Braised lamb shanks are a delicious, fork tender meat that take well to a variety of seasonings. My batch on Saturday had a Moroccan flavor, as I braised them in red wine, orange juice and a spice packet consisting of ground cardamom seeds, cumin, and smoked paprika. An orange gremolata completed the dish. I served it with quinoa. For once I was grateful for a cold spell.
While they take about two hours to cook, actual prep time is about 20-30 minutes. I had some leftover cooking broth that went into the best batch of harira yet...\
Allow a shank per person.
Braised Lamb Shanks Recipe:
Heavily salt and pepper two shanks and set aside. Preheat oven to 300.
Heat olive oil in an oven-proof pan that can be covered and brown shanks on all sides, about 5 minutes. Remove shanks.
In same pan, saute a chopped onion, diced carrot, and chopped celery stalk, about 5 minutes. Add a couple of cloves of chopped garlic and some chopped ginger.
Deglaze pan with some red wine, then return shanks to pan. Add enough wine, stock or water, and orange juice to cover (or almost cover) the shanks. Cover and place in oven, turning the shanks every 30 minutes for two hours, at which point the lamb will be fork tender.
Remove cooked shanks from pan and strain the juice, discarding the solids. I put half this rich stock aside, and reduced the rest to about a cup, whisking in a tablespoon of cold butter before serving.
I served each shank on a bed of quinoa, though rice or couscous would work, and drizzled it with sauce and finished it with an orange gremolata:
Finely chop a bunch of parsley. Add a clove of finely chopped garlic, and the finely diced rind of half an orange.
Tuesday
Miso Glaze
I bought a package of light-colored miso recently and made miso soup, which tasted like the miso soup you get in restaurants. A little miso goes a long way, so I've been looking for ways to use it besides in soup.
At Philadelphia's Morimoto, and here at Pittsburgh's Umi, I've had delicious miso-glazed black cod, also called sable, or sablefish. A little web research found that the glaze is easy to produce:
You blend miso with sugar, rice vinegar and sake. Heat it, and stir to melt the sugar and cook off the alcohol in the wine. I skipped the sake (since I didn’t have it on hand), and the finished dish was very good.
The goal is to produce a sweet, slightly smoky, sticky glaze on whatever you’re cooking. I used wild salmon from Trader Joe’s.
Miso glazed salmon
Mix ¼ cup sugar, ¼ cup miso, ¼ cup rice vinegar, and ¼ cup sake in pan and heat, stirring to dissolve ingredients. Let cool to room temperature.
Marinate salmon (or any firm fish or crustacean) in miso mixture for a minimum of a few hours.
Pre-heat broiler to high. Remove salmon from miso mix and scrape off excess marinade.
Broil under a high heat until fish is cooked to medium and glaze has melted onto the fish, two-to-three minutes, depending on the strength of your broiler. No need to turn the fish.
I failed to get my broiler hot enough. While the glaze eventually melted, the fish had cooked through by the time this had occured. It tasted fine, though missed the tender juiciness of a nice medium rare or medium piece of salmon.
Next up: miso glazed scallops, with some sesame snow peas would be pretty tasty, no? I may even spring for some sake.
At Philadelphia's Morimoto, and here at Pittsburgh's Umi, I've had delicious miso-glazed black cod, also called sable, or sablefish. A little web research found that the glaze is easy to produce:
You blend miso with sugar, rice vinegar and sake. Heat it, and stir to melt the sugar and cook off the alcohol in the wine. I skipped the sake (since I didn’t have it on hand), and the finished dish was very good.
The goal is to produce a sweet, slightly smoky, sticky glaze on whatever you’re cooking. I used wild salmon from Trader Joe’s.
Miso glazed salmon
Mix ¼ cup sugar, ¼ cup miso, ¼ cup rice vinegar, and ¼ cup sake in pan and heat, stirring to dissolve ingredients. Let cool to room temperature.
Marinate salmon (or any firm fish or crustacean) in miso mixture for a minimum of a few hours.
