I am the very first to admit that, of all the many gifts I have inherited and refined, patience is NOT one of them.
Oh, I’ve gotten better, but more often than not, throughout my life, impatience has cost me.
I used to be such a stickler for my food quality.
Classic French cuisine requires equal parts technique and panache, my mentor Renaud Defond used to lecture me. But it was merd if it was not top quality. It didn’t matter; a waste of time and money, and you became a saboteur.
Now this was a chef who knew his place in the world.
Over everybody.
He actually made his staff rehearse acting appreciative for the nightly praise he planned on receiving.
He taught us not only did we need to bake a Cassoulet du Lapin with Chardonnay in a very particular earthenware crock, but it had to be crusted and reduced four times before it was ready for serving.
Cassoulets were common in France with every kind of meat paired with every kind of herb, spices, or vegetables.
I got so particular, I would wait until the first months of summer to get my Rainier cherries, which I used for flavoring my sorbets, whilst the red cherries were reserved for sauces and Cherries Jubilee tableside.
I waited all year for July to get my Abalone from Hawaii.
The same goes for fresh Morel mushrooms and other wild varieties like Woodears and Lobster mushrooms which came from Michigan as fall approached.
For some reason, I had to wait until January to get the best caviar from the Middle East.
I could have only clarified my aspic or consommé, or sous-vide four times, but I could see Chef raise one eyebrow at the prospect, ensuring five it was.
And like Chef, I became very adept at accumulating help for my demanding kitchens.
Back to the subject of waiting, I went through growing pains trying to teach Escoffier to midwestern kids.
But I waited. I waited until they knew the technique required of the station they were working.
In six months they got it.
Attention to detail.
Speed.
Workmanship.
We went from two to three full turns of the dining room on both Friday and Saturday nights and that’s saying something as any restaurant person knows the adage “volume cures all ills.”
Fine dining appears to be dead anymore.
I could go back and not miss a beat.
My recipes are hundreds of years old and don’t change. I enjoyed coming up with new and different plate presentations for my classical French dishes, but the Duck a l’orange that I learned how to cook in Lyons in 1979 was the exact same recipe I served in 1990 and would be the exact same if I were to pluck me a duck today.
I just don’t have the juice to do much anymore, and it really does take a lot from me pursuing starting up a blues band.
But I ain’t quitting anytime soon.
We also had to wait all the way past Christmas and New Year’s as our town has been blanketed with about three inches of the white stuff.
That’s what fireplaces are for.
Stay warm.
