AUTHORS NOTE: The following story is fiction but based on real life events. Names and details have been changed or omitted. If you’re here just for the risotto recipe, please scroll to the end.
They said to pick him up at 6:30.
There are many mornings and evenings where I catch my silhouette in the mirror and before both my eyes can meet my frame, I glance away. It’s my second year working at the famed multiple starred eating destination for culinary gluttony. I work in the dining room at the restaurant. Each night the room is filled with people of note, famous playwrights, Canadian architects and ex-wives benefiting from a lack of a prenup. I work with people that aspire to their wealth, fawning over their possessions. The scene is rich in liquidity but vapid in substance. The people who sit in the chair lust over my storytelling and ability to fire out quip after quip. Just like all of the Monarchs of history, the “guests” (as their called) have found their court jester for one of the most memorable meals of their life. My disenchantment from the culinary apex began the night I was asked to drive the CEO of Piaget from his hotel in the city to the restaurant an hour and a half away. Pulling up to the hotel I was right on time for the departure of 6:30PM. I checked my phone while I was in the valet line. 30 missed text messages, 10 missed calls all from the General Manager. “The Chef is so pissed with you.” “Can you please answer, WTF?” “Are you alive?” “When you get back here the chef wants to talk with you immediately.” I didn’t know a mistake was made until I greeted the Swiss watch CEO in person. As he got closer he said, “where the hell have you been? Do you realize you were supposed to be here at 5PM?” I had no idea, I was incapable of response. I ushered the man to the BMW (not mine) I was driving and he began chatting on his cellphone in the backseat. His French was clear enough to understand that he was furious. In the city its rush hour and the streets are flooded with vehicles. Lights, rearview camera, action.
I began working in restaurants at an early age. I sometimes think that my brain finished developing working in a restaurant. My neurochemistry is now hardwired in hospitality acumen. My first job was at a similar restaurant of high stature with a lengthy list of awards and accolades. On my first day I met Marie. She is doting, kind, and atypical compared to the rest of the dining room employees. Marie received a promotion and was leaving the role that made her so famous at the restaurant. Her last day in that role was my first day at work. These top tier dining destinations treat their employees like abusive lovers. We understood the terms of the relationship and were complicit. The management couldn’t just let Marie fly on her last day in her favorite position, no, they had her train me.
Marie had it in her best interest to make the most of her situation, which says a lot about the kind of person she is. I was astute enough to know that training was not anyones first choice. Where Marie was different than the others was that she took her reality and created a safe world for us to play in. She didn’t care if I knew who Auguste Escoffier was and his contributions to cuisine, she was only interested in inhabiting a world she was excited to be apart of. The intensity of the restaurant was on the periphery of Marie’s training. I made it through my first day and I had Marie to thank for keeping me safe and giving me her seal of approval.
Marie taught me a valuable lesson during that time. We were standing outside having a post work cigarette bantering about how to navigate struggles at work. She looked at me with sincerity and said, “your work doesn’t have to define you.” “They hired you because of your personality, your intelligence, your eagerness. Don’t let them turn you into who they want you to be, if you lose yourself, they’ve won.” I’m not sure how much of that was fueled by whiskey, but Marie did her usual Irish goodbye and vanished behind the yellow door of a cab. She saw me on my first day of work and noticed the shift within me. I was 20 years old needing guidance and new persona. I left my first job just shy of two years. In an effort to salvage myself and not compromise on what I want I moved across the country. Eventually, I ended up back in the familiar grips of fine dining and suffocating the love I so deeply needed.
BMW’s are fast and have superior abilities to maneuver through traffic. Rush hour wouldn’t deter me from doing my best to get the angry Swiss watch CEO to his free dinner. The Chef loves exclusive luxury and believes he works hard for it. Unknown to the CEO, the Chef is requesting no bill is sent to his table with the hopes he will receive preferential treatment and bespoke services. The texts have not stopped, the General Manager is saying how screwed and fucked the whole situation is. Before I left to pick up the CEO I was issued a FastPass and the hotel’s address and an arrival time of 6:30PM for a 8:00PM reservation. I glance down at the speedometer it reads 95mph and I’ve got a billionaire in the backseat. He has the nerve to ask if this is fastest route I can take. My tailored suit is beginning to feel snug as I am noticing my blood pressure increase. I assure him I’m doing my best and I apologized again for being presumably late. I check my phone for a brief moment, “I need to know when you’re five minutes away,” says the General Manager.
I was getting close to the restaurant, a natural calm filtered the air and purified it. Horror is still coursing through my veins. My passenger that witnessed hazardous driving was about to have his free meal after being slightly inconvenienced. As I approached the restaurant the looming figure in the distance appears to be the Chef himself. Standing next to him was the General Manager with glasses of Champagne to ease the tension. As I pull up I look down at the clock, it’s 8:30PM. In the parking lot I sat for a brief moment, retracing my steps and revisiting the text messages. Where could I have went wrong? In restaurants you’re taught to just “take it” when it comes to discipline. If the Chef is upset about something and you’re the person he takes it out on, its just your turn. Don’t attempt to justify, don’t suggest that what you’re being accused of is inaccurate, simply “take it.” I lock the BMW and start heading towards the restaurant. I catch one of the sommeliers as he witnessed the intense screaming that took place in my absence. “I’m so sorry dude.” The words contained no apology, it was only pitty, delivered naturally on pristine white Limoges porcelain. He should’ve said, “Thank you because I’m so happy it’s not me today.” I was expected to work dinner that evening, so I started running food. The General Manager wouldn’t make eye contact. He crept up behind me telling me to go wait in the office for the Chef.
