Craft, Cooks, And Kitchen Culture. Michael Laiskonis Menus in the Media 2009

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Cuisine or Death: A Story

The last decade has offered up much print to gritty, tell-all tales of the professional

kitchen, whether from the perspective of a restaurant lifer like Anthony Bourdain, to

Michael Ruhlman and Bill Buford, outsiders who felt compelled to jump into the fire, to

any number of fly-on-the-wall accounts of heat, stress, sharp objects, and usually, a questfor elusive perfection. Add to that the phenomena of reality cooking shows, coffee-table

cookbooks, and ‘foodie’ blogs, and we find ourselves in a culture- or at least a sizable

segment of it- obsessed with what we eat and how it gets onto the plate. We’re barragedwith the notion of ‘food porn’, and even if it’s reduced to sheer entertainment, the craft of

cooking itself is portrayed as sexy, both an athletic endeavor and a high art.

You have to be so earnestly devoted that if you were any more devoted it would be perverse, and any less, it

would not be enough.

Charlie Trotter, Becoming a Chef

We're all commis, we're all still learning.

Marco Pierre White, White Heat

It must have been 1999 or 2000, early on in my first stint as a pastry chef. I had landed in

the kitchen of a big fish restaurant, stuck in the little pond of the suburban Midwest. Ascooks, we were conscious of the fact that we were basking in a culinary oasis within a

relatively utilitarian food culture. We had each muscled our way into the kitchen brigade

for the career-changing opportunity to work alongside its chef, and that alone inspired

enthusiasm and, to be honest, no small measure of conceit. Most of us had little trainingor experience under our belts, but we all found ourselves thrust into a world where the

ingredients and techniques we once only read about were a daily reality. We’d made it.



In my direct charge were two young and dedicated assistants. What novice cooks lack in

skill and maturity, they often make up for with their passion, a willingness to learn, and,

quite frankly, the energy and stamina of youth. While our ‘civilian’ friends played, weworked, often exceeding 12 hours a day. The kitchen has a way of creating its own

insular culture and social network- not surprising given the time cooks spend with theirco-workers. And in our fleeting moments of downtime, our equivalent of water-coolerconversation rarely drifted into talk of last night’s game or television or current events,

but rather stayed on point with regard to food. We discussed our last meal at another

restaurant or what we cooked at home; we debated and argued endlessly over techniques

and ingredients, or which celebrity chef was more talented than the other. We swappeddog-eared magazines and cookbooks as if they were rare and precious manuscripts, or in

reality, like vintage comics or baseball cards. In short, we were caffeine-fueled and

adrenaline-charged geeks.

I don’t recall the exact moment, or the situation that spurred the idea, but it must have

evolved after Anthony, one of my underlings, began complaining about a headache or anupset stomach. While the ‘straight’ world honors the vague concept of sick leave and

days off, the kitchen, at least in practice, demands a higher threshold of discomfort.

Unless hospitalization is required or there’s risk of making other people ill, you simply

suck it up and endure the rest of the shift. As empathy and encouragement, I uttered tomy assistant, “You know, it’s not ‘Cuisine or I Have a Headache’, it’s ‘Cuisine or

Death.” We, of course, erupted into laughter, and Anthony soldiered on through dinner

service. But the concept of ‘Cuisine or Death’ gained traction and became our personalrallying cry, or at least an inside joke.

Over the following weeks, we’d imagined and strategized a movement around the motto.

To us, C.O.D. became a state of mind, but also a guerilla tactic, to combat ‘bad’ cuisine

and inferior technique, or lack of professional commitment. In our sillier moments, wetheorized manifestoes, plotted culinary sabotage; we designed stickers for our knife cases

and a line of uniforms emblazoned with tiny skull-and-crossbone patterns. We even

debated the idea of tattoos to brand those worthy enough to gain entry to our secretsociety. One morning, my second assistant Aaron showed up with a poster-sized

rendering of ‘Cuisine or Death’ for our station, appropriately scripted in old English font,

an homage to the dictionary definition of the word ‘finesse’ that famously hangs above

the kitchen door at Thomas Keller’s French Laundry.

