The dear friend I have mentioned several times on this site is a chef and restaurateur. Tonight he opened yet another restaurant in our city; this one is a wine bar and cafe in a neighborhood undergoing a renaissance.
Last night, my wife and I attended a friends and family tasting of the first food to come from the restaurant’s kitchen. Everything was wonderful, by the way. As we left, I spoke with the chef de cuisine. She was visibly concerned with what she and her team had to accomplish to be ready for an opening this evening. I told her I’d give her a hand if she wanted one; her eyes lit up; I said I would call her this morning.
I didn’t call — I simply showed up in her kitchen. I ended up doing nine hours of mis en place today, finishing just before dinner service began at 5:30.
There is an energy about a new restaurant that is addictive and an urgency about the business in general that is compelling.
The energy. Today that kitchen hummed. The other parts of the restaurant were seas of chaos. There were designers hanging art in the dining room. The point of sale vendor was installing terminals and printers. The beer guy was hooking up taps. The contractor was completing its punch list (or at least starting to complete it). The first wine, beer and liquor was being delivered. The dining room and bar were a sea of activity all day long — I am not sure what most of it involved; it did not affect me.
The kitchen was a relative bed of tranquility. It is a tiny kitchen, impossible to move from one’s station without bumping or brushing against a colleague. Yet, nary a harsh word was spoken today. Those will come later, after the newness and excitement become the routine of operating a (everyone hopes) popular restaurant seven days a week. Today, challenges were expected and met with a shrug. Produce order late in delivery? — move on to something else until the products arrive. “Fresh” buffalo delivered frozen like a brick in the middle of the afternoon? — deal with it; but have the osso buco ready for service. Someone left the only leeks in the house in the steamer before he went to a meeting? — order more and steam the replacements with a watchful eye. Dairy order mis-picked and not recognized on receiving? — make due with the products that are available.
Teamwork was the order of the day. Nothing could phase this young (present company excluded) group. They simply got the job done.
This brigade could be something special, but I am biased. When I arrived this morning, the chef de cuisine and I set up stations side-by-side and reminisced about the day we first met nine years ago. She was the new girl in Garde Manger at the five star French restaurant; I was a volunteer for the special anniversary event that day; we both assumed the other really knew what was going on. I jokingly asked this morning whether there was cantaloupe on the menu. On that day nine years ago, she exploded a Robot Coupe of cantaloupe puree all over us. When our chef for the day, Patrick O’ Connell, arrived, the two of us looked a fright. I have watched this talented young woman grow and develop into a fine young chef. She will make my friend proud.
The urgency. A young cook (who is now a chef with a national reputation) once told me that everyone in this country should be required to work in a restaurant kitchen for six months. He thought it would teach people a sense of urgency. Service begins at 6:00 pm each night — whether or not you are ready. So, you need to be ready. There are no extensions of time, no flexible deadlines. The doors open, guests are seated, orders taken, tickets start printing at your station. Every day, without fail.
The urgency of purpose is compounded on opening night. Everything is new. Nothing in the kitchen has found its permanent resting place. I heard “where’s the <insert implement name here>?” a hundred times today. Or is that how many times I said it myself? No one other than the chef really knows the menu. “What are we doing with these lentils again?” No one has yet found his or her rhythm. It all still needs to be finished when the doors open. And, on opening night, all really does mean everything. There has been no opportunity for advance prep. Eventually, each cook will learn what mis en place he or she can do a day or two or three in advance. Not today — we did the work for every dish on the menu.
That kitchen performed well during service tonight. After I finished the last of my work, I changed clothes, picked up my wife from her work, and went back to that restaurant to see opening night from the other side of the pass. I knew perhaps a third of the guests tonight. It was a loud, happy crowd. The food looked good and was tasty. The staff was excited.
My work there is complete. I am thinking about having some new business cards printed:
Have Knives Will Travel
Email Michael
I had a post similar to this one rolling around in my brain yesterday, but the words would not come together. I think I simply had to get past that day for my thoughts to clarify.
Yesterday would have been the sixth birthday of a little girl who was very special to me. She was the daughter of my dearest friends. I was out of town on the day of her birth. As a result, she and I didn’t meet until she was one week old, on an extremely cold late winter Sunday evening.
She and I spent many days together after that. I promised that I would remember each of them with great clarity. Time, however, has softened the edges of many of those recollections. Although my memories of her have become less distinct, I treasure them all the more.
