As Executive Chef in fine dining establishments in the eighties and nineties, I witnessed firsthand the changing landscape from the traditional (classic) dishes to the new, colorful platescapes that overzealous chefs, with their squeeze bottles in hand, chose to paint like graffiti artists.
I liked SOME of the new look plates, and I was one of the first in my area to establish a relationship with a local edible flower person.
I basically took the classical recipes (from Escoffier, Larousse, Robuchon) and dressed them up with the colorful plates with depth, textures, and farm fresh food (before it became mainstream to do so). That’s how I got my rep which basically served me well until I departed the food service arena.
Now, at the peak weight I was carrying as a butter-fat-meat and sugar-consuming food professional, combined with the appetite to feed my alcoholism, let’s just say I looked unwell at two-hundred and eighty pounds; I wasn’t any taller.
I really enjoyed doing my own desserts in several of the restaurants in which I toiled, and it was only later, when I started working in large industrial kitchens, that I enjoyed the luxury of having a great pastry chef.
I have written before of the importance of the pastry chef and the crucial role he or she plays in the overall success of any chef.
The front of the house staff has wowed your guests, their excellence and knowledge of the chef’s menu has set the guests up for the meal of their lives.
You don’t disappoint.
You crush them with every item out of your kitchen, the admiration for your craft readily displayed on the face of every guest in the dining room.
The pastry cart arrives.
It is NOT perfect.
It does NOT produce the “oohs” and “ahhhs” the chef demands as the standard.
That would be the second the chef realizes he should not have disrespected his pastry chef the day before.
This did not happen to me, as I always treated my pastry chef as my equal in stature in my kitchen. In a large operation, not ever having to worry about the dessert offerings easily saved a chef ten hours a week. When you are working eighty-hour workweeks, that can mean the difference of getting a few hours sleep once in a while.
That’s large.
And believe this: the Exec chef would get tossed for the dessert cart disaster, because he is the top dog, making the big bucks, and regardless of anything else, it is his name and picture printed on the menu.
I guess if I had to pick a favorite dessert of mine, it would be a tie between cherry pie and tiramisu. I was also known to pork down my fair share of eclairs, filled with pastry cream, and other various fillings. No big mystery why I tipped the scales like I did.
I enjoyed working with different glazes, mousses, meringues, and pastries, especially exotic after-dinner petit fours.
Stay well.