But despite the tongue-in-cheek nature of our newfound ideology, we did indeed become

all the more intense and passionate in our daily work. We were akin to the strictest orderof monks, perpetually humbling ourselves by muttering a phrase borrowed from the

maniacal British chef Marco Pierre White, “We’re all commis,” referring to the lowliest

rung of the traditional kitchen ladder. Perhaps we were channeling a yet-to-be published

Kitchen Confidential, and had the persona of Gordon Ramsey been more than just gossip

from across the pond at the time, he may just have been the patron saint of our self-styled

guild.



Despite the aggressive elements of militarism and frat-boy antics, I still quietly adhere tothe spirit of the ‘Cuisine or Death’ code. Though it was fun, the bravado wasn’t the point,

but rather the realization and confirmation that we were a tribe of craftsmen, that we were

part of something special and unique. A decade has passed since those naïve days, yetthere will always be young, fresh-faced cooks, and I now find myself a relative old sage

in the restaurant world. To this day, I’ll occasionally extract a knowing smile from aharried cook as I urge them on with a whispered, “C.O.D.”. I also have the satisfaction of a continuing legacy of sorts, as those first apprentices- and the several that have

followed- continue to hone their skills, now as chefs in their own right. Recently

reconnecting with Aaron, I was tickled that he, too, still carried the memory in the most

permanent way- a small tattoo on his wrist: in the same old English lettering, the singleword, ‘commis’.

Kitchen Culture: Structure

But what is it that propels the fundamental act of cooking and eating from dailysustenance into the realm of the professional fanaticism that might inspire ‘Cuisine or

Death’? For most, cooking at home is a necessary means to end, devoid of any art, let

alone glamour. Celebrity chefs are revered, yet foodservice in general is still consideredan entry level job, or transitional work- a side-step to endure while pursuing a more

respectable career path. True, much of professional cooking lies within the large gulf

between the corner deli and the temples of haute cuisine, with varying levels of requisiteskill and passion; the respect and romanticism afforded to it are thus doled out

proportionately. Yet as a culture, there are constants universally understood among its

practitioners; though the delicious results are appreciated by outsiders, the underlying

mechanics often remain foreign to them.



To understand the running of a professional kitchen is to visualize a complexculinary systems theory, to speculate how one good or bad decision can affect all of the

other moving parts. The century-old kitchen structure codified by Auguste Escoffier, and

still practiced today, evokes the blueprints for a battle scenario: a brigade, Chef (alwaysreferred to as ‘Chef’- rarely by his or her given name) as general at the helm, with

captains, various specialists, and foot soldiers branching out beneath, stationed along the‘line’, dug in for their shift as if occupying a heavily fortified trench. In many cases,uniforms still remain an indicator of rank. Well understood strategies are mapped out in

advance; in heat of service, tactics become more fluid by necessity. Orders are called out,

and followed in confidence, fear, and eagerness to please. There is a strict operational

code, and teamwork is essential, but there is little room for niceties when under fire. Inthe inevitable rush of battle, where the seemingly disparate notions of speed and

perfection count equally, the weak links are exposed bare, creating a culture of nightly

survival. Interestingly, in a theater dependant on so many small victories and potentialdefeats, each day begins anew; previous blunders are learned from but never dwelled

upon.

The kitchen is often a noisy place. It takes a fair amount of experience and prolonged

immersion in such an environment to truly hear what’s happening, to parse the static of

conversation, the hum of equipment and clanging of pots, the punctuated yells. A degree

of sensory overload can overcome you; I find the less I add to the cacophony, the better Iam at processing all that information. Being quiet allows one to feel the underlying

rhythm of the kitchen. And, of course, the less energy the cook projects outward, the

more he or she can harness that energy and focus it inward. Rather than release it into theair, we ultimately try to put that energy onto the plate. In the process, we become all the

more connected to the work at hand. In seasoned veterans, the act of cooking is hard-wired into our being, a second nature that links the mental and the physical, manifesting

itself as form of meditation, perhaps even a shift into ‘right brain’ mode, where time and

space become fluid.

