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Monday, September 30, 2002
Normally, Critical Mass rides end in a neighborhood park, offering Massers the chance to relax and talk about the evening's accomplishments. But Friday's ride ended, strangely, at the T-style intersection of 18th & Halsted, in Chicago's Pilsen neighborhood. We were famished after riding 20 or so miles, so Bob, Sarah and I stopped for a bite at the comfy-looking Chela Joe's Cafe, which faces 18th Street from Halsted, and lorded over the intersection on Friday much like the ride's finishing gate.
Here's how the routes for Critical Mass are determined every month: Anyone who'd like to suggest a route shows up at Daley Plaza with hundreds of maps and passes them out to the riders waiting for the Mass to start. Shortly before we take off, someone with a megaphone polls the audience on the preferred route. Biggest cheer wins. As I recall, only one route was proposed for September's ride -- it was the "Latin Mass," so titled since it cut through many of the city's Hispanic and Italian neighborhoods. (It turned out to be a great ride, exposing me to streets and 'hoods I'd previously only read about.)
We've suggested discounts for customers who arrive by bike. Let's take it one step further and actually try to steer bikes to our door. We pick a month that won't see a lot of competition among proposed Critical Mass routes and show up at Daley Plaza with our own. It's a path that just happens to finish up directly across the street from our front door. In our window is a poster advertising our bike discounts, along with a special promotion for Mass riders. Say, a free lemonade with your meal if you show up after the ride with a copy of the map.
When a group of 500 cyclists suddenly appear, en masse, tired and looking for food, and we're the first thing they spot, we'll be sure to attract at least a few dozen new customers.
posted by Sandor Weisz at 2:33 PM | Comment?
Friday, September 27, 2002
Lessons learned from our brief stint as chefs, last in a series:
We're the biggest suckers of all. Despite all the frustrations, and the confusion, and the missteps, and the almost fatal screw-ups, and the furious looks from the kitchen crew, I'm still excited about the prospect of operating a kitchen of our own someday. Probably more so. I didn't say anything of the sort on Friday, of course. We would have been laughed right out the kitchen doors.
posted by Sandor Weisz at 10:34 PM | Comment?
Thursday, September 26, 2002
Lessons learned from our brief stint as chefs, fifth in a series:
Keep your cool. I was impressed by how well the professionals dealt with change. The number of people to serve, for instance, kept changing, from 22 to 26 to 34 to 32. The sous helping us out received each revision with aplomb. Later, after we'd plated all 32 salads and used up just about all the ingredients, a waiter reported that some people wanted their dressing on the side. "Impossible," I said to myself. "What kind of lunatic wants dressing on the side? Don't they realize how hard we've worked on these plates?" The sous was a little more poised. Without any grumbling, he and Ann scrambled to find a few empty plates and enough salad fixings to fill them.
Another example: Until we were ready to serve, the 32 finished plates were stored on a tall rack, four plates to a tier. When the dining room was ready, one of us carefully wheeled the rack from the walk-in refrigerator. "One of us" wasn't careful enough. The rack bumped a table, sending plates clattering. It made a horrifying clang, akin to the metallic crush of a car accident.
Miraculously, only two salads were disturbed, and it was instructive to see how the sous received the near-disaster. There was a brief look of terror and a brief scolding, but then he set to assessing and solving the problem. Within minutes we'd fixed the salads. The sous was able to measure his rage as carefully as one would measure saffron -- just enough to be effective, not so much so as to waste precious resources -- and he never bawled "one of us" out. In a kitchen like this, there's no time for bawling. (And thank goodness for that.)
posted by Luke at 10:18 PM | Comment?
Wednesday, September 25, 2002
Lessons learned from our brief stint as chefs, fourth in a series:
Cooking is hard. Okay, the truth is, we were scared. It was evident that the Sofitel was expecting all volunteers to be of the professional variety, and here we were, two posers who didn't even know to bring their own knives. We were quite aware of the responsibility handed to us. That we'd ruin the centerpiece event of this fundraiser was very real. Fortunately, we were kept on track by Chef Ann, who kindly spelled out the things that Swendra the Sous Chef assumed we knew: how to grillmark; how to blanch green beans; how to evenly cook shrimp; how to expedite the plating process. At the end of the day, proud of the work we'd done under such uncompromising conditions, I asked Ann if she'd ever hire us for her kitchen. She was saying "No" before I could finish the question.
posted by Sandor Weisz at 10:34 PM | Comment?
