If you're a Chef who wants to keep his job...

Don't allow yourself to get sick - ever. Getting sick is the worst thing you could ever do to your "loyal" employer. You have the sniffles? A fever? You've lost a limb to accidental amputation? That doesn't matter one bit - if you like your job, get your ass in to work right now! How dare you get sick! What the hell were you thinking anyways?! Getting sick on company time... what kind of employee are you?!
Unfortunately, this attitude exists among some restaurant owners, and getting punished for being sick is a likely possibility. If you work as a key employee for a busy restaurant, you cannot afford to be sick because your ass will get replaced in a New York second. Don't believe me? Listen to this story...
I had been working for a year at a nice nieghborhood Italian joint where we tossed our own pizzas, broiled some great steaks and ran authentic weekly specials such as Osso Bucco and Cartoccio Tutta Mare. I ended up as the Executive Chef very quickly and decided to do whatever it took to build my name up. Unfortunately, the Owner had plans of her own and sold the place to a shady Armenian guy who made it his life's mission to make my life pure hell. First thing he did was to fire my entire kitchen staff under the guise of bringing in more experienced cooks from Italy. Guess what? They never showed up. Problems with thier geren cards I guess (if they even existed in the first place). In the meantime, my workload increased from a mere 50 hours per week to having to fucking live there. Six days a week, I was working from 9:00 a.m. to 2:00 a.m. - alone!!! Needless to say, it got old really fast. Where were these fucking Italian OTB's?! Every time I asked, the new owner had a new excuse but kept assuring me that they were on their way. So I stuck it out... Three months of this bullshit and my life had become an unhappy blur. Here I was, a first time Executive Chef trying so very hard to build a reputation and I had everything working against me because of this jackass's greed. He was literally working me to death. I was expected to do everything! And I gladly did!!!
The point I almost gave up was when he decided to change the concept of the restaurant from Italian to Armenian cuisine. Nothing against Armenian cuisine but WTF?! Seriously?! Now I was expected to spend 90% of my life making schwerma and kebobs?! Again, not putting down Armenian food but... WTF?!
I wasn't the only person who felt strongly about the menu change. Within a week, our customers were falling off faster than Jay Leno's Facebook fans. Regulars who had been coming to us for years to get the same calamari friti, gravy, minestrone and brick-oven fired pizzettas were all the sudden told that they couldn't get those items anymore. However, the eggplant and cous-cous appetizer was good... Bye-bye business! We'll miss you!
Still, I stuck it out though. Why? Hell... I'm not even sure. I hated my job by that point, hated the menu and was tired of being forced to work 90 hours a week. Now, here's the REAL point of my story folks. Do you know what happens when you work an entire kitchen by yourself for 90 hours per week for the duration of more than half a year? First off, you start to look like one of those experimental lab monkeys they pump full of heroin and cancer cells. Second, you start to get punchy... real punchy. I had more than my share of fights during that time and started to "self-medicate" just to appear normal. I lost more than 20 pounds during my last month working there and eveloped a very nasty chest cold. I ignored it the best I could for a few weeks until it literally almost killed me. The week before I had to be taken away to emergency was a complete and total blur. For more than four days, my fever was more than 102 degrees and eventually I passed out on the line. Yep, right during the middle of a busy dinner service I got dizzy, tried to grab the counter and went down like a ton of bricks. I don't remember anything between passing out and being in a hospital bed with tubes in me but when all was said and done, I was severely dehydrated, my electrolytes were completely out of whack, my insulin levels would have made a diabetic cringe and I turned out to have bronchitis and pneumonia. I was in horrible shape. Overworked, malnourished and generally exhausted, the only thing I could worry about when becoming coherrant again was whether or not I still had my job.
I called my boss and told him the Doctor had informed me that I would be out of work for a month but I would be back in a week, and he told me not to worry about it. He said that he would put on the Chef's jacket and work through it while I got better and I believed him. I did show up in less than a week (against Doctor's orders) to find that a new face was in the kitchen. I had been replaced...

That entire experience was a real wake-up call for me about employer loyalty. I had compromised my health for this jackass who couldn't even wait a week while I was busy trying not to die. After that whole experience, I took a year off cooking because I was so sick and tired of the bullshit I'd experienced, but I eventualy did return to cooking. I returned to cooking for some people who actually did treat me like a human and not a worn-out machine so I still have faith in humanity. I recieved some good news two months after I was replaced though - the shady Armenian owner who had replaced me went bankrupt and had to not only close the doors, but skip town because of the creditors who were on his ass. When I heard that news, I lifted a glass of pinot to toast the possibility that he might have had developed a terrible chest cold when he was chased out of town. If so, I'd like to think I gave it to him... prick.

