I’m not sure when humility came to be considered an undesirable trait and inconducive to mastery and creativity, but it’s not surprising, I guess, in this age of PR and the commodification of virtually any talent however slight. To become a chef is to embrace a craft, engage in a métier that requires the building of a solid technical foundation upon which one may, some day, create something that startles, soothes or delights. Like all crafts, the skills to be mastered involve materials, tools and processes; in addition a professional kitchen requires one to learn to work with a team and to engage in an active relationship with one’s customers. Learning this discipline requires us to become humble enough to set aside our own will and our own needs so that we can hear what the produce, the pot, the flame and the guest want to teach us. To learn from the materials is the chef’s study, to follow the direction of the vegetable, not to force it to conform to our preconceived notions. We must have the humility to ask, How does the onion want to be cut? How is this onion different from the onion I cooked yesterday? How can I bring out the nature of the fennel? If I slice the fennel paper-thin and desiccate it, does that enhance its nature or detract from it? Mastery of tools and techniques requires constant awareness and analysis until it becomes second nature. Have I humbled myself before the elemental tool, heat, and let it teach me what it is capable of? Do I understand how to cut effortlessly and cleanly with the oldest, dullest knife in the drawer as well as the sharpest one? To work with a team and to become the good teacher a chef must be require a great deal of patience and understanding of human nature, as well as the maintenance of the highest standards of work and discipline. How do I bring out the best in my team right now and help them realize their future goals? How do I break old patterns of abuse and arrogance that I may have learned from my own teachers? To move in harmony with the guest should be our highest goal. What does the weather tell me about how the diner will approach her meal today, how well can I gauge her mood, her rhythms? How can I accommodate that without compromising my standards? Most chefs, by the nature of their work, taste much more than they eat. It’s useful to consider sometimes if the menu format and the plating really enhance the diner’s appreciation of the cooking or if we are creating an experience that overwhelms and exhausts. It’s easy to forget that people dine out for reasons that often have little to do with enhancing the chef’s ego and much more to do with basic human needs for connection and communication. Some of the best chefs are the least known--they don’t travel, entertain or expand their empires; they stay in one spot and dig deep. Their scope may seem limited in a culture that worships novelty and accepts all influences indiscriminately, but their mastery is complete and their goal is to increase the happiness of their guests, not to receive their adulation.