Pre-heat broiler to high. Remove salmon from miso mix and scrape off excess marinade.
Broil under a high heat until fish is cooked to medium and glaze has melted onto the fish, two-to-three minutes, depending on the strength of your broiler. No need to turn the fish.
I failed to get my broiler hot enough. While the glaze eventually melted, the fish had cooked through by the time this had occured. It tasted fine, though missed the tender juiciness of a nice medium rare or medium piece of salmon.
Next up: miso glazed scallops, with some sesame snow peas would be pretty tasty, no? I may even spring for some sake.
Monday
Last Meals
A friend gave me a great book last week… My Last Supper: 50 Great Chefs and Their Final Meals / Portraits, Interviews, and Recipes.
My friend Keri works for Borders and actually got a visiting Tony Bourdain to sign a copy for me… well, for “Darly.” (His last meal? Roasted bone marrow on toast, with sea salt and parsley, prepared by Fergus Henderson, a London chef famous for “nose to tail” eating. Nothing wasted.)
Needless to say, it was a very thoughtful gift.
Most chefs picked fairly simple meals to go out on.
Got me thinking of course….
I wouldn’t mind a little rillette, a slice of pate and some good bread… a roast chicken with jus and roasted vegetables…. Some Morbiere and Roquefort cheese… and a modest dessert—perhaps a little flan.
I’d be fine with Black Box wines, perhaps a pinot grigio for the starters and chicken, morphing to their cabernet for the cheese course. A glass of Remy XO would be most welcome to settle my digestion, and nerves.
I’d eat it on a balcony overlooking some French countryside. Susan would be there, of course, and we’d have a little Django Reinhardt and some Louis Armstrong on in the background.
Wait, skip the Black Box. Fine though it is, if I’m eating in France I’m drinking whatever is local.
My friend Keri works for Borders and actually got a visiting Tony Bourdain to sign a copy for me… well, for “Darly.” (His last meal? Roasted bone marrow on toast, with sea salt and parsley, prepared by Fergus Henderson, a London chef famous for “nose to tail” eating. Nothing wasted.)
Needless to say, it was a very thoughtful gift.
Most chefs picked fairly simple meals to go out on.
Got me thinking of course….
I wouldn’t mind a little rillette, a slice of pate and some good bread… a roast chicken with jus and roasted vegetables…. Some Morbiere and Roquefort cheese… and a modest dessert—perhaps a little flan.
I’d be fine with Black Box wines, perhaps a pinot grigio for the starters and chicken, morphing to their cabernet for the cheese course. A glass of Remy XO would be most welcome to settle my digestion, and nerves.
I’d eat it on a balcony overlooking some French countryside. Susan would be there, of course, and we’d have a little Django Reinhardt and some Louis Armstrong on in the background.
Wait, skip the Black Box. Fine though it is, if I’m eating in France I’m drinking whatever is local.
Fish Soup
I enjoy spending a few hours cooking on the weekends. I often make enought food to get us through the bulk of the week. It often involves a drive to the Strip District to stock up on necessities like ground pork, fresh tofu, and Chinese mustard greens. Being an early riser, I used to go early, but our local NPR station changed the comedy news quiz What Do You Know in its Saturday rotation, moving it up to 11 AM, so unless I get a really early start, I miss it. (I was a contestant on this show about a year ago.) Last Saturday I went after lunch instead of early (bacon, egg, arugula sandwich on toasted whole wheat), and it was fine. Surprise: no store had run out of anything.
In fact, I was momentarily elated to see odd-looking eggs at one Asian market. They were decidedly not from a hen. I approached someone, asking gingerly, “Are those duck eggs?” Yes, I was told. $.99 each. Ever had a fried duck egg? It’s the most delicious thing on the planet. I eagerly grabbed a couple and approached the check out. “These have duck in them,” I was told. They’d been fertilized. I’d read somewhere that this was a delicacy in Vietnam, but one that I didn’t know how to, or care to, prepare. My dreams of fresh duck eggs will have to wait.