Given the slightly militaristic mood of high-end restaurants, that there are frayed nerves

and occasional verbal abuse probably comes as no great shock. Of course there are thetired, clichéd conflicts between front and back of house, but also the discipline handed

down the chain of command in the kitchen hierarchy, from the chef all the way to the

lowliest commis. I didn't come up through the ranks of a particularly rough environment,

but those who have often wear that experience like a badge, or sometimes, like a barelyhealed scar. With time and distance, the stories of temper tantrums become the thing of

legend, and can even be entertaining, though I'm sure that at the time, the teller of said

story was not laughing. That fierce style is often inherited by those chefs who endured it;for others, they may have felt enough humiliation to know that they would never care to

inflict it on a new generation of cooks and waiters.

Perhaps such ego comes with many skilled professions, resulting from the fruits of labor

being pushed to center stage, as a representation of the craftsman himself. Restaurant

work isn’t brain surgery, but much depends on someone’s dinner. Chefs develop a thick skin as a defense mechanism, but the self-imposed pursuit of perfection is stronger than



that demanded by the diner. I’d like to think that beneath the surface of all this apparenttension there lies a humility to compensate for the brash, outward Ramsey-esque

bullishness. It’s a conceit that tempers with maturity, as chefs realize that they are

students for life, that their craft is bigger than the place they occupy within it. In thosethat can withstand the daily pressures, the passion deepens, or rather it becomes finely

woven into the fabric of their being. Cooking is not so much a job as it is a lifestyle. Thecooks that will persevere learn early on that their successes will rarely yield monetarywealth, but more spiritual rewards- the connection to their products, the deepened

understanding of the processes of cooking, and ultimately, the satisfaction of those they

cook for. There’s no way to quantify it, but happy cooks, those who are aware of this

self-enlightenment beyond the fundamental skills, just might make better tasting food.

The Social Aspect of Cooking

Of course, cooking is a very social act indeed. Though we’re ultimately tied to thematerial objects we create, we’re also engaging those who consume them. Beyond mere

deliciousness, chefs are in a unique position, able to tap the emotions through all five

senses. Perhaps the most powerful of those emotions is nostalgia. Each time we execute a

particular dish, we calling upon our own history: when we first tasted it, from whom welearned it to make it, the memory of the proportions and processes. It’s a sum total of

experience that may appear intuitive on the surface, but in reality couldn’t exist without

all of those minute considerations. Whether performing a classic technique or creatingsomething personal and inventive, one also feels a distinct connection to cooks past- the

nostalgia of others- as well as the potential for new memories formed by the cooks

around you.



At heart, all chefs harbor a genuine spirit of generosity; after all, it’s no fun to cook without someone there to share the results. Few professions offer the reward of instant

feedback, let alone the implicit intimacy involved with consuming another’s handiwork.

But just as the cook strives to infuse a dish with intention and personal experience, thediner also brings their own set of memories and preconceptions to the table. In essence,

the act of cooking paired with the act of eating results in a dialog that transcends the mereverbal. In my own experience, on both sides of the kitchen door, there are few words thatadequately convey the pleasures of gastronomy.

Deep social bonds exist within the kitchen as well. I’m certain that shared experience

forms a collective memory perhaps more vivid than that which we commit individually.There’s a colloquial language that would mystify outsiders, but also physical marks that

only cooks would know to recognize each other: the raised callous at the base of the

index finger, the contact point of a well balanced chef’s knife. The clean, linear burnscars on a cook’s forearm- too close encounters with a hot pan or oven rack- are a dead

giveaway of time in a professional kitchen. As I ride the subway out of midtown

Manhattan late every night, I swear I can spot the ‘hat-head’ of a cook among my fellowpassengers, knowing that hundreds of others like me are pouring out of dozens of

neighboring restaurants at that hour. The unconventional hours also create a kind of sub-

society, identified with sleeping in late, and a weekend that consists of, well, a Monday.

