Welcome to the post-Food Network kitchen where everyone is an expert and everyone’s a chef. Media types clamor for comment, leads, recipes and a fresh face. The Food Network has been an ally and a nemesis. Its inception has seemingly done more to promote and also to implode our industry. Because of the Food Network our status in the socioeconomic arena has been elevated from drug addicted and recently incarcerated to brilliant artist and part time rock star.
Top Chef, Iron Chef, The Next Food Network Star – none of these shows paint our industry in an accurate light. Like it or not, we have become not chefs, but entertainers. People always ask me if I watch these shows, and up until last month I hadn’t. I generally answer their question this way, “What do you do for a living?” They say, “I’m lawyer”, or “I work for UPS”. Then I say, “Oh, so I bet you go home after a long day and watch reruns of King of Queens and Allie McBeal”.
The impact of this new phenomenon hadn’t occurred to me until I taught a class last week where one of my students said, “so it really doesn’t get done in 30 minutes?”
Incredulous, I declared, “NO!” I drove home that night and her question haunted me – the sheer obliviousness was more than just ignorance. She has only been exposed to our industry based on what she sees on television or what she reads in YUMMO Weekly – or whatever Rachel Ray’s magazine is called. How could I fault her for the misinformation she has been fed, and washed down with EVOO?
Then it dawned on me – how many career changers, high school graduates and foodies have flooded our culinary schools because of that same premise? I know whereof I tread…this is and uncomfortable subject. Our schools are sacred places of learning and skill development. The question remains – how many students have entered culinary school under the guise of the 30 minute meal? If they’ve never worked in a professional kitchen before, they don’t know the plight of the 50 hour work week (if you have a light gig), the oftentimes low pay, absence of employer provided health insurance, and the calluses from peeling umpteen cases of potatoes.
Many of them have asked me for jobs. When I explain the pay rate, I get a blank stare. Someone just asked me for $25 an hour, plus a $30 bonus for the fifth hour to ASSIST in a cooking class! They want to know why they can’t sit down while they work, and why they don’t get vacation. These people, who haven’t even graduated from culinary school, have a really skewed perception of the reality of our industry; and I have to ask how they came to think this way.
There used to be a time when what we did really mattered because we took pride in our vocation. There used to be a time when the Masters were the Masters, and what they taught us meant something. There used to be a time when you respected what people had to teach you. I remember when my mentor would walk by me as I decorated cakes and say, “If you can’t write with a pencil, you can’t write with a pastry bag”. That kind of “motivation” isn’t acceptable anymore! Don’t get me wrong, I’m not an advocate for verbal lashings and overly aggressive admonitions. What I am saying is that we have to examine where we’ve been and where we’re going; and we need to be strong enough to stay the course.
We are at a very important crossroads in our industry. Who will be the next generation of people to lead us where we need to go? Who will be articulate, professional, business savvy, and committed to the pursuit of excellence?
We are on the cusp of some very important changes in our industry. Let’s tell our story and not aim to become sound bites or 90 second clips. Let’s not be led by the media; instead, let’s take control and lead them where we want them to go. No one can tell our story better than we can. Let’s set our standards and stick to them, instead of being pulled under the tidal wave of food as shallow entertainment.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Grocery Rampage
It started innocently enough. She ambled through the produce section of a large, notable, and cultish, natural foods store. Near the navel oranges, she pulled a plastic produce bag off the roll and walked towards the wicker basket full of organic cheesy snacks, resembling Cheetos. She tossed aside the pair of black plastic tongs, and grabbed a fist full of powdery goodness with her bare hands, looked over her shoulder, and then stuffed them into the produce bag.
From there, she scooted over to the grocery end cap where she found another similarly sized wicker basket. This particular basket had “tiny bite” brownies, which were cut up into quarters, and were now mostly brownie dust. She once again discarded the tongs and snatched up a fistful of dust. Into the bag went the dust, which intermingled with the store-brand cheesy treats.
Next it was onto the olive bar. Since the olives were drenched in brine, she had no choice except to use the spoon provided for service. Tasting one olive is considered to be a sample. Spooning a heap of them into the sample strata inside the produce bag is considered theft.
What are Kalamata’s without cheese? Any gourmand knows that you cannot enjoy olives without the proper cheese. Luckily, the specialty department had cubed up some Drunken Goat, placed them into a domed dish, and put them out for sample. Toothpicks be damned; the fist tactic must be her method of choice.