Tuesday, September 24, 2002
Lessons learned from our brief stint as chefs, third in a series:
Diners are bigger suckers. The meal that we were preparing was for a charity luncheon featuring über-chef Art Smith, F.O.O. (Friend of Oprah). I bet that the folks who shelled out $65 for this food assumed the same thing I did: that Art himself would be preparing the food. Uh uh. Art showed up about three hours after we started, and did nothing more than tell us the shrimp looked good... no, wait, a little undercooked. "Better flash those for a few minutes" was all we heard from the master chef all morning. Not that it mattered. The final product, prepared exclusively by three volunteer chefs (the third, Ann, did have a few years of culinary experience under her toque) could have easily passed as a professional creation, and the diners were none the wiser.
Resting after our shift in a hotel lounge, we even overheard someone raving about how delicious "Art Smith's" lunch had been. Abiding by the culinary code of honor, we bit our tongues.
posted by Sandor Weisz at 10:03 PM | Comment?
Monday, September 23, 2002
Lessons learned from our brief stint as chefs, second in a series:
Cooking is easy. A year's experience preparing breakfast at the Cafe has sharpened our chopping skills and taught us a cursory knowledge of kitchen etiquette. Reading "Kitchen Confidential" gave us a glimpse at some of the strange customs of a professional kitchen. We would never have expected to know enough to stay afloat if suddenly tossed into a real kitchen. Yet tossed we were, and we managed to leave in one piece. With only a quick briefing by the kitchen's harried sous chef about his expectations for the recipe put before us, we were told to go at it. We stumbled around at first, looking for ingredients and utensils (Me: "Where are the knifes?" He: "You didn't bring your own? All chefs bring their own knifes."), but soon we were making tracks like we'd worked there for months.
It's not hard to follow a recipe. What's hard to pick up are all the nuances that separate commoners from the cooking school grads -- speed, artistry, etc. It was quite clear that the two of us had spent no time whatsoever in the classroom. Fortunately, we faked our way through the basics that we weren't often called out about the other stuff.
posted by Sandor Weisz at 11:04 PM | 2 comments
Sunday, September 22, 2002
Lessons learned from our brief stint as chefs, first in a series:
Chefs are suckers. We were expecting, at best, to chop veggies for four hours, probably under the scrutinizing eye of a wiser, more experienced chef, who'd only hand us the knife after watching us sign a waiver promising not to sue the hotel when we sliced off one of our digits. At worst, we expected to spend four hours holding the blender cover on tight.
We got way more than we bargained for. The two of us sauntered into the Sofitel kitchen with not so much as a permission slip from the Inspiration Cafe, without a clue about our roles for the morning, and with little hesitation, the chef put us to work chopping, grilling, blanching and mixing. It was as if by donning the white chef's jackets, on loan from the hotel's wardrobe office, we were magically turned into bona fide kitchen personnel. I even got a "Hi, Chef!" from a hotel bellhop I passed in the hallway -- no question, one of the day's highlights.
posted by Sandor Weisz at 11:56 PM | Comment?
Wednesday, September 18, 2002
After the ax came a-swingin', as per custom at that office, some of the folks who survived took those who didn't out for margaritas at Uncle Julio's. (How bad is it that layoffs happen with enough frequency that we've -- er, they've -- established a custom?) I hate Uncle Julio's for many reasons, but customs are customs, and at the time I wasn't looking for a restaurant with style, or integrity, or independent owners. I was just looking for a stiff drink, and U.J. serves up a pretty tasty glass of margarita.
Perhaps we could devise a promotion at our place for the just-deposed. Present a dismissal letter with your name and today's date on it, and you get a free beer with which to catch your tears. We wouldn't want to advertise a promotion like this, just spread it by word-of-mouth, unless we happen to catch wind of a mass layoff at a local corporation, in which case we'd post barkers outside the building's front door to distribute flyers.
