For the past few weeks, our tiny cooking space has become a test kitchen for summer house and galley menus. Our adventure in Maine is definitely going to be a wild fast ride, and if I’m not planning ahead, I may fall into the pattern of weekly menu repeats. I loved “taco Tuesdays” as a kid, but looking back, I am sure that my mother groaned every time she picked up another package of ground beef and taco mix.
This morning, as I turned apple cider doughnuts over in their bubbling hot oil, I thought, “well, I’m definitely not doing this for my health.” Last summer I brought together my favorite doughnut recipes to form one easy and reliable favorite. I knew the recipe by heart and was able to easily adjust the liquid to flour ratio for damp days. I could also whip them out in less time than it took me to gather ingredients for the new recipe this morning.
While scrambling to layer paper towels over a cooling rack, dough balls quickly browning to a questionable darkness, I had to ask the question, “why am I making more work for myself?” Businesses run well when they have systems. A static menu that is driven by standardized recipes reinforces consistent production, ordering, and costing standards (not to mention profitability, or at the very least knowing if you are making or losing money). When working with our small business clients in any industry, I remember constantly having to revisit the owner’s desire to reinvent the wheel every day. We worked hard to establish procedures and protocols, and then trained employees to follow them. It was usually the owner who was the first to break the rules.
One particular client came to me with her frustrations over the new system of operations we had established. “I went into business for myself so that I wouldn’t have a boss telling me what to do anymore. Now I have to answer to that stupid manual. It heckles me from the shelf every time I try to do something differently.” I recall how frustrating it was for me to work with owners who didn’t understand the importance of consistency. But it was also frustrating for them because they wanted the freedom to change things on a whim. What we often found, however, was that margins were sliver thin or non-existent, customers were confused by the inconsistencies, and employees were not held accountable for their actions.
Today, I sit on the other side of the desk, but I don’t have my own small business consultant. Instead, I have a good and responsible little business woman on one shoulder, suit neatly pressed, arm waving an organized clip board from which she nags me about accounting and standardization. On the other shoulder, there is a little chef with flour on her face and an excited look of inspiration, urging me to prepare new dishes with whatever ingredients are fresh, regardless of cost or what the consumers want.
The concept of the “fresh sheet” is grounded in the commitment to prepare the freshest and most locally available ingredients for diners. Some menus are printed daily (or written on a chalkboard, verbalized by ambitious servers, or posted online), while others change weekly, monthly, or seasonally. While a fresh sheet supports the culture of the Slow Food Movement, current trends might be about more than what was just harvested at the farm or hooked on the fishing boat. Us cooks get all excited over a new immersion circulator, a Paco Jet, or dehydrator. We ask for more details when hearing about the latest and greatest way Chef Sundstrom or some other local iconic chef is preparing ramps. And when a new chef begins gaining accolades, the rest of us discuss their menu, our personal dining experiences, and their overall fit in the Seattle food scene. This is what makes cooking exciting and fun, being able to direct the daily menu to follow (or lead) the flow of the whole food scene, minute by minute, day by day.
In other words, this is why we’re cooks, or at least what makes being a cook so exciting. At the same time, every cook, whether they are on prep or running the line, has to be a manager. A manager of ingredients, of time, of their space and station, and their future. But many of us also fancy ourselves as artists, not held down by the rigid structure of a standardized recipe.
But bad things can happen when a boss tells their employees to “get creative”. One particular example stands out in my mind. When we were just getting started, the same client who was opposed to having an operations manual, invited me in for lunch at her cafe. I had already eaten, but came in for coffee, dessert, and a glimpse of how service was going. I ordered a piece of chocolate fudge cake. As part of training her new employees, my client had told her team to “have fun, get creative.” My cake arrived garnished with nicoise olives and basil.
So what is my personal culinary threshold? Writing a new menu each week costs me hours in brainstorming, planning, testing, and ordering. Then there is also execution time, as it takes so much longer to cook something for the first, second, third times as it does the hundredth time. But that hundredth time, that exhausting, “we’re having this again?” feeling that can be so much worse for the thrill-seeking cook than the consumer.
I believe what it comes down to is what we’re willing to do for love. I love to cook. Period. New menu items, however exciting, are more about honing new skills than seeking new love. The love is there with dishes new and old, it isn't dependent on being entertained by a new menu. At the same time, this research feels good, like my favorite thing to do. And yet it is my job. As soon as it begins to feel like work, I'll have to reconsider the process.
No comments:
Post a Comment