Category: career

The Poor Man’s Slow Hustle #4

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True confessions of a chef #1

After 10 years of cooking professionally and trying with all the might my small yet determined physical self can offer, with all the passion in my glowing heart, and with all the smarts in the multiple folds of my brain, I only make a few dollars (literally a few, this is not a dramatized statement) more an hour than when I graduated from college.  10 year of toil, turmoil, and complete dedication.  I make less than I did before pastry school.  I make so little that I was upset when minimum wage got increased.  I make so little that I got a pimple of stress when my great job offered its shiny spot to me.

Eating is the number one necessity to living, but the work involved is not valued.  Like teaching your children, these building block of society our overlooked and negated to the needy.

I have preached it before and I will continue my soapbox speech.  Tipping is ridiculous and at this point it proves nothing.  You tip because you have to, not because you want to.  Since the industry has exploited the goodness of your dining generosity, it needs to be restricted.  Servers, food runners, hosts, cooks, dishwashers, and bar backs, we all deserve to make a living wage, and just like a capitalistic system, the wages should not be so binary.  Front of the house makes it rain, while back of the house is in the drought.

The system is not working, and this in turns makes it very difficult to want to go to the kitchen day in and day out, taking that precious passion and putting it towards you.

We are the overlooked crowd.  You read about running a restaurant, and the service  involved in making the guest have such a grand experience, and the struggle or impute of the chef is never mentioned.  It’s all about that happiness in the dining room, the articles never mentions the that person under the bandana.  It is starting to get to us.  I see a lack luster in cooks because we are not getting enough out of this bargain.  Someone has to speak up, and it will be Marigold and her golden wit.

Exploiting Passion and Accepting Settlement

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I am so sick of justifying the pay cut to work in the kitchen because of passion.  I am irritated with hearing that cooks have this great passion, that we work these crazy long hours in non temperature controlled environments, that we are so tough because we do not take breaks, and contrary to many people’s opinion, we often don’t have time to eat ourselves. I am sick of hearing that we have more than it takes to put up with the demands of a fast paced and never ending physical workload, that we are mechanical in our need to not need sleep, to sustain solely on PBR and hidden whiskey, to live with your coworkers because its not like you ever have time for the house anyway.

Do not call me passionate, now that has become an insult.  Many people are in positions that makes them happy that have nothing to do with making zero money.  Why is it ok that cooks makes less than half of that of front of the house?  The hours are longer, the job is physically tougher, it is dangerous, and you need a high degree of skill and education to fill the role.  Food born illness and not properly handle food can cause serious problems.  Not to mention, that you need to eat to live.  Why do you trust the most underpaid people in America to sustain you with live giving nutrition?  Good thing that you are tipping so well to keep that water glass full.

This portrayal of the passionate chef is not only demeaning, it supports the macho driven ideals that are already so deeply engrained in kitchen culture.  If you cannot physically keep up with this near impossible work schedule, you do not have the beef to make it into the stew.  This is an aggressive environment, where emotions and stress run very high, competition is fierce like a lion continually proving his Alfa status, but you are not allowed to show an sign of weakness, hesitation, or second guessing.  It is this framework of egotism that exploits youth in the industry and keeps the kitchen testosterone heavy.

I am fed up with being exploited for my passion, I am fed up with portrait of the iron chef.  Like this heroic portrayal of the daily struggle makes us better people.  It makes us suckers is what it is.  This is poetic rhetoric is keeping us all down.  Keep your literature for fiction, this shit is real.

Marigold’s New Silent Voice

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I got a smart phone, like a normal well-adjusted modern adult.  Which, because of the magnets in my fingertips and the inherent evil that my hands automatically spew upon the electrified world,  did take some hassle to unravel at the neighborhood radio- shack- type store.  It’s like the more advanced in technology something is, the more of an effect I have upon the ease of ushering it into my daily stream.  Ask the lady at the electronics store today when she was trying to activate my phone.  No no no there is no way I could activate it myself, I am not that advanced in wired communication.  Seriously the strangest combinations of problems arose for such a simple routine. Yet, after determination, positive attitude, and closed fists, I am an owner of a smart and small device that you can also use to call people.

Because of this handy new tool, Marigold is experiencing a new way to express herself, in a quieter way.

Instagram @MarigoldShutters

Fall Inspirations

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Although I am currently struggling with the complications of Autumn, when I think about the warming and comforting fall flavors, I get those good Goosebumps.  The chill is coming, but warming up with food is amazing.  This is the definition of comfort food, it is a feeling of safety, it is a physical reaction of an internal hug.  It warms you, calms you down, makes you forget about the harsh reality of daily living, transports you to serenity, if even for a moment.

Maple, caramel, clove, allspice, ginger, bay leaf, molasses

Pears, apples, pumpkin, squash, grains, beets, brittle, fennel, saffron, persimmon, bananas

Spiced rum, hot apple cider, dark roasted coffee, oatmeal stout, caramel

These are the flavors on my mind, and nature is my tool of inspiration.

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This dish is to remind you of fall at a Midwestern cider mill.  Apple cider doughnuts tossed in a rum-maple glaze, squash mousse flavored with chai spices, bacon brittle, dried apple shoe strings with sage.