As a result, those in the industry tend to socialize with each other. Ever gone out drinkingwith a bunch of cooks? More often than not, the conversation never strays far from

shoptalk, centered on chef worship, tool fetish, or particular tales of heroism or defeat,

instant legends of events that happened just hours before. Introduce two cooks who’venever met, and the commonality of their work would surely guarantee fodder for

exchange.



Adapt, Improvise, Overcome

Success is the sum of a lot of small things correctly done.

Fernand Point , Ma Gastronomie

Years after the birth of ‘Cuisine or Death’, I still hold the idea close; in fact the phrase

continues to inform and justify my work, my goals, and, in the end, my choice of a

career- a lifestyle dedicated to the craft of cooking. More recently, I’ve added anaddendum to that creed, one that adds another dimension to what I see as the evolution of

a chef’s skills. One evening during dinner service, Leo, one of Le Bernardin’s sous chefs,

overheard my telling of the C.O.D. story. “I’ve have something similar,” he said later,

“but I always used the saying, ‘Adapt, Improvise, and Overcome.” I immediately adoptedit, like Leo had, as inspiration to confront an immediate challenge or hardship, finding

solace in one of those three words. One can shift gears in response to a situation, work around it, or simply push through the obstacle at hand. Perhaps less poetic or emphatic as

‘or Death’, but it’s far more useful as a training tool.

In thinking of the meaning and power behind craftsmanship, I’ve come to realize howeach of those words- adapt, improvise, overcome- symbolize distinct stages in

development, marking key points in a cook’s training. In my mind, one can’t progress to

the next level without successfully mastering the last. Knowledge, in any craft, iscumulative in nature, and exponential in its possible effects. Only through rote mastery of

fundamentals, followed by repetitive practice, can a craftsman- a cook, musician, orarchitect- approach anything resembling inspired creativity, or in other words, art.Cooking, at least on a certain level and among the food-obsessed, often finds itself mired

in the debate of art versus craft. Without a base of solid skills, creativity is meaningless,

yet it's through experience and informed experimentation (and developments in science

and technology) that we stumble upon new techniques. Good food is indeed the result of many tiny accomplishments, some we can see immediately, and others that take years to

germinate.



Learning to Adapt

The surgeon’s judgment is simultaneously technical and deliberative, and that mix is the source of its

power.

Matthew B. Crawford, “Shopclass as Soulcraft”, The New Atlantis, Summer 2006

Despite the wisdom and efforts of countless recipe writers, there is no true cooking-by-

numbers, and in the theater of the kitchen, the script serves merely as a guideline, subject

to a perpetual series of re-writes. As problem-solvers, chefs work in a laboratory dictated

by the variability of nature and its produce, yet also within the strict parameters of chemistry and physics. Such duality- the ever-changing and the constant- lead to a very

practical, pragmatic view of the world. “It is what it is”, we’re fond of saying, but there’s

still a full dining room to be served, so we must make the best of it.

The first lessons of an apprentice typically focus on identifying quality: that is a good

carrot, this is how one holds a knife, this is what the sauce should taste like. Such crucialobservation comprise a cook’s initial years in the kitchen. Until such rules have been

ingrained into common sense, cooks are rarely given much opportunity to think for

themselves. These basics are further reinforced by the repetitive act; the anomaly is easierto identify with frequency. And the best students turn these tasks from mere chores into

exploring a connection with the product or the method. The fish butcher will inevitablycome to ponder the anatomy of the fish, and later, the effectiveness of his technique and

how he may be able to do the job faster, better. The pastry cook will learn, throughendless trial and error, and through constant tasting, just the right color of her caramel

sauce, and by extension, the proper pan, the right level of heat. Eventually, she’ll better

understand the process by investigating the chemical properties of sugar and how best toharness them.



Early training, then, is quite myopic, its scope limited to the detail rather than the bigpicture, the building blocks before the greater structure. It’s with these basic skills of

identification, of focus, that we are able to notice a problem or variation exists in the first

place. Furthermore, through concentration and repetition, the cook learns discipline.Vigilance and attention to detail are the only barriers dividing success from failure. By

doing one thing over and over, one becomes acutely aware of the ramifications one smallmistake can have when allowed to pass onto the next step of a lengthy process.Adaptation, therefore, is the reward for good judgment skills; understanding what quality

is and how to achieve it will inform the proper adjustment with regard to ingredient or

technique.