I did buy frozen duck legs from Lotus Foods for $4.10/#. Got 4 of them for $6 or $7. On Sunday I poached them, along with some pork belly, in some duck fat in a 285-degree oven for about 2 hours. Confit. A piece of the bacon went into a bean soup I had simmering simultaneously. The legs are now safely ensconced in the ‘fridge, tenderizing and gathering flavor while sealed under a layer of the duck fat that they poached in. Later I'll crisp them up in the oven and serve them with potatoes I'll fry in the duck fat. Or maybe some of the meat will find its way into a stir fry.
Lotus also sells fresh tofu for $.33 per piece (about 4 oz.). I usually buy two and stir fry it along with some ground pork ($1.69/#), ginger, shallot, green onion…. I pair this with sautéed Chinese mustard greens and some rice.
They also sell inexpensive whole fish, like croakers, for less than $3/#. It’s definitely cheaper than Wholey’s or Benkowitz. I bought frozen tilapia for less than $2/#. This made a classic southern French fish soup (soup au poisson) on Saturday night. Paired with a salad with goat cheese and walnuts, and followed by a little fruit salad and coconut butter cookies (yup, from Lotus), this and my two glasses of white Cotes du Rhone made a memorable supper.
Then: Battlestar Gallactica: Season 3. Bad Cylons! Lee really put on some weight. Also, I don’t like Starbuck with long hair.
Fish Soup au Poisson
Sauté a chopped carrot, onion and stalk of celery in olive oil until softened. Add some orange peel, chopped shallot, chopped garlic, S & P and basil. Sauté an additional minute. Add a couple of tablespoons of anise liqueur (I use Ricard Pastis- a fine aperitif on a warm day), stand back, and ignite. The alcohol will evaporate.
Add a small can of tomatoes and juice, some fish stock (I had made and frozen some from the cartilage of some skate I’d cooked recently) and a couple of scaled, gutted fish. Yup, the whole things. Inexpensive croakers work just as well as Black Sea Bass here. Conversely you could remove the fillets from the raw fish and add those (saving the skeletons for more stock).
Simmer gently, occasionally turning the fish, for 20 minutes, until the fish is cooked through.
Remove the fish, and remove the cooked meat from the fish and return this to the pan. Discard trimmings or use them to make a little quick fish stock.
Allow the soup to cool a bit, and then work the soup through a food mill to create a smooth fish broth. It’ll be rusty red.
Serve the soup with freshly toasted baguette croutons, some rouille (a garlicky homemade mayonnaise), and shredded gruyere cheese.
Rouille recipe
Blend together some roasted peeled red pepper with an egg yolk and a couple cloves of chopped garlic, some S & P, and a sprinkle of cayenne pepper. Slowly incorporate some olive oil, until a mayonnaise-like consistency is reached.
Rub the croutons with raw garlic, smear them with the rouille, and put these in the base of your bowls. Ladle hot soup over them, and then sprinkle the whole thing with the cheese.
In fact, I was momentarily elated to see odd-looking eggs at one Asian market. They were decidedly not from a hen. I approached someone, asking gingerly, “Are those duck eggs?” Yes, I was told. $.99 each. Ever had a fried duck egg? It’s the most delicious thing on the planet. I eagerly grabbed a couple and approached the check out. “These have duck in them,” I was told. They’d been fertilized. I’d read somewhere that this was a delicacy in Vietnam, but one that I didn’t know how to, or care to, prepare. My dreams of fresh duck eggs will have to wait.
I did buy frozen duck legs from Lotus Foods for $4.10/#. Got 4 of them for $6 or $7. On Sunday I poached them, along with some pork belly, in some duck fat in a 285-degree oven for about 2 hours. Confit. A piece of the bacon went into a bean soup I had simmering simultaneously. The legs are now safely ensconced in the ‘fridge, tenderizing and gathering flavor while sealed under a layer of the duck fat that they poached in. Later I'll crisp them up in the oven and serve them with potatoes I'll fry in the duck fat. Or maybe some of the meat will find its way into a stir fry.
