Food (sounds racist) in the Grove was limited to Pizza (Italian) Fish and Chips (English) and The Rainbow Palace's glossy glazed and corn starch driven 'Chinese' inspired fare. The Chinese food was salty and delicious I'm sure loaded with MSG but even this was ruined by the damned China Lily soy sauce company whose viscous salty shitty soy sauce was the only one in our fridge and in my little world represented the only soy sauce in the world. (I still to this day despise it) Mixed with dried out rice of the Rainbow Palace or my Mother's Minute Rice it led to me hating rice until I moved to the West Coast and learned not only how to cook rice but that there are numerous tasty varieties out there

As time passed and I moved towards the end of my time at The Sands my confidence in the kitchen was growing. I had achieved some of the milestones needed to progress up the kitchen ladder including a trip to the emergency room to deal with a bad cut, nothing with which could be done due to the necessary chunk of finger having been left in the carrots I was cutting (I still am wary when I cut carrots, due to the psychological trauma of this event) as well I was moved to work the line at times and learned the lingo that is present in every kitchen around the world even if it's in a different language. Hell in The Sands alone we had cooks speaking 4 languages all trying to communicate that we are, "Now selling table 12!!!"

I continued to cook at home and shared with friends who often remarked how nice it was to eat something that didn't come out of a can or a plastic wrapper and as well, I ate. Oh did I eat. It was around this time my good friend and fellow foodie Jessica (at the time lover and confidant) introduced me to sushi. This blew my mind. Like a fucking orgasm of food potential and I was starting on the Beginner Level sushi, dynamite rools and spicy tuna rolls having to take awhile to work up to where I am now. This led to weekend sojourns to Little India, Chinatown and other locales to sample food outside the small box that I had been confined to. Realizing the power of food in other cultures to bring people together and that can be somewhat lacking in our North American culture I became enlightened in regards to going out a spending my hard earned money on a good or at least tasty meal, and at this point I hadn't even left Canada on my own to explore food in it's native environments.

 I believe it was Stephen King who said “If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that.”  It's the same with cooking, you have to find the money and the time to eat, eat everything and experience food because it allows us at a base level to communicate across cultures and gain an deeper understanding about what it is to be a people. As well, from a cooks perspective it creates a dictionary or encyclopedia in your mind of flavour and ingredients that without which you can't ever hope to be a real cook.

It is the time I have spent eating that has allowed me to blossom towards being a great cook, not the time I spent in kitchens. That was important to learn the rules of cooking but it is food that breaks those rules and makes you rethink your ideas of what constitutes a meal.

* * *

Willy

Next time: A look at Secret Suppers and Cloak and Dagger Dining