One of the earliest culinary memories I have was of vacationing with my parents in the little beach town of Cambria, CA. Our vacation house was right on the beach, and every morning I would wait for the low-tide so I could go exploring all the really cool tide pools. I always found every sort of sea lifeimaginable from starfish, sea urchins and even an abalone every now and then, but one morning I stumbled upon what would from then on out be referred to as "Mussel Rock." Mussel Rock was only accessable during the lowest of low tides, and was literally covered with beautiful pacific black mussels. I found them interesting at the time, though I really had no idea that they could in fact be eaten as food until I took a couple to show my Dad. He asked if there were more and if so, how many. I told him that there were tons and he proceeded to ask me to go gather about ten of the biggest ones I could find so I grabbed my beach-combing bucket and pocket-knife and went back out. When I got back to the house about twenty minutes later, my Dad was in the kitchen chopping garlic. He had a pan already set up to cook and then he showed me how to clean the mussels. I asked him what we were going to do with them, and he said "We're going to eat them for breakfast." Intrigued that you could even eat those weird-looking things, I decided to watch and learn. After they were cleaned, Dad sauteed them with some garlic, some white wine and a little bit of butter. I watched in amazement as one by one, they started to open. When they were fully cooked, my Dad offered me one and I apprehensively popped it into my mouth thinking it was going to be disgusting. Instantly, my tastebuds were hit with what I can only describe as what the flavor of the ocean might be plus butter! It reminded me of eating garlic bread-sticks while being sprayed in the face with a crashing wave. It was an incredible new flavor I'd never had before and Dad and I sat there that morning and ate the whole batch while watching the tide roll in. Every summer after that, I would make the early morning trip out to Mussel Rock almost every day to catch breakfast, and it quicklyturned into a family tradition of eating fresh Pacific mussels for breakfast. Unfortunately, Cambria is now a protected beach and taking ANY form of wildlife from the ocean is considered poaching and punishable by severe fines. I respect the new rules, but I miss the days when I could crawl out onto a wet rock and grab the most delicious breakfast I can ever remember. I would say that those mussels with my Dad were the spark that got me interested in food and cooking. That one little shellfish changed my life forever...


1 lb Live Greenlip or Pacific Mussels
1/2 cup White Wine
1 tbsp. olive oil
2 tbsp. butter
1 cup Chicken or Vegetable Stock
6 Cloves Minced Garlic
1/4 cup Finely Diced White Onion or Shallots
1/4 cup Chopped Green Onion or Leeks
2 tbsp. Fresh Basil
1 tsp. Saffron Threads (appr. 30 threads)
1/2 tsp. Celery Salt

Yields four servings

Clean the mussels thoroughly using a hard-bristled brush until the "beard" is removed. Discard any mussels that are dead or broken. Next, Saute the garlic and white onions or shallots in the olive oil until golden and deglaze the pan with the white wine and stock. Add the green onion or leeks and reduce by half. Add the mussels, celery salt, saffron and fresh basil and cook covered until the mussels start to open (about 3-5 minutes). Remove the cooked mussels to a plate and whisk the butter into the cooking liquid. Pour over the mussels and serve immediately with fresh-baked bread.

The Food Network - Don't believe the hype...

Another stain on the Cutting Board...