Lotus also sells fresh tofu for $.33 per piece (about 4 oz.). I usually buy two and stir fry it along with some ground pork ($1.69/#), ginger, shallot, green onion…. I pair this with sautéed Chinese mustard greens and some rice.
They also sell inexpensive whole fish, like croakers, for less than $3/#. It’s definitely cheaper than Wholey’s or Benkowitz. I bought frozen tilapia for less than $2/#. This made a classic southern French fish soup (soup au poisson) on Saturday night. Paired with a salad with goat cheese and walnuts, and followed by a little fruit salad and coconut butter cookies (yup, from Lotus), this and my two glasses of white Cotes du Rhone made a memorable supper.
Then: Battlestar Gallactica: Season 3. Bad Cylons! Lee really put on some weight. Also, I don’t like Starbuck with long hair.
Fish Soup au Poisson
Sauté a chopped carrot, onion and stalk of celery in olive oil until softened. Add some orange peel, chopped shallot, chopped garlic, S & P and basil. Sauté an additional minute. Add a couple of tablespoons of anise liqueur (I use Ricard Pastis- a fine aperitif on a warm day), stand back, and ignite. The alcohol will evaporate.
Add a small can of tomatoes and juice, some fish stock (I had made and frozen some from the cartilage of some skate I’d cooked recently) and a couple of scaled, gutted fish. Yup, the whole things. Inexpensive croakers work just as well as Black Sea Bass here. Conversely you could remove the fillets from the raw fish and add those (saving the skeletons for more stock).
Simmer gently, occasionally turning the fish, for 20 minutes, until the fish is cooked through.
Remove the fish, and remove the cooked meat from the fish and return this to the pan. Discard trimmings or use them to make a little quick fish stock.
Allow the soup to cool a bit, and then work the soup through a food mill to create a smooth fish broth. It’ll be rusty red.
Serve the soup with freshly toasted baguette croutons, some rouille (a garlicky homemade mayonnaise), and shredded gruyere cheese.
Rouille recipe
Blend together some roasted peeled red pepper with an egg yolk and a couple cloves of chopped garlic, some S & P, and a sprinkle of cayenne pepper. Slowly incorporate some olive oil, until a mayonnaise-like consistency is reached.
Rub the croutons with raw garlic, smear them with the rouille, and put these in the base of your bowls. Ladle hot soup over them, and then sprinkle the whole thing with the cheese.
Thursday
Easy Thai
Last night I made a Thai vegetable curry. The bulk of the flavor came from a can of red curry paste which I’d picked up at my handy local Asian market. It’s less “spicy hot” than the green variety. A couple of tablespoons of coconut cream, a splash of fish sauce, a bit of ginger and some cilantro rounded out the flavors. I served it on jasmine rice from Trader Joes.
Recipe for Thai red curry vegetable curry
Steam a small head of broccoli for 2-3 minutes. Separate florets and set aside.
Saute some diced carrot, celery and onion. Add, if you like, some diced red and green pepper, and sauté until they give up their moisture and reduce, about 10-15 minutes. Add some chopped garlic, chopped shallot and grated ginger and sauté for an additional minute.
Add a couple of tablespoons of coconut cream and stir. Add a tablespoon of red curry paste and stir. Add a cup of chicken stock and stir to combine flavors. Add a tablespoon of fish sauce and some chopped cilantro.
Add to this any vegetables or meat. I used broccoli, frozen peas and baby bok choy leaves—but you could just as easily use spinach, eggplant and snow peas.
Simmer for 15 minutes to blend flavors.
Serve over rice.
One of these days I'll get around to making my own red and green curry pastes. But I found the flavor of the canned variety to be quite fresh and vibrant.
Recipe for Thai red curry vegetable curry
Steam a small head of broccoli for 2-3 minutes. Separate florets and set aside.
Saute some diced carrot, celery and onion. Add, if you like, some diced red and green pepper, and sauté until they give up their moisture and reduce, about 10-15 minutes. Add some chopped garlic, chopped shallot and grated ginger and sauté for an additional minute.