I vividly recall an early summer dinner party. By the time dinner was served, she was in a bad mood and her mother needed a break. I sat at the table with her in my arms and tried to both comfort her and eat as best I could. Eventually she quieted and fell asleep with her head tucked between my shoulder and neck. She spent most of the meal sleeping there. I can still hear her breathing slow as she drifted into slumber, feel her soft cheek on my shoulder, smell her wonderful baby smell.
Twelve days later, Tatiana failed to awaken from her afternoon nap. She had been with us only fifteen and a half weeks.
I miss you Tatiana. But my emotions cannot compare to those of your parents and the younger sister you never knew.
To my readers: Please visit, and support if you can, Seven Days for SIDS. Tatiana’s parents established Seven Days in her memory. The 2008 site and schedule should be up soon. Because when we put an end to SIDS, we all sleep better at night.
My lapses in updating this site have nothing to do with inactivity. In fact, I have been engaged beyond any expectations I may have had. Unfortunately, none of my recent activities have had any connection whatsoever to the business of Just Cured. My short term project that morphed into a marathon became a series of marathons — one per day for the past two weeks.
I have spent my time in a series of conference rooms and offices inside a major U.S. law firm. Punctuate those two weeks in conference rooms with a few hours each day in a rather nice hotel room, a thirty minute daily walk on a beach, a handful of airplane flights, two nice meals and one peaceful evening, and you have the totality of my existence for those two weeks. We completed the project yesterday evening. There will be some details to be handled, but the all consuming part of my engagement is complete.
What we were working on was complex; but it should not have been complicated. We had some personalities involved who made the simple complicated and the complex impenetrable. Our work was intellectually stimulating but not much different from hundreds of similar projects I have completed — if only we could move beyond the personality acting as a roadblock. Every day was the same; our own personal version of “Groundhog Day” (thanks to the guy who made that connection for me). We started out by hearing a new (or old or resurrected) issue from our problem child; we spent the rest of the day solving the problem du jour for him; we ended the day convinced that the next would mark the conclusion of our project. Repeat. Innumerable times, ending with 14 in a row.
My family will attest to at least one interpersonal skill that I have no hope of mastering — I cannot suffer a fool. As a result, the last month or so has been most frustrating for me. What little patience I possess has been tested to the point of breaking. Two things kept me from completely losing control over this fortnight. One I was counting one; the other so unexpected that I was moved to write this.
The first was a trusted colleague, my counterpart for much of this project. We first met on this project but quickly developed a comfortable relationship. I cannot determine which of us was more upset by the impediment to our progress. I knew, however, that we would watch out for each other, and the success of the project, by stepping in or by being comfortable stepping back when one of us was at wits’ end or about to cause bloodshed.
The second was the simplest, most natural, oldest act of human communication. It was a smile. Not just any smile, mind you; it was a dazzling, joyful, light-up-the-room kind of smile. The smile belongs to the assistant (what in the days before enlightenment we referred to as a legal secretary) to our host at this law firm. As assistant to our host, she was also burdened with taking care of or arranging for my needs, from document production to coffee in the conference rooms. When we were introduced, she flashed that big smile and I took notice.
As the hours became days and the days became two weeks, I came to depend on that smile. I depended on her contribution and dedication to the project; her smile, however, became a lifeline of sorts for me. Hundreds of times over the two weeks, I visited her desk with some request and the conversation began silently:
Her: Raised eyebrows. (“How is it going?”)
Me: Rolled eyes; or shaking head; or finger-pistol pointed to temple. (“About the same.”)
Her: That brilliant smile.
That smile sent me a message of hope. One aspect of these projects is they become all consuming. We participants believe there is nothing else more important in the world. And for us, at that moment, there is no other world; the project is our world. That smile reminded me that there was a whole world outside my conference rooms. A world full of family and friends, of adventures and aspirations and dreams, of business to be conducted and goals to be achieved, of beaches and mountains, of butterflies and puppy dogs. A world I could, and would, re-enter just as soon as I pushed the last rock out of the way.
Each time she smiled just for me, I thought of all these things. And I calmed down. I got my heart rate and anger under control. I acquired a new measure of patience — just enough to face the source of my frustrations again. Until the next smile.
I told her last week just how much joy her smile brought to me. And I am telling her again.
My short term project has morphed into a marathon. I have been out of town for ten straight days and will be so again this week. We did, however, squeeze a weekend visit to the home of some dear friends into my travel schedule. The weekend of sun, sand, surf, good food, better wine and the best company was just the buffer I needed between two weeks that were, frankly, frustrating.