Cooking is nothing like what you see on TV.
Seriously, nothing. Most people that see cooking on TV think how fun it would be to become a Chef, but they have no idea the amount of physical effort, insane scheduling, stress and lack of loyalty are involved. Also, there's really no money to speak of unless you're extremely lucky and in the right place at the right time. Do you realize that they average Chef works on salary for maybe $35,000 a year... and culinary school costs close to $48,000? Not just that, but most salaried Chefs work more than 60 hours per week and never have weekends or holidays off. That's Chefs folks - not cooks. Cooks can expect to make about $11.00 and hour and again, no weekends or holidays. Anyone who's ever worked a busy shift can tell you that it's not always fun. Orders start flying in faster than you can think, your coworkers can get irritable (and sometimes dangerous), oil-burns, cuts, steam-burns and bitchy customers are all a possibility and the list goes on...
On TV, you see sparkly-eyed spotless Chefs happily making one dish in an entire hour but in reality, a working Chef is on the verge of an adrenaline-fueled heart attack, is covered in kitchen spatter, reeks of garlic, is working on 10 dishes every minute and most likely holds a certain unspoken contempt for his customers. All this to try and pay off that student loan and still have enough left over for booze.
I'm not putting down every Chef you see on TV but lately The Food Network has been responsible for giving some complete hacks their own "cooking" shows. I stopped championing The Food Network  after the introduction of Rachel Ray. Rachel Ray a Chef?! The guy frying your frozen calamari at Red Lobster has more credentials than her! Here's a woman who won a Food Network contest that dealt more with how the contestants looked on camera than their actual cooking ability. Now, she's teaching America that French's Fried Onions and canned corn are quality ingredients when dressing up that box of instant mashed potatoes... and she's considered a Chef?! On The Food Network?! I miss Mario Batali. I miss Ming Tsai. I miss Wolfgang Puck. Hell... I even miss Emeril Lagasse. Those guys started out in the trenches and worked their way up with the intent to teach America how to make good food. Now we've got Sandra Lee showing us how to make "Kwanzaa Cake." Where the Hell did she even come from? Which Producer is she related to?
Okay... Let me calm down here... Sorry. I didn't mean to go on such a tirade but it really bothers me that a television network dedicated to the culinary arts has become so convoluted with irrelevant content. It bothers me that many people who think that being a Chef would be "fun," have never really considered just how hard it can be.
All my ranting aside, I did enjoy the last decade working as a Chef and feel that I gained a lot. I honed a skill that some would say make me an artist, I learned how to manage in unmanageable situations, I think-banked enough stories to write a book and learned what works and what doesn't. I still enjoy cooking (though catering seems to be much kinder to me), and it's nice to not only be able to focus on my writing but go to school and have a day off as well. One of these days Chef Delaney will again be "running the wheel" but in the meantime, I salute those still in the trenches. They should be the ones making Rachel Ray's salary...

Some of the Crazy Characters I've Worked With (Part 1)

I once heard a very stupid yet funny joke. A friend and I were talking about Disneyland one day and he breaks out with "My Grandma used to work for Disney but she got fired." Of course, I had to ask the obvious - "Dude, why'd she get fired?" Without even breaking a smile, he responds, "She was fucking Goofy."

Okay, I fell for that... But it did get me thinking about all the various goofy, memorable and balls-out insane people I've worked with through the last decade - and there've been some real nut-jobs! Thankfully, I came through with most of my sanity intact, but every now and then, I wonder what became of these people...

"Omar" - Omar was the first cook I ever saw break a sweat. Here I was, a green stick in a Mexican kitchen thinking I was the shit because I'd been promoted to the fryer. Sure, I was in charge of making the chips, chimichangas and chicken strips for the kids meals but I was still making only 20 cents above minimum wage. It didn't matter though... I had been enpowered. I had graduated from slicing tomatoes to actually working "on the line". I was a cook. One particular friday night, the two saute cooks called in sick so it was just myself, the expoditer and Omar. I'd never even worked with Omar before and didn't know what to expect, but by the end of the night, I'd learned a new level of panic.

Omar was one of those crazy Mexican cooks that had the energy level of a chihuahua on meth (probably because of all the meth he did), and would drive everyone in the kitchen crazy because of his inability to settle down. I swear, he used to do aerobics on his smoke break to "keep the flow going". The guy was certifiable 51/50, and to me he was a God. Omar had what many of us would consider a "helium" voice which only made his frenetic attitude even more disturbing, and that particular night he aksed me in his Mickey Mouse Mexican, "Whetto, you'se ready fo sum dat shit?! Is gonna gets CRAZY up in hur!!! Grab dose purty ankles an holds da TIGHTS!"

Did I mention that there is a little known language spoken by only a few known as Omar-nese?

Never mind the fact that I couldn't understand every third word out of his mouth - he was the knowledgable one in the kitchen and I had no choice but to try my hardest to follow his command.

"WHETTO! FUR ME SUM DAT PAINYO POPS WIT DAT CHIGGIDY STRIPS! LAY UPPAN DAT TORTY WIT DA GUAC!!!"

 - Translation: "Excuse me Caucasian friend of mine. Would you be so kind as to deep-fry two orders of the breaded chili rellanos alongside the order of chicken strips that you are currently preparing? It's ever so much appreciated. Also, I'm not sure if you're aware but the guest on table six would like a ration of guacamole with their quesadilla." -

Even with Omar's speech impediment, we got throught that and many other shifts together, and one of the main reasons I have never forgotten him is because he was the first person to work with me. He knew I was wet behind the ears, but he went out of his way to teach me... even though I couldn't understand a damned word he said half the time. I'll always remember Omar and I still have tremendous respect for the guy. Wherever he is, I'm sure he's confusing the hell out of the other "whetto" cooks, but I'm sure he's still a stand-up guy.