I'd love to extend the promotion to benefit the just-dumped as well, though finding admissible proof would be difficult. Maybe if the break-up took place in our dining room, with signifcant dramatics so as to seal the deal (e.g. face-slap, water-toss, table-push and walkout) we could comfort the sullen dude(tte) with a cold Old Style, compliments of the house. I doubt anyone would fake all that just for a free beer.
posted by Sandor Weisz at 10:42 PM | 1 comment
Chicago fans interested in meeting us (and restaurateurs eager to divine our identities lest our poison pens spell their ruin) will want to attend this weekend's Dine D'Vine, a fundraiser for the Inspiration Cafe. We'll be volunteering with food prep Friday morning and attending a few of the sessions later on. Personally, I'm a bit nervous about working with honest-to-God gourmet chefs. What if I slice my tomatoes on the longitude instead of the latitude? Will I end up simmering in the turkey stock?
In any case, we'll be happy to sign menus.
posted by Luke at 10:51 AM | Comment?
Monday, September 16, 2002
From this week's Reader item on Fogo de Chao and its espeto corrido: "A highly orchestrated ballet takes place. Brazilian servers sporting pleated pants and boots circle the tables, carrying skewers of grilled steak, pork and lamb. When diners show green cardboard disks indicating they're ready to eat, a flurry of 'gauchos' approaches, slicing portions to order. Guests who've had enough flip their table markers to the red side, and the servers back off."
I do not think we could pull something like this off, but I love the concept of "Green means eat, red means 'Check, please.'" Alas, far from a folksy Brazilian meat emporium, Fogo turns out to be a stealth chain with $50 million in revenue, so I’m not sure I’ll try it out, as inviting as its window rotisseries may be.
Did you know that 9 of the 10 most popular restaurants in Orange County are chains? I didn’t either until this Slate article (with astute commentary on Chowhound).
Speaking of which, August's Reader Grapevine was titled "Attack of the Chains." The common reaction to such places as Napa Valley Grille, Weber Grill and Bob Chinn's Crab House is that the dining areas are big and loud ("The place is huge; I think it seats 800." ... "Not the place for conversation." ... "The scene is fun, and active." ... "Bright, large, and cheerful."), the service is neglecting ("Very befuddled service." ... "I expect more from my server than handing me a menu and bringing me my food." ... "Service overall was friendly if a little sloppy." ... "The service is too fast! Good servers can pace the food by observing the customers." ..."My waiter didn't offer me a bib.") and the food is mediocre ("Not so special." ... "Go for the novelty, go elsewhere else for good dining." ... "Nothing special, which is a shame." ... "The food is 'good enough.'").
Are diners wising up and losing their taste for chains? One can only hope. No, wait: One can (and should) do more than hope! One can (and should) patronize independent restaurateurs! Three cheers for dining diversity! Yum, yum, yum!
posted by Luke at 6:30 AM | Comment?
Friday, September 13, 2002
Back in February of last year, I suggested that once enthusiasm for my job ran out, I'd consider joining the food service industry in an effort to gain experience. Over the 19 months since then, enthusiasm slowed to a trickle, yet I was hesitant to make the jump. Meanhwhile, I joined the volunteer ranks at the Inspiration Cafe, satiating the immediate desire to broaden my skills.
But last week, the jump was turned into a push. I'd heard about it countless times from co-workers: a tap on the shoulder, a folder slid across the table, a signed dismissal letter. It went down just like that, and on Wednesay afternoon I suddnely found myself in the world of the unemployed, wondering where my paycheck would come from next. Of course, my very first answer was: a restaurant.
I'm still not entirely comfortable seeing myself as a waiter, or a busboy, or even a dishwasher. I worry about feeling like a poser, like someone who's just doing research for a different, more important job. But is that necessarily so wrong? I wonder how many owners of failed restaurants started off at the bottom level; perhaps if more did, their restaurants would have had a better chance of success.
For the immediate future, I'm working on some freelance opportunities that serendipitously came my way last week. (What's that, you're also looking for help?) But meanwhile, I will scour the classifieds, keeping an eye out for restaurant gigs. It'll take a leap of faith, but if we're serious about this thing, we'll have to take that leap eventually. Better sooner than later.
posted by Sandor Weisz at 12:19 PM | 4 comments
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