Today was a light day at the high-end market, with not as many samples to be had as usual, the woman closed her produce bag and walked out. I watched her as she moved through the crosswalk, in front of an oncoming car. She used her key fob to open the door of her Escalade.
In February, this particular location of the specialty chain celebrated its fifth birthday. I decorated about 500 cupcakes to build a giant cake for the celebration. Up to my eyeballs in butter cream and all natural food coloring, I toiled for hours in the bakery, listening to Bob Marley as I swirled pastel deliciousness over the tops of these little cakes.
It took 3 days to decorate the cupcakes and build the final display. The day of the big celebration came. The store was decked out with balloons and streamers. The team members were all wearing birthday hats. My store team leader and I stood back and admired my cake. Suddenly we noticed this woman who walked up, grabbed 4 cupcakes off the display and shoved them into her Gucci handbag. My boss ran up to her and said, “Hey! This is our birthday, not yours!”. I watched in horror as I was sure that a scuffle was about to break out in front of the juice bar.
The day before Thanksgiving, I found myself working down on the sales floor, attending to the Holiday Table. This is the one-stop shop for customers who wanted to order their holiday meals to be reheated in their ovens at home, instead of making it all themselves. A man of about the age of 50 walked up, told me his name and said he was there to pick up his turkey.
My co-worker went to retrieve his order, and came back with a 16 pound, organic, free-range specimen of perfection. He examined it and accused her of giving him a previously frozen turkey, when what he ordered was fresh. She politely explained to him that it was most definitely fresh, and an argument ensued. He started to walk away, then, turned on his heels and hurled the bird at her, hitting her square in the chest. It knocked the wind out of her. He had to be escorted out of the store.
I’ve seen fights break out over 1” cubes of natural hotdogs and a quarter of a mini bagel pizza with square bits of cheese.
I’ve seen women in full-length mink coats scrap over a two ounce cup of free coffee. People will do anything, and I do mean, anything, for free food.
There’s something so animalistic about it. It’s completely rogue.
I used to be professional pastry chef, working quietly and relatively peacefully in my bakeshop, with only my radio to keep me company. Isolated from the public, I naively
believed that food made people happy.
In my little world, I decorated miniature birthday cakes and hand-crafted confections for a couple celebrating their 25th anniversary. My job was to bring a sense of decadence and celebration into the lives of the people who sat in the dining room, just outside my kitchen.
When I decided to expand my horizons into marketing for a large natural grocer, I learned about the dark side of humanity. It seemed that in these cases, food brought out the most primal characteristics in people. Samples at a grocery store were causing people to act from their basest instincts.
I can understand people being trampled at a UN rice drop, but scratching and fighting for a chocolate covered coffee bean in West Bloomfield, Michigan is something that mystifies and depresses me.
As a student of human behavior, I’ve learned that this is not about the food. Sadly, this is a commentary on the state of the American entitlement mentality. More for me, none for you. Greed, thoughtlessness, and consumption. No manners. No etiquette. No perspective. No appreciation. Not to mention, completely and shockingly unsanitary!
These people weren’t just thoughtless in the aisles of our grocery store. They were thoughtless and selfish everywhere they went. They were the people who screamed at their children while waiting in line to have their photo taken with Santa. They were the people who fought over a Wii while “Joy to the World” boisterously belted through the store’s overhead speaker system. They were the people who drove 40 miles per hour through the busy grocery parking lot, then slamming on the breaks to curse out a pedestrian who dared to enter the crosswalk.
It’s been said that food is a symbol for things greater than itself. Food and its preparation, intake, and associations is seldom a stand-alone issue. For some, it brings comfort, for others, it stirs the warm pot of a lifetime of memories, for others it fills a void. It brings celebration and joyfulness. In some, it brings obsession and pain. Food, even in its simplest form is never just about food.
The next time you’re at a big box warehouse or your neighborhood grocery, stand back and watch the humanity unfold before you, and, please, use the tongs.
From there, she scooted over to the grocery end cap where she found another similarly sized wicker basket. This particular basket had “tiny bite” brownies, which were cut up into quarters, and were now mostly brownie dust. She once again discarded the tongs and snatched up a fistful of dust. Into the bag went the dust, which intermingled with the store-brand cheesy treats.