We met a couple of characters over that weekend who I cannot get out of my mind. Both served us meals. Skeeter, by all appearances, runs a waterside hangout for locals. There is an owner and a chef, but I can tell she runs the joint. For a woman of a certain age, her hair is too blonde and too long, her jewelry is too large and her jeans are too tight. But it all works for her; she is a charmer. I can tell why her place is so popular. Janet is a waitress in an old-fashioned diner much like the one I enjoy so well at home. She is buxom, witty and sharp tongued in the classic diner-waitress mode. Her first words directly to me after I made a special menu request were “I have a special table for you honey — just on the other side of the (six lane) highway.” I was happy she didn’t place my special table in the center lane.
On those separate days, we engaged these two ladies in conversation. We learned that they grew up perhaps 75 miles from each other in the central Appalachian Mountains. They left home more than twenty years ago searching for opportunity and happiness. One appears to be anchored in her new home; the other dreams of retiring to the little place she has “back home.” I am sure neither knows the other exists.
During the little breaks between my many, many meetings last week, these two ladies popped into my head often. I thought of issues large and small. There is no reason they should have made a big impression on me; but they obviously did.
They personified to me the exodus from that area of Appalachia that I know so well and the migration to the land of sun and riches. They represent many changes in our national economy and political landscape.
I thought of their membership in the extremely large group of hard-working folk who support the equally small number of fantastically wealthy who have made that area a winter playground. The hedge fund managers and their billions make all the headlines. I wonder how many of them notice, much less appreciate, Skeeter, Janet and their millions of counterparts.
I thought about the changes in their lives — the shock of moving from home to a place so foreign and the slower transformation of this area from the sleepy place it was when they first arrived. The changes I have brought on myself have made me very sensitive to the changes and the choices others made and make.
Finally, I thought often about how genuine and engaging they both were, and how welcome I felt in their respective establishments. Many (dare I say most) servers could learn a lesson from these two ladies — in particular, the very attractive young bartender I encountered a few nights later. Her smile and light conversation at her nearly empty bar would have been much more believable had any of it occurred before she looked at my gratuity.
Good luck Skeeter and Janet; I wish you well. And if, by chance, you ever come upon this page, you should have let me pick up the checks this visit — and you’d better let me next time!
This weekend, we are entertaining out-of-town house guests.†† We met this couple only four short years ago; yet it is sometimes hard to remember a time when we were not friends.† As they live far from us, we see each other only two or three times a year, usually on coordinated vacations.
We met by chance on such a vacation.† In our initial conversations they explained that they were traveling with two of their four dogs.† The two elder were too frail to travel great distances.† In fact, they said, the eldest would not be with them much longer — at 13 years, this large dog was nearing the end of her days.
Later that year, we had the opportunity to visit our new friends and meet the grand-mere pooch.† She was, as they had told us, very frail and, perhaps, the sweetest animal on the earth. † We had two subsequent opportunities to visit our friends and spend time with the dog-matriarch of the family.
Tonight, on this first visit of our friends to our home, their petsitter called to say that this dog was in distress.† A bit later, our friends instructed the sitter to take the dog to the emergency veterinary hospital. † Within an hour, this dog had left this earth.
I am quite sad that our friends were not with their old friend at the end.† So long as they were not, I am pleased they were with us on this mournful day.† We toasted a life well lived, told stories of her life, laughed a lot and cried more than a little.
Godspeed Kody.† You were a joy and a faithful companion.
For eight years, my non-lawyer duties at my now-former law firm included acting as the firm’s chief information officer. My principal function in that role was to be the bridge between my management’s technology wish list and my approximately dozen member IT team’s resources to execute technology projects. In fact, I also swapped out my share of hard drives, baby sat more than a few sick servers, and tested innumerable pieces of software and code. One thing I always managed to lay off on an IT professional was spending hours on the phone (mostly on hold) with a vendor’s technical support group.
I hope someone other than me noticed that this site was down for about half the day yesterday. While I spent a solid hour on the phone with Go Daddy’s hosting support specialists, I realized how much I already missed that group of IT professionals we assembled at that firm. I emailed my now former IT director and asked her “is holding for tech support going to be my most time consuming task in my new venture?” Her immediate reply: “Quite possibly.  ”
I emailed another friend that I missed having that dozen member team at my side. His immediate reply: “And do you also miss paying them?  ”
OK, I don’t miss them that much. I do miss their professionalism, their can-do attitudes, and their quirky ways. But most of all, I miss my daily interaction with that dedicated group of really good young men and women. I should have mentioned you in the January 1 post.