Chameleon

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Art is about having a vision, expressing your stylistic mind, and being flexible with your grandiose designs.  A concept can be amazing, but sometimes in practicality the idea does not pan out.  Creativity is about being fluid, not getting too caught up in the one direction that you thought would drive your boat, steer your car, build your model empire.

I want to be successful, I want to make things so delicious that it is magazine worthy, that gives a lasting impression on your taste buds and also on your imagination.  I had an idea, I thought about it a lot and hard and in many ways.  I try not to get married to an idea without the proper courtship, but when an idea is born you get attached.  The concept was solid, the individual components were stellar, but together the harmony was wrong.

I have great taste, but if the final play does not match the concept, it is time to tweak.  Not start over, or consider the idea a failure, you have to be flexible and confident enough to come up with a new strategy.

Do not consider yourself a failure because it didn’t work out the first, second, or hundredth time.  I want to be perfect the first time so bad, that I have to remind myself that art is an evolution, and being successful takes a lot of patience.  Creativity is knowing when something is wrong, and coming up with new ideas to lead your project in a different direction.  You might surprise yourself with the new, unintended outcome.

Art is growth, simplicity is complicated, and rules are fluid.

Today was a learning and humbling day, but through this process you gather strength in your artistic eye and salivating mind.

Why Eating in America Sucks #5

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Recycling is a concept.  It does not actually exist. Yes there are those blue bins dotting down the alleys, but is the trash even sorted in this great large city?  I have my doubts.  Remember when you were supposed to put your recycling in a blue bag, tie it up, and throw it in with the rest of your trash?  Yeah, that happened.  That was the city’s solution to the recycling problem for years.  Yeah right like somebody actually sorted the trash and picked out those gross blue bags.  This is why I have my doubts that the new recycling program with those fancy blue bins are actually getting the job done.

Unfortunately the full and disturbing extent of the issue does not stop here.  With the alleys full of blue dots, at least we are pretending to care.  Not in food service.  Here, we don’t even pretend to try to recycle.  There is only one bin, and let me tell you it is black.

Not even cardboard boxes are recycled.  It is truly sick.

Even the places that say they do, it’s about a 50/50 shot.   Don’t be fooled, recycling is not happening.

Yes, this is part where you are supposed to get angry.

The Poor Man’s Slow Hustle #3

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I feel free again, already, knowing that my week will not be dominated by the demands of the man.

Relaxed, like I can breath.  That pressure bubble of time has lifted, and I can think about doing things for myself again.  I can continue to answer my endless list of questions, I can make long lists written in pencil and actually cross out completed missions.

Time can slow down again, and time can relax into a flexible scheme instead of a tightly run plan.

I am no longer fully dominated by work, saving that precious feeling of freedom solely for myself, locked in my own mind just to make sure that I give myself enough attention.

Dichotomy at a Stop Sign

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I work in a very strange spot, where old industry meets new technology.  It’s at a crossroad that sounds more like a metaphor than a real spot, an unassuming corner that brings old school Chicago together with business for the new millennia.

You cannot even squeeze a tiny bicycle down Fulton Market street during the early morning to late afternoon.  The street is packed with tall men in long white coats, running to and fro, bringing stacks of brown boxes to idling trucks and muscular forklifts.  The street is littered with men and machines, anxiously filling orders and ready to scurry at a moments notice.  It is a public street, but there is no room for cars, pedestrians, let alone bikes.  Enter at your own risk, you will be the frog leaping, the chicken wondering if it can cross the road.

The meat-packing district of Chicago is an industry staple, and this intersection is where it was born.  This trade formed the identity of this Midwestern metropolis, molded it into the meat-centric, gastro-destination of the nation.

IMG_0145At the end of this meat-packing row, at the corner by a stop sign, sits a small restaurant, serving up Brazilian influenced and locally inspired food.  It’s quaint, it’s unpretentious, it strives to make good and simple food day in and day out.  It is innocently unaware of the power struggle raging on outside, blissfully happy in the crossfire between the old world and the new regime.

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After the stop sign, past the meat empire, sits the new google building.  This will be the hub for the technological overlord that will be the new master of Chicagoans, representing the new direction in industry.  These modern offices will shape Chicago in many ways that are just as meaningful as the meat-packing legacy, but oh so completely different. This is not the physical labor of men in uniforms, trucks almost running you over in their physical hurry.  Here, the work is conceptual, all the running around will be done with fingertips instead of fork lifts.

The restaurant is the twilight of these two worlds, and I am caught in the transition.

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The Poor Man’s Slow Hustle #2

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The red line speeds its way through the tunnel, creating a machine roar that echoes through the bustling city.  The train’s loud cries are a part of daily life, it is the sound of progress, of facilitating hard work, getting it done as that saying once went (years ago when the red neck movement was hip)

The train is affordable, reliable, and sometimes very speedy.  Except of course, once the red line passes the Addison stop, all of this modern progress and hype is simply thrown out the window. Once it passes that last stop of dignity, the train simply gives up on life.  It moves slower then a grandma towards a sale at target.  The hustle in the step is so quickly forgotten, and the monetary unfortunate are left to the fumes that the train has left to unjet us home.  It moves so slow that it is just a little bit faster than walking.

The wealthy people who live further north of the select downtown and midtown stops, they take the purple line.  That train was invented for rich people.  The purple lines runs right next to all the stops north of addition, but will never ever stop at any of them.

In this slow desert of transport, I sit impatiently waiting for the most unambitious train to heave me home.