Thursday, January 23, 2014


When I was a younger version of me, I worked in a series of restaurants. My first job was in a restaurant. It was First Street Foods in Benicia, California. I started out as kitchen help. I cleaned, made sandwiches, washed lettuce, peeled garlic and the like. But, most importantly, I paid attention. I watched vegetables in a sauté pan become soup with the addition of stock and wine. I saw dough become pasta through a hand cranked pasta roller. I watched chocolate pellets melted down to become the most delectable brownies in my memory. After a while, I was trusted to do more. I rolled the pasta, made salad mixes, and monitored the stock pot.  Although I only worked four days a week, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I never dreaded work, and always came away feeling like I had done something. 

There's something special about working in a good kitchen. There's a give and take between the staff, and everyone contributes in their own way. In a good kitchen failure to do so, means failure of service, failure of creating something that can ultimately change a person's day. 

I enjoy making good food because good food makes people happy. These thoughts have come back to me as I continue a personal renaissance. I very well may have the opportunity to do this kind of work again, and if I do, I will be sure to relish it. 

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