As I sat in the chair the General Manager looked at me and said, “I took the brunt of this incident, just so you know.” Right before the Chef walked in, I centered this meeting around the mantra “whats the worst thing that he could say?” I hear the door open, and he clears his throat of the disdain he feels for me. His anger is palpable and any light in the room becomes dim. “What the fuck were you thinking?” “One of my esteemed guests and you’ve potentially harmed a relationship I’ve worked so hard to build.” I sat there absorbing the discomfort. “Chef, I’m really sorry” I said, “FOR WHAT?,” he replies. He gathers air and the strength to not only slash me with words but shovel sel gris right on top of them. “The General Manager said that you’re one of the most trustworthy employees we have… I doubt that.” He carries on, “what makes me think that we should trust you after this? I want to know what the hell you were doing? I mean, seriously, who doesn’t check their phone? Are you going to answer?” I’m completely frozen, fifteen years prior my father spoke in a familiar way. Their tone, their intensity, their animosity had me cold wanting to disappear. My father used to say, “children are to be seen and not heard.” The Chef got nothing from me but a teary apology. I delivered a soft resignation saying, “I don’t know what I was thinking, I lacked good judgement and I will not make this mistake again.”
The following day the Chef was informed that I was told to meet the CEO at the hotel at 6:30PM and I was not to be blamed. Let’s be fair here, when you’re driving the newest BMW on the market, the last thing you want to do is check your phone and potentially get in an accident. As I approached the kitchen the Chef opened the door and walked passed me offering a less than satisfactory apology, “sorry.” The quickness of the exchange was to avoid embarrassment. I made up my mind. I cried in the staff bathroom the night before for at least fifteen minutes. All became clear to me as I thought of Marie. Her sage wisdom wouldn’t allow me to go down like that. There were nights when I worked with Marie that she was being accused of sabotaging work, gatekeeping information from the Chefs, etc. There were many nights I was there with her shock absorbing blame and creating solutions so she could gracefully keep her head high. Marie always did that for me. She encouraged me to get what I needed from fine dining and then get the hell out. Marie was right.
Every cigarette put to my lips feels like all of the cigarettes wasted trying to make sense of my life in fine dining. The only mistake I made was allowing myself to be a victim. Abuse is insidious and hides in plain sight. My childhood home had walls that could tell many stories of evenings spent kneeling in the corner, a steel toe work boot bruising my leg, a whack of the ole yard stick across my ass. Did the Chef place me in a chokehold against the walk-in refrigerator and tell me never to spill my milk again? No, he certainly did not. My mind recognizes all abuse equally. I would like to say for the record, I’m not a victim. Marie’s loving tenderness towards me exuded a rare feeling of “I would never hurt you, I love you so much.” Sometimes the messages we feed others are the messages we need to hear the most to heal. To this day I am still friends with Marie, we’ve grown through our pain and disappointment around that period of our lives. A wound will never heal unless you acknowledge its presence first. Once you notice where the wound is, tend to it, love it, respect that wound that helped keep you alive. Show that wound so much love that gratitude heals it and eventually that wound becomes a scar.
There are many mornings and evenings where I catch my silhouette in the mirror and before both my eyes can meet my frame, I glance away. What I see are a few scars, all healed and loved.
Cavolo Nero Risotto
Serves 2
Ingredients:
2 bunches of cavolo nero - tuscan kale, stems removed
2 cloves of garlic, core removed
100-250ml extra virgin olive oil
kosher salt, to taste
4T unsalted butter, divided
1 small onion, finely diced
2 stalks of celery, finely diced
150g carnaroli rice (or arborio, vialone nano)
200ml dry white wine
25g parmesan, plus more for grating
Method:
Cook the kale. In a medium to large sized pot filled with water bring to a boil and season the water with kosher salt like pasta water. Add in tuscan kale and garlic cloves. Boil for 5-10 minutes depending on the size of the pot. The kale should be very tender and borderline falling apart. Remove the kale and garlic setting aside in a bowl to cool. Do not discard the boiling liquid from the kale, this will be the risotto stock.
Make kale puree. Wring out as much moisture from the kale as possible. Water is the enemy of making good cavolo nero puree. In the base of a food processor add wrung out kale and garlic with 100ml of extra virgin olive oil. Pulse the mixture to combine and steam in more extra virgin olive oil as necessary. Its okay if the mixture is not very smooth, you want the kale puree to be homogenous and have a velvety slightly sweet finish. Set aside in a bowl.
Start the risotto. In a large skillet or heavy bottomed pot, add 2T of butter, onion, celery and a pinch of kosher salt. Allow this mixture to soften over medium heat for five minutes until translucent. Add rice to the pan gently coating the grains in the onion and celery mixture. Cook for two minutes until the rice has been warmed by the heat. There should be a light sizzle happening before adding in the white wine. Once the wine is added, stir to even out the mixture and continue cooking until most of the wine is evaporated, about five minutes. Add in a generous ladle or two of kale stock. After each addition of stock allow the rice absorb most of the liquid before adding more stock, about 5-8 minutes.
Finish the risotto. After two to three more additions of kale stock, check the seasoning. Since the kale stock is seasoned already additional salt might not be needed. Test a couple of grains of rice, there should be an al dente bite, but no crunch. Fold in kale puree, remaining butter and parmesan. Stir mindfully creating harmony in the pan. Adjust with kale stock as needed. A good visual cue for success in risotto is it moves “all’onda,” meaning like a wave. Plate risotto on a PLATE. Finish with a dusting of freshly grated parmesan and a glistening thread of some high quality extra virgin olive oil and eat with a FORK.
Read all of it and it made me tear and smile. Merry Christmas Robert! ❤️
love you! merry christmas from the desert! wish you’d drive up in a bmw. fuck the past! ❤️🌲