Next it was onto the olive bar. Since the olives were drenched in brine, she had no choice except to use the spoon provided for service. Tasting one olive is considered to be a sample. Spooning a heap of them into the sample strata inside the produce bag is considered theft.
What are Kalamata’s without cheese? Any gourmand knows that you cannot enjoy olives without the proper cheese. Luckily, the specialty department had cubed up some Drunken Goat, placed them into a domed dish, and put them out for sample. Toothpicks be damned; the fist tactic must be her method of choice.
Today was a light day at the high-end market, with not as many samples to be had as usual, the woman closed her produce bag and walked out. I watched her as she moved through the crosswalk, in front of an oncoming car. She used her key fob to open the door of her Escalade.
In February, this particular location of the specialty chain celebrated its fifth birthday. I decorated about 500 cupcakes to build a giant cake for the celebration. Up to my eyeballs in butter cream and all natural food coloring, I toiled for hours in the bakery, listening to Bob Marley as I swirled pastel deliciousness over the tops of these little cakes.
It took 3 days to decorate the cupcakes and build the final display. The day of the big celebration came. The store was decked out with balloons and streamers. The team members were all wearing birthday hats. My store team leader and I stood back and admired my cake. Suddenly we noticed this woman who walked up, grabbed 4 cupcakes off the display and shoved them into her Gucci handbag. My boss ran up to her and said, “Hey! This is our birthday, not yours!”. I watched in horror as I was sure that a scuffle was about to break out in front of the juice bar.
The day before Thanksgiving, I found myself working down on the sales floor, attending to the Holiday Table. This is the one-stop shop for customers who wanted to order their holiday meals to be reheated in their ovens at home, instead of making it all themselves. A man of about the age of 50 walked up, told me his name and said he was there to pick up his turkey.
My co-worker went to retrieve his order, and came back with a 16 pound, organic, free-range specimen of perfection. He examined it and accused her of giving him a previously frozen turkey, when what he ordered was fresh. She politely explained to him that it was most definitely fresh, and an argument ensued. He started to walk away, then, turned on his heels and hurled the bird at her, hitting her square in the chest. It knocked the wind out of her. He had to be escorted out of the store.
I’ve seen fights break out over 1” cubes of natural hotdogs and a quarter of a mini bagel pizza with square bits of cheese.
I’ve seen women in full-length mink coats scrap over a two ounce cup of free coffee. People will do anything, and I do mean, anything, for free food.
There’s something so animalistic about it. It’s completely rogue.
I used to be professional pastry chef, working quietly and relatively peacefully in my bakeshop, with only my radio to keep me company. Isolated from the public, I naively
believed that food made people happy.
In my little world, I decorated miniature birthday cakes and hand-crafted confections for a couple celebrating their 25th anniversary. My job was to bring a sense of decadence and celebration into the lives of the people who sat in the dining room, just outside my kitchen.
When I decided to expand my horizons into marketing for a large natural grocer, I learned about the dark side of humanity. It seemed that in these cases, food brought out the most primal characteristics in people. Samples at a grocery store were causing people to act from their basest instincts.
I can understand people being trampled at a UN rice drop, but scratching and fighting for a chocolate covered coffee bean in West Bloomfield, Michigan is something that mystifies and depresses me.
As a student of human behavior, I’ve learned that this is not about the food. Sadly, this is a commentary on the state of the American entitlement mentality. More for me, none for you. Greed, thoughtlessness, and consumption. No manners. No etiquette. No perspective. No appreciation. Not to mention, completely and shockingly unsanitary!
These people weren’t just thoughtless in the aisles of our grocery store. They were thoughtless and selfish everywhere they went. They were the people who screamed at their children while waiting in line to have their photo taken with Santa. They were the people who fought over a Wii while “Joy to the World” boisterously belted through the store’s overhead speaker system. They were the people who drove 40 miles per hour through the busy grocery parking lot, then slamming on the breaks to curse out a pedestrian who dared to enter the crosswalk.
It’s been said that food is a symbol for things greater than itself. Food and its preparation, intake, and associations is seldom a stand-alone issue. For some, it brings comfort, for others, it stirs the warm pot of a lifetime of memories, for others it fills a void. It brings celebration and joyfulness. In some, it brings obsession and pain. Food, even in its simplest form is never just about food.
The next time you’re at a big box warehouse or your neighborhood grocery, stand back and watch the humanity unfold before you, and, please, use the tongs.
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