Salut tout le monde, I had been invited by Mr. Buxbaum to contribute to the French message board here on EGullet. I suppose he felt that an American cook working in a Michelin two star French kitchen (Provencal to be more precise) could be of some value. I hope the rest of you share his opinion. I guess an introduction of myself is in order. I am a second generation Korean American born and raised in So Cal, who after receiving a double degree in English and Economics from UCLA, decided he would rather hang up the cap and gown for a toque and apron. Actually, its amazing that I graduated at all since I spent more time watching the Food Network and/or reading cookbooks than attending lectures or reading textbooks (an exaggeration that isn't too far from the truth). Yet, like many of the recently graduated, I found the "real" world a bit too harsh to jump right into-- afterall, I was just "deconstructing" the parables of Kierkegaard, Kafka and Nietsche, how could you expect me to peel 30 lbs of potatoes, strain 12 gallons of chicken stock and/or peel and devein 10 lbs of shrimp. So I did like many disconcerted graduates do-- I continued onto "higher education", but unlike them, I wasn't pursuing the masters or Phd from an acclaimed univerisity, I was pursuing a clearer consomme, a more uniform cut, a more sensible garnish from a cooking school. However, I didn't opt for the highly regarded Culinary Arts Degree from Johnson and Wales or the CIA--frankly I had enough student loans to contend with, and cook's just don't get paid all that much-- I opted for a small cooking school with a knowledgable professor who had strong connections with Wolfgang Puck (if all I learned from college was that it isn't what you know but who you know, I learned enough). Thus, even before I finished cooking school, I began working at Chinois on Main (Wolfgang Puck's Asian-inspired restaurant in Santa Monica), as a line cook. This career student was tired of being broke (as a matter of fact, I'm still tired of being broke)--plus, I finally realized that there was no better classroom than on the job training, especially when it comes to cooking. I liken it to any performing art (especially sports); there is a rhythem, a sense of timing that can only be fine tuned under the pressure of performance-- under the heat of service. Speaking of heat, my first station can be compared to life on the planet Mercury. I started at the grill station, where 60 lbs of red hot mesquite radiates temperatures that only the most evil people feel in their illfated afterlife. Great for searing steaks and grill marking salmon, but murder on one's complexion. Needless to say, after a year on the grill, I was ready (with skin on my hands that could be made into cowboy boots) to change stations. If murdering lobsters is considered a sin, I will be condemned to eternity on the grill. Chinois on Main is famous for its Curried Lobster, where I cut in half, seared and shelled an average of 30 lobsters a night--most always each a la minute. One can tell when a cook has been working the lobster station for an extended period of time, he/she has a callous where the back end of there weapon of choice (usually a 10 inch chef's knife) has aggravated the skin just under there cutting hand's index finger. Afterwards, a six month stint working the pantry (appetizer station, or garde manger in French) and another six month stint working as Chinois' butcher/day time prep, and I felt I had the experience, and most importantly the knife/cooking skills to head to France. I researched the employment scene here in France and the proposition of finding a good restaurant which would accept an American cook with very rusty French language skills and found it very near implausible. First you have to find a chef who would go through all the red tape (and in France, if you've ever read Kafka, its all about bureaucracy); add in the fact that there is double digit unemployment and that equals big time obstacles. Thank goodness for connections. Here is were Wolfgang stepped in. As it turned out, he had done an apprenticeship at a famous Michelin three star (at the time) in Provence, Oustau de Baumaniere. Having kept in contact with the owner/chef, Jean Andre Charial over the years, it was just a matter of a phone call, a fax and some emails, and voila, a staggaire's poistion at a highly acclaimed French restaurant-- a dream come true. Well I wished it was that easy. If you ever ask a favor from a chef, you'd better be able to repay, or in my case, prepay it tenfold. Before I was to leave for France, I had to work, in my opinion, the lowest of low positions (which didn't require me to wash dishes) at Spago, Beverly Hills. Of course, one could be stuck, peeling potatoes or washing lettuce, but at least it wasn't cooking 30 lbs of potatos (20 lbs of russet for the aligot, and 10 lbs of yukon gold, for the garlic mashed potatos)--a proposition which requires cutting the potatos into equally sized pieces, constant stirring, heavy lifting (and I thought I knew how to mash potatoes-- was I ever wrong), passing all the potatoes through a ricer, stirring in cream, butter, salt and pepper, to achieve a lump free, and grit free mashed potato that was worthy of fine dining. Well, it sounds easier than it is, and when my chef de partie told me my mashed potatoes were overcooked and that I had to start all over again, I nearly took my first life (I could have killed him or myself). Well with newly found muscles, which ached for weeks to come, I thought I had paid my dues, but as the old Chinese saying goes, "Oh, so sorry." Wolfgang had decided that I was to cook for him. The Austrian accented voice went something like, "I have to know how you cook before I can send you to France. I am free after lunch service tommorrow, sometime around one (o'clock). Make me three things and cook everything here", to which I reply, "But I am scheduled to work tommorrow at 3 (o'clock PM)," to which he frankly replied, "Thats your problem." Oh, by the way, this all occured at eleven P.M., just after I finished my shift and was saying my goodbyes. Obviously, I didn't get much sleep-- researching recipes til 4:30 in the morning and then waking up at 6:30 to go an Asian Market and then off to Spago to start cooking. Remarkably, I wasn't the first person in Spago that morning, but the place was near empty. I got to work right away, and by the time Wolfgang came to see me, it was about one o'clock. I vividly remember his words, "I'm hungry, when are you going to be ready?"; translation, "on your marks, GO (there