Traditionally, the New Year is a time to look forward, to make resolutions, to plan for a better future. In its most essential sense, this blog is about just those things. On this first day of the blog, the new year and my new career, however, I want to look back and recognize few of the people I may have forgotten to say something important to:
- My family — Your immediate and enthusiastic adoption of my business adventure brightened the days when I was having second thoughts and self-doubt. Keep the ideas and suggestions coming; there are certainly a few more dark days ahead. I don’t say it often enough — I love each and every one of you.
- My former clients — Thank you for the privilege of serving you and your businesses. You gave me the opportunity to see first-hand how excellent businesses are built. I hope I added half as much value to your businesses as working with you enriched my knowledge, skill and understanding.
- My lawyer, investment banker and other professional counterparts — Over the many years, I learned more about problem solving from watching you deal with your clients, my clients and me than from any other source. I cannot express how much I appreciate the professional relationships we developed.
- My young friends — You are all young enough to be the children I never had. When I spend time with you, I don’t feel old. Rather, I feel young enough to take on a challenge more appropriate for a much younger man.
- A new acquaintance — In our very first conversation, you told me a story about your father. He abandoned a hobby about which he was passionate. Years later, he explained that when he worked, he thought about the other passion; and when engaged in his other passion, he thought about work. He knew one of them had to go and only the work had the prospects for paying the rent. That story crystallized my thoughts that perhaps my other passion could pay the rent.
- A special young colleague — One of my great joys of the last year or so has been to watch you grow in both knowledge and confidence. I am saddened that I will no longer see your continued development on a daily basis nor participate directly in it. Understand, however, that I will know instantly each time you are tempted to violate Rule 1 of Strunk and White.
- The few friends with whom I shared early glimpses — You could have called me crazy. But you didn’t.
- My two pseudo big sisters — You adopted me and I you, one many years ago and the other more recently. You are so different from one another, yet your similarities are often shocking to me. In the coming year, I wish you both continued professional satisfaction and personal happiness. Know that I will be along for the journey, if only in spirit.
- Jean-Robert — Your passion for life and and everything in life is contagious. Thank you for infecting me. I could say much more, but that would be too much like us.
- My wife — You were my mentor then closest friend before we ever fell in love. Your support and encouragement have been unfailing for more than thirty years. None of what I have accomplished would have been possible without you. Thank you for loving me.
Happy New Year!
Traditionally, the New Year is a time to look forward, to make resolutions, to plan for a better future. In its most essential sense, this blog is about just those things. On this first day of the blog, the new year and my new career, however, I want to look back and recognize few of the people I may have forgotten to say something important to:
- My family — Your immediate and enthusiastic adoption of my business adventure brightened the days when I was having second thoughts and self-doubt. Keep the ideas and suggestions coming; there are certainly a few more dark days ahead. I don’t say it often enough — I love each and every one of you.
- My former clients — Thank you for the privilege of serving you and your businesses. You gave me the opportunity to see first-hand how excellent businesses are built. I hope I added half as much value to your businesses as working with you enriched my knowledge, skill and understanding.
- My lawyer, investment banker and other professional counterparts — Over the many years, I learned more about problem solving from watching you deal with your clients, my clients and me than from any other source. I cannot express how much I appreciate the professional relationships we developed.
- My young friends — You are all young enough to be the children I never had. When I spend time with you, I don’t feel old. Rather, I feel young enough to take on a challenge more appropriate for a much younger man.
- A new acquaintance — In our very first conversation, you told me a story about your father. He abandoned a hobby about which he was passionate. Years later, he explained that when he worked, he thought about the other passion; and when engaged in his other passion, he thought about work. He knew one of them had to go and only the work had the prospects for paying the rent. That story crystallized my thoughts that perhaps my other passion could pay the rent.
- A special young colleague — One of my great joys of the last year or so has been to watch you grow in both knowledge and confidence. I am saddened that I will no longer see your continued development on a daily basis nor participate directly in it. Understand, however, that I will know instantly each time you are tempted to violate Rule 1 of Strunk and White.
- The few friends with whom I shared early glimpses — You could have called me crazy. But you didn’t.
- My two pseudo big sisters — You adopted me and I you, one many years ago and the other more recently. You are so different from one another, yet your similarities are often shocking to me. In the coming year, I wish you both continued professional satisfaction and personal happiness. Know that I will be along for the journey, if only in spirit.
- Jean-Robert — Your passion for life and and everything in life is contagious. Thank you for infecting me. I could say much more, but that would be too much like us.
- My wife — You were my mentor then closest friend before we ever fell in love. Your support and encouragement have been unfailing for more than thirty years. None of what I have accomplished would have been possible without you. Thank you for loving me.
Happy New Year!
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