So I started a new job a couple of weeks ago, and it seems to be working out ok. I was just so fucking bored slinging hash at what is basically a glorified diner, so I took a job at a new French bistro. It's an absurdly small kitchen, with only two stations, but I guess it's adequate to the task of a 40-ish seat floor.
The owner is a slightly eccentric French guy who constantly has one of those ear-mounted cell phones that make you look like Locutus of Borg
(his inexplicable ringtone, "Hollaback Girl," is the subject of much speculation and amusement), but he's very laid-back, knowledgable about food, and genuinely wants us to learn as much as possible while working there. This last is nice, since neither I nor my dance partner (the only two full-time cookies in the joint) know jack shit about French food.
Interestingly, more than half of the employees are former employees of my last kitchen, so I was already friends with the majority of the staff before I started.
The food is so good and honest. Everything is real--very little is frozen, almost everything we use is bought fresh in the Strip markets daily, EVERYTHING is made from scratch. We slam through more Bordeaux in a week than we used in 3 months at my old job.
The other day, I made veal demi-glace from scratch. All told it took more than 24 hours.
Goddamn, I finally feel like a cook.
The owner is a slightly eccentric French guy who constantly has one of those ear-mounted cell phones that make you look like Locutus of Borg
(his inexplicable ringtone, "Hollaback Girl," is the subject of much speculation and amusement), but he's very laid-back, knowledgable about food, and genuinely wants us to learn as much as possible while working there. This last is nice, since neither I nor my dance partner (the only two full-time cookies in the joint) know jack shit about French food.
Interestingly, more than half of the employees are former employees of my last kitchen, so I was already friends with the majority of the staff before I started.
The food is so good and honest. Everything is real--very little is frozen, almost everything we use is bought fresh in the Strip markets daily, EVERYTHING is made from scratch. We slam through more Bordeaux in a week than we used in 3 months at my old job.
The other day, I made veal demi-glace from scratch. All told it took more than 24 hours.
Goddamn, I finally feel like a cook.
In other news, no, Vancouver does not storm! The weather is always kinda... pleasant. Umm. Yeah. Sometimes it rains pretty hard but it's not like there's any passion in it. The sky's just like, "hum de dum, I'm going to dump some water on you guys, but don't worry, I'm just making it greener and more beautiful." Whereas in Calgary it's like, "FUCK YOU GUYS AHGHGHGHGHN KILL RAGE".