was no time to get set)!" I prepared three Korean inspired dishes: Korean beef barbeque lettuce wrap with mung been sprout salad, seared black bass in a spicy Korean red sauce atop braised daikon radish, and butter poached lobster in a Kafir lime leaf lobster sauce accompanied by Korean pancakes and avocado. Fortunately, I had adequate time to prepare, unfortunately, there were still lunch orders coming in and I had to share burners with the other cooks--very cramp. After much apologizing and excuse mes, the last of the three dishes went out, and I sighed a sigh of relief; a shortlived relief which ended when the waiter returned stating, "Wolfgang would like you to prepare an three egg omelet with smoked salmon." Talk about out of left field, I was definately illprepared. I knew how I liked omelets, but I didn't know the "fine dining" version. I lightly scrambled the eggs, incorporated some heavy cream, found a nonstick skillet and began slowly cooking and scraping (don't know a better word) the omelet with a rubber spatula, which helps to build volume and to evenly cook the eggs. When the omelet started to become opaque, I added the smoked salmon, flipped the omelet into a halfmoon, added a dallop of creme fraiche and garnished it with some minced dill. Boy was I proud of that omelet (until recently, when I discovered the French do it entirely different-- a matter for another post). After I cleaned up, the same waiter came back and told me to go to Wolfgang's table. I was surprised to see Wolfgang wasn't alone-- there sat Lee Hefter, head chef of Spago, and Matt (the sous chef, who's last name I can't remember). Lee was the first to speak, saying something like, "(Y)ou know how to cook Korean, so I guess its about time you learned to cook French. The dishes were excellent and the black bass was cooked to perfection. Congratulte yourself." Then Wolfgang chimed in, "I remember the first time I worked in a restaurant, the chef told me to cook an egg; so as you can imagine, I was so nervous. I cooked it and it had bubbles around the edges. He took one look at it and through it on the floor. 'You cannot cook a simple egg,' he told me, 'how do you expect to work here.' I was terrified." I didn't know exactly what to take from his story at the time, but I was generally encouraged by the whole experience. Although now, I understand that was Wolfgang's way of saying, you think its tough here, well wait until you work in Europe/France. Words of a prophet. Having been working at Baumaniere for nine months, I can now comprehend the full magnitude of Wolfgang's brief anecdote. My second day at Baumaniere found me making nearly one thousand chicken, leek and truffle filled raviolis. My hands are calloused but not blisterproof-- a fact that the ravioli cutter (a cookie cutter thing) pounded home after my first couple hours of ravioli limbo (9 hours a day for four days sraight). It was great because I had never seen that many truffles (slices) in my life, and my hands were fragrant with its precious aroma-- a peculiar juxtapostion to the blisters. My first month found me doing all manner of menial tasks-- va chercher this, va chercher that, lave this, coupe that, depeche toi, plus vite and toute de suite. I didn't gain any ground in the hierarhcy until the demi chef de partie garde manger, a Japanese staggaire, decided he wanted to learn another station some three months later. To my delight, and now regret, I took over the more demanding position in the French manner, toute de suite. I say regret because with all the authority I now have over all the other commis and apprentices, I have that much more responsibility-- a fact my chef de partie never lets me forget. Plus, I take over as chef de partie when my chef isn't there, which he hasn't been for the last two weeks (a cooking event with the gourmet food outlet, Marshall Field, in the Great Lakes region). The brief breakdown of this means I had just spent three consecutive weeks without a day off, working some 80+ hours a week. I guess when your the American staggaire who doesn't get paid by the hour, they can go ahead and work you to death. What exascerbated my predicament was the day before my chef left, the menu underwent its spring makeover-- I had to start everything from scratch. Plus, the sous chef in charge of creating the menu never ceases to change the dishes--eradicating every ounce of comfort I have with the daily mis en place (means everything in its place, a culinary term for all of your daily preperations) and I have to come up with one new amuse bouche (any little taste that will fit on a spoon) and three new mis en appetit (three small bowls filled usually with a soup, a puree, a gellee or any daily inspired creation) everyday. A daunting task when one considers I worked with one other cooking student/apprentice the entire time (it still being the offseason, we are highly understaffed). Wow, I feel a whole lot better now that I got that off my chest I really am joking when I say regret because I truly value my experience here. If one looks at the bright side, I have a nice small room with a closet, bed and sink, partake two edible meals a day, receive a bit of pocket change for all my efforts and normally get a day and a half off everyweek. OK, without being facetious, I am in a region where excellent olive oil is grown and pressed, where good Appelation Les Baux de Provence wines are produced and where fresh French baguettes are baked daily-- a gourmand's dream come true. Also, I get to play around with some amazing ingredients, cook through a portion of Paul Bocuse's ancient tome, "Paul Bocuse, La Cuisine du Marche," (although I do take tremendous liberties in its interpretation)* and work on my chef skills (especially the yelling--its hard to get these apprentices motivated otherwise). Plus, I get my monthly quota of travel in. Oh yeah, did I mention that Baumaniere has one of the largest and finest collections of French wines in the world-- 3rd largest restaurant wine list in all of France--well that was before the the 2002 New Years Eve fire ransacked a small portion of the wine cellar. Luckily, as far as I know, all the fine Bordeaux and Burgundies were left intact. With that to chew on, I hope I can add a welcome perspective to a well coordinated and interesting message board. Thanks for reading, Simon Sunwoo *Having read some of the other posts, there seems to be a generally negative view of Bocuse's cuisine. Is it too antiquated or stagnant? Am I missing something here, because it is highly regarded by most of my colleagues?