Add a couple of tablespoons of coconut cream and stir. Add a tablespoon of red curry paste and stir. Add a cup of chicken stock and stir to combine flavors. Add a tablespoon of fish sauce and some chopped cilantro.
Add to this any vegetables or meat. I used broccoli, frozen peas and baby bok choy leaves—but you could just as easily use spinach, eggplant and snow peas.
Simmer for 15 minutes to blend flavors.
Serve over rice.
One of these days I'll get around to making my own red and green curry pastes. But I found the flavor of the canned variety to be quite fresh and vibrant.
Wednesday
Persimmon and Goat Cheese
A very ripe persimmon, peeled and diced, paired beautifully with some generic goats cheese from Trader Joe's for a late evening snack recently.
Persimmon is very sweet and juicy when ripe. They're delicious when underripe too, though drier. At a young age, they're a great addition to fruit salad, as they hold their cut shape well.
They're often square in shape. To prepare them I cut off the skin in four pieces, running my knife down each side. The resulting naked cube is easy to dice, or, if very ripe, cut into manageable pieces.
My snack was fine. Toasted whole wheat bread, onto which I'd smeal a little goats cheese which I'd dribbled with olive oil and pepper. Then I'd add a small piece of persimmon to it. I added a few olives, which I'd rinsed then marinated in olive oil, lemon zest, a sprinkle of thyme and pepper flakes, and a handful of walnuts.
This would make a fine updated "brushetta" or appetizer plate for guests.
Tuesday
Waiter!
Though I’m currently out of the restaurant business, I am pretty sure I have not waited on my last table yet. I have always maintained that of all my jobs—waiter, teacher, salesman, account rep, development person at a museum—waiting is the one that came most naturally to me. It allowed me to combine my love of food and wine with my love of entertaining.
I was a very good waiter, in most areas; I had my weaknesses too.
What makes a good waiter?
A good waiter knows the menu inside and out. He knows the ingredients of a dish and can, if asked, help a customer plan a fine meal. He knows enough about wine to ask for help from appropriate managers, if needed, or make good recommendations based on table interaction.
A successful waiter will also up sell a little. Not a lot. Trying to move someone from a $28 bottle of wine to an $89 bottle of wine is not only difficult, but folly. But getting a table to add a $13 appetizer to their salads and entrees is relatively easy:
“The chef has a gift with scallops. Our scallop appetizer has two sweet, fat scallops, served with a crispy potato crust and a little smoked ham shank and wilted greens—a great southern-inspired dish. We could easily split these onto two plates for you. Would you care for an order?”
By making good suggestions, you show your knowledge and concern, and build a trust with your customers.
A good waiter can read a table. While not always correct—it certainly pays to keep an open mind and not be too judgmental—a good waiter does have this skill and almost innate sense of what a table expects in waiter interaction and food and wine choices. A good waiter anticipates diners' needs.
Timing. Pacing the meal. Keeping glasses and cups filled. Keeping guests moving without them feeling rushed.
Not saying too much (but being earnest and confident when you say it). Not using “waiter talk:” “A pleasure.” “But of course.” Waiter talk sounds so phony. In some ways, talking when spoken to, when asked a question. But definitely not bombarding your guests with your deep knowledge of food and drink.
Sidework. Not one of my strengths. But pitching in and doing the dirty work—polishing glasses and silverware, keeping the place neat and tidy.
The job itself is not all glamour. The timing—especially if you have a family—is awkward: you work when others (including your family, usually) don’t. A shift often starts at 4:00 PM but doesn't really get going until 7:00 PM.
While the money can be very good, occasionally intoxicating, waiters do not get benefits that many of us take for granted, like health insurance or paid vacations. Some waiters work for restaurants or restaurant groups that are large enough to offer them the opportunity to buy-in to a health plan. But taking time off to enjoy your family, who you often don’t see because of your schedule, can be painful and a real hit to the wallet.
