I have mentioned that one of the reasons that a great chef will stand out amongst all the others trying to make it to the top is her extensive knowledge of ingredients. For example: you must be able to fillet a pike, or any fish for that matter beautifully, or know that if you don't score an eggplant before roasting there is a very good chance that it will explode in the oven.
Speaking of exploding ingredients.
I have a chance to finely spend some 'quality time' with the executive chef. A real opportunity to show off my talents and cooking skills along with my strong abilities to keep organized and attentive to anything he may need from me. You know, I can prove that there is a very good reason why he hired me and paying me a decent wage with benefits. For the last 48 hours I have been looking forward to today. He has been eying my work closely and has had no restraints with his scrutiny. And as most chefs do he saves his praise for, well, I don't really know what quite yet.
The day starts as I come in the office, as most days do. I get into my whites, pull my long blond hair back, give my flat black clogs a quick wipe so to erase the prior days duties and ask the chef, "What do you have for me today?"
"Prep for 10 gallons of vichyssoise, take inventory of the dairy fridge and roast 1 case of chestnuts. Work on the vichyssoise first." "Got it" I obediently announce.
For those whom think that proving yourself as a chef always entails making an extravagant dish, it doesn't.
As I'm cutting vegetables, my chef approaches me but I am diligently continuing my work until he talks first. "Have you started the chestnuts?" chef enquires. "I'm gonna start them in just a minute, right after I clean all this shit up." I quickly reply as I wipe left over vegetable scraps into my hand. "Now, you know HOW to roast chestnuts, right?" I'm caught off guard by his quizzical jab. My brain says, Lindsay just ask him if there is a certain way he wants them roasted, but my ego retorts, "Of COURSE," with a slight air of annoyance and disbelief.
After, I get my mis en plas together, I pour the chestnuts onto the sheet pans and put them directly into the preheat oven at 350 degrees. If you are actually reading this you must be thinking, dear gawd woman, seriously! Right into the oven. Jesus F'in Christ! But yes, right into the oven my shiny little brown gems are guided.
I continue about my business for the next 25 minutes, but with a very strong uneasy feeling. Why had the chef double checked with me about the chestnuts? Why?! Oh shit! And at that moment, POP! POP! POP!! It wont stop! That fucking POP! sound from the oven. I despairingly walk over to the oven, knowing full well what is going on. I duck down, because the oven I am using is at face level, open the double doors and with a side towel in each hand pull the sheet pan out. POP! There shoots another chestnut across the god damn kitchen. Quickly, I place the sheet pan of very hyper nuts on the table and cover them with another sheet pan to keep them confined. POP! TINK! POP! TINK!
I grudgingly start the clean-up process of the ridiculous mess my ego just made. POP! TINK! I cross my finger that the chef is too busy and won't come into the kitchen, but just as luck will have it, he walks in, shakes his head and smiles. "I thought I asked you if you knew how to roast chestnuts." In my head I'm cursing up a god damn storm. I can't even look at him. The scene is just to fucking ridiculous and embarrassing. I blubber something incoherent. POP! TINK! (Still with the fucking nuts.) I can't come up with anything to salvage this situation.
It didn't really matter anyways. He didn't expect an answer.
If any future potential employers ever read this, please note, I have come along way since.
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