Improvisation and Intuition

The discovery of a new dish does more for human happiness than the discovery of a new star.

Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin , La Physiologie du Gout

If the first stage of a cook’s journey steers the student through those fixed, immovable

tenants of the craft, perhaps the second allows for an intellectual connection between the

head and the hands, and between one product or process and another. If we gain

confidence through learning how to adapt, surely improvisation teaches us how to beintuitive cooks, able to predict an outcome without ever before tasting it. A strong grasp

of fundamentals frees the cook of fear in the face of experimentation, or better yet, itarms him with the mystic ability to mold a dish into something that is greater than thesum of its parts.

While cooking, as a practice, continues to preserve tradition and established methods andflavor combinations, chefs have a built-in curiosity of the new. They are students for life,

constantly searching for new ingredients and new technology. Chefs seek not only to

create new dishes with such techniques, but also to make the ‘old’ dishes better and to do



so more efficiently. Rather than leave well enough alone, most chefs see opportunity intaking something that isn’t broken, and breaking it just to see what happens. Though

purists and culinary luddites exist, there is no small amount of pressure- from the dining

public and from peers- to innovate.

Modern professional cooking is not unlike the medieval guild system, whose structurewas built upon the hierarchy of apprentice, journeyman, and master. Cooks in the secondtier of development, learning the skills of improvisation and intuition, are indeed

contemporary journeymen, working short stints under various chefs, who often represent

different styles of cuisine. With some fundamental experience behind them, they move

around from kitchen to kitchen to absorb the broadest range of skills possible, in pursuitof finding their own voice as a cook. Short-term commitments, or stages, in the form of

unpaid positions lasting from a day to several months, are common among the most

ambitious of them. Unlike most professions, a lengthy and colorful resume is an aspiringchef’s golden ticket.

Like artists in training, cooks often express their budding talents by copying the masters.Such mimicry is in part an homage to their culinary idols, but also an exercise the cook

can use to get inside the master’s head, to better understand the subtleties of seasoning

and layering of flavors and textures. All cooks carry with them their collective

experience, and it can be revealing to see how it that sum total manifests itself into theirown personal style. There could never be a neat and tidy genealogy of the great chefs and

their disciples; its branches would intertwine and abruptly break off into a confusing

bramble of cross-pollinated styles and influence. But like evolutionary mutation, stylesmeld and the strongest survive to forge a cuisine that continues to develop with each

generation of cooks.



To Overcome: Being a Good Chef is More Than Just Being a Great Cook

When you acknowledge, as you must, that there is no such thing as perfect food, only the idea of it, then

the real reason of striving for perfection becomes clear: to make people happy. That’s what cooking is all

about.

But to give pleasure, you have to take pleasure yourself. For me, it’s the satisfaction of cooking everyday:

tournéing a carrot, or cutting salmon, or portioning foie gras- the mechanical jobs I do daily, year after

year. This is the great challenge: to maintain passion for the everyday routine and the endlessly repeated

act, to derive deep gratification from the mundane.

Thomas Keller, The French Laundry Cookbook

A cook and a chef are different entities. “Chef” is a title. A chef can be good or bad or everything in

between… “Chef” denotes a job. But when you are a cook, that is who youare. It’s your spine and your

soul. It suffuses all that you touch.

Eric Ripert, A Return to Cooking

The third phase of a cook’s evolution is perhaps the least tangible, because it’s somewhat

personal and spiritual in nature, based on qualities that exceed mere cooking skill. I often

admit that each chef that I trained under taught me different aspects of the craft- from one

I learned the fundamentals, another taught me the importance of discipline, and yetanother instilled a precision and attention to detail- but from each I learned the one lesson

that being a good chef is more than just being a great cook. The master, the good chef,

recognizes the responsibility to give back to the craft, and the importance of fostering itby inspiring others, by maintaining its integrity both in and out of the kitchen.