In better restaurants, where the majority of tips are on credit cards, wait staff often pay a percentage of these back to the employer to cover the fees charged the restaurant. Since these tips are on paper, the wise waiter declares them to the IRS. He also makes quarterly estimated payments to the IRS, because, being paid $2-something per hour, he can’t cover his contributions to our nation’s government out of his paycheck. He’ll almost certainly owe quite a bit come April 15th.
Waiters love cash tips.
Waiters tip anywhere from 20-30% to their colleagues—bartenders who make their drinks, busboys who clear their tables and assist in the dining room, and hosts who seat their guests.
I generally went straight home after shifts. Many colleagues, with tips burning holes in pockets, blew off steam in bars. I was more prone to do this when younger, with fewer responsibilities. But falling into that lifestyle (of a sort) is a vocational danger.
I enjoyed interacting with the “back of the house.” I took a genuine interest in some of the more interesting cooks. As a result, they were more likely to offer me a couple of pints of duck fat for my own confit, or perhaps a dabble of demi-glace for my Christmas roast.
I was fortunate to work in restaurants that either had great reputations, offered a high earning potential, or both. Here in Pittsburgh, that included:
Chi-Chi’s (1982-1984)
The Carlton (1984)
The Park Schenley (1984-1985)
Le Petit Café (1985-1986; 1988-1989)
Café Giovanni (1990-1991)
Hotlicks (bartender) (1992-1993)
Here I finished my Master’s degree and departed to travel and teach in the Arabian Gulf for four years. Following that I entered the world of graphic design and advertising for six years. Then:
Eleven (2005-2007)
Café Zao (2005)
Pittsburgh Rare (2004-2005)
Chi-Chi’s had a very strict order of drilled service steps which actually stood me in good stead, and gave me a good foundation.
Thankfully, the Carlton was hiring based on personality, not experience. Though I had a lot to learn, and was ultimately released after about six months there, my experience there helped me stay at that level of fine-dining restaurant.
The Park Schenley, a Pittsburgh icon, was on its last, long legs by the time I arrived there. Very old school—tuxedo’d waiters, many with thick European accents; tableside food preparation—it was fascinating.
Dollar for dollar, the steak house at the Sheraton Hotel, Pittsburgh Rare, is where I made more money than any other restaurant. There was very little tip-out, and a captive audience of diners for a damn fine $30 steak. It wasn’t the most creative restaurant I worked in, but the manager liked me and darn if I wasn’t pulling in up to a grand a week—more at times. That goes a long way in Pittsburgh.
I was a very good waiter, in most areas; I had my weaknesses too.
What makes a good waiter?
A good waiter knows the menu inside and out. He knows the ingredients of a dish and can, if asked, help a customer plan a fine meal. He knows enough about wine to ask for help from appropriate managers, if needed, or make good recommendations based on table interaction.
A successful waiter will also up sell a little. Not a lot. Trying to move someone from a $28 bottle of wine to an $89 bottle of wine is not only difficult, but folly. But getting a table to add a $13 appetizer to their salads and entrees is relatively easy:
“The chef has a gift with scallops. Our scallop appetizer has two sweet, fat scallops, served with a crispy potato crust and a little smoked ham shank and wilted greens—a great southern-inspired dish. We could easily split these onto two plates for you. Would you care for an order?”
By making good suggestions, you show your knowledge and concern, and build a trust with your customers.
A good waiter can read a table. While not always correct—it certainly pays to keep an open mind and not be too judgmental—a good waiter does have this skill and almost innate sense of what a table expects in waiter interaction and food and wine choices. A good waiter anticipates diners' needs.
Timing. Pacing the meal. Keeping glasses and cups filled. Keeping guests moving without them feeling rushed.
Not saying too much (but being earnest and confident when you say it). Not using “waiter talk:” “A pleasure.” “But of course.” Waiter talk sounds so phony. In some ways, talking when spoken to, when asked a question. But definitely not bombarding your guests with your deep knowledge of food and drink.