"Danny the Gay Saute" - Sometimes, you'll run across an enigma wrapped in a riddle, and Danny the Gay Saute had all of us scratching our heads in bewilderment. Here was a guy who came in to his interview and basically TOLD the Chef that he had the job because nobody was as good as him, was more pierced and tattooed than all of the kitchen staff put together and maybe weighed 120 lbs when wet. When he left after his interview, we all gathered around the Chef to laugh about what we'd overheard when the Chef dropped a bomb on us. "I'm going to give him a chance. Worst case scenario, he doesn't work out and we have a good laugh."

The next Monday, Danny showed up wearing (I can't make this up) a fishnet sleeveless shirt and cutoff shorts. His excuse? His older brother had burned all his clothes when he told the family about his boyfriend. Well, he started training on the line during lunch and it turned out he was really good. He didn't miss any orders, all his food was cooked perfectly and he was even able to help out the Sous-Chef on the broiler. This little freaky guy was REALLY good! Mind you, this was one of Fresno's busiest restaurants at the time and it wasn't rare for a new cook to give up and quit on their first day but Danny the Gay Saute was loving every minute of it! Not just that, but he was frustrating the other cooks because he was trying to have a conversation with them...

"So Nacho, how many kids you got?"

Nacho - "Dude shut up! I'm trying to concentrate!"

"Sorry man. HEY! Are you going to to the fair this year?"

Nacho - "Seriously man! Shut the fuck up before I cut you!"

Danny just kept on going like the Energizer Bunny on crack and took every bit of abuse the rest of the kitchen heaped on him... for months. Eventually, the cooks warmed up to him and accepted him into their family. But one fateful day, the Sous-Chef overheard him talking to a busboy about his new "Prince Albert". Those of you who don't know what a Prince Albert is and still want to be able to sleep tonight, leave now! Seriously!

A Prince Albert is a specific piercing that involves a metal ring through the urethra of a male's genetalia - basically an earing in the tip of the dick... ouch. Needless to say, the Sous-Chef (who turned out to be a closet homosexual himself) was very intrigued and asked to see Danny's "Prince Albert". Danny, being the classy guy that he was, obliged... the whole freaking kitchen staff. He unabashedly dropped trou and showed us his piercing, plus cock, plus balls, plus a very strange tattoo of the words "Mr. Belvedere". Mr. Belvedere?! Wow...

Never mind the fact that this crazy little pierced-up and tattooed freak of nature had no quelms showing off his cock-piercing, but allow me to say this without prejudice - his dick was the smallest any of us had ever seen! Seriously! Don't take that the wrong way because I know that a man's anatomy doesn't define him but DAMNED!!! This guys dick was absolutely tiny! I'm not kidding. The jewelry involved was larger. It had to be an inch if that and I am not kidding. I'm not one to rag about the size of a man's penis but he opened himself up. If I were that small (and who says I'm not?), I'd keep my pants on.

Danny the Gay Saute is still talked about to this day and the last I heard he was managing a vegan restaurant in Seattle. Wherever he is, I'm sure he's still working circles around the other cooks and making them feel much better about themselves...

"Bren" Bren, Bren, Bren... What can I say about her. Bren was one of the sexiest and most volitile servers I've ever worked with and even though she's no longer in the restaurant industry, her legacy lives on. Bren and I worked together for a year at a dying Italian joint and we had our fun. She wasn't the best server around but she was good for a lunch shift. Her problem was that she would get heated and take it out on whoever was nearby. I remember one lunch shift where she took out her checkbook and wrote a check for the entire amount of the bill for a bitchy old lady who forgot to tip. She presented the check to the lady and said "I'm paying for your lunch today but this check will probably bounce because nobody here ever fucking tips me on this fucking shift!" - WOW!

Yes, I was in love... but scared shitless. I actually tried to date Bren but it was obvious from the get-go that we were too different. I liked her but she was really scary. Also, I was too busy trying to build up my reputation and she was busy demolishing hers.

Needless to say, we both moved on to seperate restaurants and the next I heard of her was when she earned her namesake. She was working at a popular sports bar and grill and apparently they weren't treating her right (which means she wasn't making $30 an hour with weekends off). She waited until they had not one, but TWO banquets going at the same time on a busy Saturday night before she executed her exit plan. Ten minutes before both banquets were supposed to be served, she went into the kitchen and tipped over three speed-racks full of the banquet food, removed her apron and stormed out. Considering that each speed-rack held about $500 worth of food, and the labor to execute those banquets was probably around $700, and the percieved incompetency of the restaurant not being able to deleiver was easily in the thousands, Bren quickly became famous - and unemplyable.

To this day, whenever someone screws up royally, it's known as pulling a Bren.