On the path toward becoming a master of the craft, many fall away, or remain in a careerlimbo. At any point in that trajectory, the ability to persevere drifts away. For many

cooks, the passion fades and cooking becomes the job they punch into and out from.

Some simply burn out from performing the long hours for little pay. Others tire of the

isolation from friends and family and seek a normal schedule with less physical and



mental stress. There may be certain character traits that best match the demands of beinga chef- those that thrive on the constant sense of urgency, the pleasures of manual

monotony- that often result in the most humble of rewards. In my experience, I’ve

encountered few who are able to learn that discipline on the job. Most seem to be bornwaiting for it.

For those who do overcome the obstacles, there is an inherent responsibility that comeswith knowledge and experience: the duty to share. Chefs today are public authorities,

media figures, fundraisers, and politicians, but their most important role remains locked

in the traditional mentor-apprentice relationship, the one-on-one interaction and exchange

of ideas and techniques. Cooks who keep secrets likely die with them, which is of littleservice to anyone. With the advent of the internet, the chef’s community has become

quite a small world. Where once we worked in isolation, there is now a flurry of

exchange that continues to propel culinary progress exponentially, inspiring more to takepart. And that can be the most rewarding aspect of being a chef- being able to help others,

but also being humble enough to ask advice of them, too.

Over the years, I’ve found that my professional life has greatly shaped my perspective of

'civilian' life as well. Cooking has given me a measure of self-confidence, not to mentionskills with management (of both time and people) and being able to think quickly on my

feet. But I’ve also found an inner peace, a mellowness to my disposition that I credit to

my job. Sure, the pace of restaurant work and the hectic nature of living in New York City certainly breed a distinct strain of impatience. I still get annoyed with crowded

subway trains, and clogged sidewalks full of people who are far too slow and have no

idea where they are going in the first place. But the stress I voluntarily sign up for,the rush that makes up most of my waking moments, has taught me not to sweat the small

stuff. And as our short-attention-span society becomes ever more obsessed with instantgratification, I've learned to appreciate the random quiet moments, perhaps more than

most.



I don't mean this in some sort of conceited way, but I find the problems and frustrations

of the straight person's 9-to-5 world amusing. I can't imagine ever complaining about

something so trivial as the weather. I can't remember the last time I was everactually bored. I have no concept of what it's like to be a 'clockwatcher'. And when

someone says they're too 'busy' to do this or that, I just smile and nod sympathetically,though I may be howling with maniacal laughter on the inside.

The sight of a perfectly crusted loaf of bread, the smell of warm madeleines, or the

creamy texture of freshly spun ice cream- these are all I truly need to realize that the

lifelong dedication to hard work has been worth it. Perhaps I chose cuisine, or itsomehow chose me; either way, everything else that falls just short of life-and-death, is

indeed a piece of cake.



Recommended Reading

Bourdain, Anthony. Kitchen Confidential. New York: Harper Perennial, 2001.

Brillat-Savarin, Jean-Anthelme. The Physiology of Taste. New York: Penguin Classics, 1994.

Buford, Bill. Heat . New York: Knopf, 2006.

Crawford, Matthew B. Shop Class as Soulcraft . New York: Penquin, 2009.

Dornenburg, Andrew. Becoming a Chef . New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1995.

Escoffier The Complete Guide to the Art of Modern Cookery. New York: Wiley, 1983.

Keller, Thomas. The French Laundry Cookbook . New York: Artisan, 1999.

Point, Fernand. Ma Gastronomie. New York: Xs Books, 1989.

Ripert, Eric, and Michael Ruhlman. A Return to Cooking. New York: Artisan, 2002.

Ruhlman, Michael. Soul of a Chef . New York: Viking Adult, 2000.

White, Marco Pierre. White Heat . Hockessin: Mitchell Beazley, 1999.

Documents

Craft, Cooks, And Kitchen Culture. Michael Laiskonis Menus in the Media 2009