Never Say Never

At times I contemplate where this idea originated. Perhaps, long ago in a land far far away a bigger boned chef had a restaurant that wasn't doing so great anymore. He was focused on the fact that just a mere six weeks ago his restaurant was packed; why the sudden change? He walked out of his establishment to see across the street, another restaurant packed to the gills. He walks in to see a tall and slender chef in the pass, slinging plates as fast as he can, with the authority of a ballerina. This larger chef turned around and slowly went back to his kitchen grabbed a tub of marshmallow fluff and ate the entire contents of it's jar before moving on to the sticks of butter. The following day he inquired about this new chef, asking all the towns people, wanting to know what his speciality was, where he came from, all the juicy gossip. It wasn't until his waitress mentioned how dashing and fit he looked and how was it possible that he tasted everything that came thru his kitchen without gaining so much weight. That fat bastard of a chef took hold of that and the saying "never trust a skinny chef" was born.

I can't begin to tell how many times I have been told this from patrons, individuals I meet in social settings, family member gatherings. My personal favorite was during a kitchen tour at the restaurant where I worked, and the four top would stop by my pastry station after consuming their 27 courses of pure butter, cream, and foie gras, their jolly cheeks red from drinking too much wine would say " how can you be this skinny, well you know what they say!?" Giggling all along thinking that they were the smartest people in the world for coming into this kitchen and relaying this to me. My perfect answer was usually something to the effect of " well, that bout of bulimia really helps..." and then excuse myself so I can go throw up that piece of bread I consumed four hours ago.

What these individuals are unaware of is the fact that I had to get my hungover ass out of bed at nine am to be at work by ten to prep all their food for the 8 pm rerservation, and no, I didn't have time to stop and eat for family meal and no, I won't get out work till 2 am at which time no respectable place to eat is open, and so you weigh your options and decide to have a liquid diet of Johnny Walker instead. Even better, the fact I made 85 dollars a day, before taxes, one could rarely afford decent food after rent, phone bill, public transportation, and a liver killing drinking habit. I relish in the idea that they believe that the owners of these establishments are feeding us course after succulent course of rich food before service while keeping a 30% food cost?!

The other side of the coin is lets say I was a bigger boned chef. Does that mean you can trust me that I know what I'm doing? How about trusting me with your children, perhaps your retirement fund? I would gladly pack on a few pounds if that was all it took.

It wasn't until I finished reading Bourdain's Medium Raw that I felt my lean ass chapped. And over one little line, one little insignificant line that I'm sure he didn't mean any harm. But, it did cause me harm. He was relaying to the general and not so general public that one needs to be able to move their ass when they work in a kitchen. Picking up 50 pounds of flour and carrying it up a flight of stairs, being chased by other cooks trying to not get towel slapped, or during service the twist and turns to open your low boy, get in the oven, run downstairs for the backup of sabayon. In brief, this job is physical. And Bourdain is correct in saying that if you can't walk up a flight of stairs without being put on a respirator, the kitchen should not be your first choice. But where he went wrong was to imply that you could still be a pastry chef then. Badly done Mr. Bourdain. Which hurts me to say since I respect the hell out of you. You are the Che of the Cooks Revolution, how could you turn on me? Therefore, I invite you to work with me for the week and tell me if you still feel that this is true.

What it really boils down to is your training, where you have worked, and your pride in your food. I could care less if that chef is big or small, short or tall, even a red head. If they put their soul into their cuisine, then who is to say we can't trust them?

Side note: I am proud to announce the formation of NAASC. ( National Association of the Advancement of Skinny Chefs) Please feel free to donate in large unmarked bills.

Thank you.

xoxo-

Youngest