Sidework. Not one of my strengths. But pitching in and doing the dirty work—polishing glasses and silverware, keeping the place neat and tidy.
The job itself is not all glamour. The timing—especially if you have a family—is awkward: you work when others (including your family, usually) don’t. A shift often starts at 4:00 PM but doesn't really get going until 7:00 PM.
While the money can be very good, occasionally intoxicating, waiters do not get benefits that many of us take for granted, like health insurance or paid vacations. Some waiters work for restaurants or restaurant groups that are large enough to offer them the opportunity to buy-in to a health plan. But taking time off to enjoy your family, who you often don’t see because of your schedule, can be painful and a real hit to the wallet.
In better restaurants, where the majority of tips are on credit cards, wait staff often pay a percentage of these back to the employer to cover the fees charged the restaurant. Since these tips are on paper, the wise waiter declares them to the IRS. He also makes quarterly estimated payments to the IRS, because, being paid $2-something per hour, he can’t cover his contributions to our nation’s government out of his paycheck. He’ll almost certainly owe quite a bit come April 15th.
Waiters love cash tips.
Waiters tip anywhere from 20-30% to their colleagues—bartenders who make their drinks, busboys who clear their tables and assist in the dining room, and hosts who seat their guests.
I generally went straight home after shifts. Many colleagues, with tips burning holes in pockets, blew off steam in bars. I was more prone to do this when younger, with fewer responsibilities. But falling into that lifestyle (of a sort) is a vocational danger.
I enjoyed interacting with the “back of the house.” I took a genuine interest in some of the more interesting cooks. As a result, they were more likely to offer me a couple of pints of duck fat for my own confit, or perhaps a dabble of demi-glace for my Christmas roast.
I was fortunate to work in restaurants that either had great reputations, offered a high earning potential, or both. Here in Pittsburgh, that included:
Chi-Chi’s (1982-1984)
The Carlton (1984)
The Park Schenley (1984-1985)
Le Petit Café (1985-1986; 1988-1989)
Café Giovanni (1990-1991)
Hotlicks (bartender) (1992-1993)
Here I finished my Master’s degree and departed to travel and teach in the Arabian Gulf for four years. Following that I entered the world of graphic design and advertising for six years. Then:
Eleven (2005-2007)
Café Zao (2005)
Pittsburgh Rare (2004-2005)
Chi-Chi’s had a very strict order of drilled service steps which actually stood me in good stead, and gave me a good foundation.
Thankfully, the Carlton was hiring based on personality, not experience. Though I had a lot to learn, and was ultimately released after about six months there, my experience there helped me stay at that level of fine-dining restaurant.
The Park Schenley, a Pittsburgh icon, was on its last, long legs by the time I arrived there. Very old school—tuxedo’d waiters, many with thick European accents; tableside food preparation—it was fascinating.
Dollar for dollar, the steak house at the Sheraton Hotel, Pittsburgh Rare, is where I made more money than any other restaurant. There was very little tip-out, and a captive audience of diners for a damn fine $30 steak. It wasn’t the most creative restaurant I worked in, but the manager liked me and darn if I wasn’t pulling in up to a grand a week—more at times. That goes a long way in Pittsburgh.
But Eleven remains the pinnacle. It’s a hugely ambitious undertaking. It’s very large but served consistently excellent modern American Cuisine.
I suppose the main drawback of service for me is, having had somewhat responsible positions in the community, and knowing lots of well-educated, connective movers and shakers, I always felt a little awkward seeing my peers in the restaurant while I was working, with me in a clearly servile position. I sense they feel—heck, I feel it myself—that I’ve taken a huge step back.
Still, there are better ways to make a living, but much worse ones too.
I suppose the main drawback of service for me is, having had somewhat responsible positions in the community, and knowing lots of well-educated, connective movers and shakers, I always felt a little awkward seeing my peers in the restaurant while I was working, with me in a clearly servile position. I sense they feel—heck, I feel it myself—that I’ve taken a huge step back.
Still, there are better ways to make a living, but much worse ones too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
