Leaves change, brioche remains

These last few days have been grey and gloomy, feeling very much like fall. The restaurant is closed on Monday and Tuesday, so I took yesterday to drive upstate and see the leaves. It's been 10 years since I lived on the east coast for all of a split second, and it was this same time of year that I moved to Boston, but I was different then and wasn't very interested in, or appreciative of the beauty and peace in simple things like the changing of leaves, or the ripple of wind on the river.

I'm happy that life moves forward, even if we dig in our heels and are reluctant to adapt to its speed. I'm grateful that nothing lasts forever, even though sometimes I don't recognize it in the moment. There are times when I am compelled to beat myself up for the mistakes of my youth, for not taking advantage of opportunities that were handed to me, for missing out on what was right in front of me. I was (am) a stubborn and strong-willed person, and I have often struggled to find a way to use that to my advantage, rather than allowing it to sabotage my success. These days, the moments of stubbornness and strong-will are often balanced with deep contemplation, hours of analyzation and pondering the merits of one choice versus another. I have found a calm in the kitchen amidst the hectic chaos. I have found a purpose and direction that I always knew was within me, but did not find the patience to steer in the right direction.

Baking has become a metaphor for me. It is dynamic in practice and serves to remind me that nothing is permanent. There are always highs and lows, burned forearms, sliced fingers, emotional and physical breakdowns, an ongoing and endless process that can make you feel overwhelmed with joy one moment and completely despondent the next. You can't count on any two days, even any two hours to be the same.
It takes a strong dedication and perseverance to be a pastry chef. To be anything, really, but to be a pastry chef takes intense dedication so as not to be totally discouraged by the mistakes. The rewards are beautiful and many.
You find your every sense being stimulated all day long- the vibrant, deep, contrasting colors of seasonal fruits and vegetables; the cool, smooth, elastic touch of dough as it rises; the sweet, buttery aroma filling your nose as something is pulled fresh from the oven; and, of course, all the new and sensational tastes that the kitchen brings.

Any who know me know that I am a caregiver. That I seek to care for people as much as I can, sometimes in the past to my own detriment. Cooking allows me the opportunity to take care of people in the most organic way possible. Baking affords me the luxury of being a part of peoples lives, in the most simple and honest way.

I'm moved to share the Killed by Dessert manifesto, written by one of my personal pastry idols, Michael Laiskonis:
We are pastry chefs. We are the red-headed step-children of the culinary brigade. You’ll find us in the basement, or in some hard-fought and carefully carved-out corner of the kitchen. We are protective of that space, our equipment, our atmosphere. We are particular. We strive to be masters of several disparate disciplines. We are sugar burners, cream puffs, the keepers of ‘Candyland’- and to too many who don’t know any better, we must certainly be just plain ‘bakers’ (not that there's anything wrong with that). We are respected, feared, and ignored.

We are pastry chefs. We treasure our autonomy within the rigid structure around us. We are often left to fend for ourselves and we embrace a do-it-yourself spirit. We are part of a community. We band together, share ideas, and push each other. We take full use of modern technology to create a subterranean network, to shrink the physical space between us. We speak a different language. We seek to explain our intentions through references others just don’t understand. We look at things through a slightly different lens.
We are pastry chefs. We find comfort in repetition and sameness. We are precise, clean, and dexterous. We prefer control to chaos. We are also spontaneous and prone to occasional fits of whimsy. We are students of subtlety. We seek to provide maximum impact. We must predict the future as we cook. We cook with clear intention. We are constantly receptive to inspiration, and that inspiration often comes from the unlikeliest of places. We like to break things that aren’t broken, just to see what happens.

We are pastry chefs. We find pleasure in hidden things. We are often most proud of what you rarely ever get to see. We want to let you in on our secrets. We like to speculate as to what your secrets might be. We are in the nostalgia business, and we have a unique opportunity, nay, a responsibility, to tap into your psyche. We recognize the powerful potential of food as a means of dialog. We want to make you happy.

We are pastry chefs. It is up to us to leave a pleasant last impression. Our work is often an afterthought of guests already satiated by savory. We admit that what we provide is mere luxury, yet we know we satisfy your innermost cravings. Each of us, at one time or another, has wished we could simply send dessert first. This is our chance. We just want to kill you with dessert.

White Dogwood

I happened upon this quote recently from one of my favorite poets, Anne Morrow Lindbergh: "After all, I don’t see why I am always asking for private, individual, selfish miracles when every year there are miracles like white dogwood." There has been a great paradigm shift within me in the last year. It has been (and continues to be) difficult to become the kind of person I desire to be, to act and behave in a way that accurately represents my ideals and beliefs. It is much easier to speak about values and ideals rather than set to work to become those values and ideals. Yet, there is a slow transformation that began within me some time ago, and each day I continue to be amazed at the progress Nature has made within me. I can't take credit for most of the work; more than anything, I have simply allowed the change to take place. I have become more open to this transformation and have had to call upon reserves of patience that I didn't know I had, in order to continue to allow the transformation. Watching the cycle of life on the farm here has been marvelous. I mean that literally; it has been something at which I will always marvel. Harvesting the fruits of physical labor with reverence and thanks for the sacrifice of Nature in all forms, transforming the sacrifice into a beautiful meal, and sending the scraps back to the land in order to do so again tomorrow is, well, marvelous. The pace of the restaurant is fast, certainly, but the energy is not. The energy is calm and slow and forces you to be a part of the process, not merely an observer. Even the shit here smells beautiful. As I was driving through the country to arrive here, I found myself repulsed by the stench of shit through the plainlands. It was invasive to my senses, offensive, and overwhelming. I wanted to roll up windows and hold my breath until it was gone, fearful that I would breathe deeply in the smell of methane and chemical waste. The shit here smells different. The animals are well fed and happy and taken care of. There is a sweetness that lingers after the shit smell is gone, so much so that you can nearly identify what they've been eating. Reading an interview with Joel Salatin from the latest Sun Magazine, I was pleasantly surprised to see him comment on the same thing. He remarks, "One of the surest ways to know if a wound is infected is if it is unsightly and smells bad. When it starts to heal, it gets a pretty sheen and doesn’t smell anymore. Farms that are not beautiful and that stink are like big wounds on the landscape." I have witnessed first hand the truth in this statement. When I set out on this journey to become a...whatever I am: chef, pastry chef, culinarian, when I set forth on the journey, I had no idea where it would take me. I was open to whichever direction I was moved by the journey itself, and it has led me here. I have always known, deep in my heart, that I am to be a steward of land and food, and I have shrugged off that responsibility as one that will always be there for me to return to after I'm done with my "living". I am now aware, more than ever, that this is my living. This is where I find my peace and contentment, and to separate myself from this, is to create a separation within myself. I have come to realize the great power of small miracles.

Same, same, but different

Eventful few days here. After a nice 3 day weekend and an uncharacteristically beautiful Yom Kippur, I returned to work on Thursday to a busy workload. We had a group touring the farm and treated them to a grain demo (which ended up being super interesting and informative for moi, as well!) and we had a busy night in the restaurant. After spending hours pitting plums for pickling, and scaling loaves of brioche, I set out to make 5000 chocolate chip cookies. Yes, 5000. Scale, mix, scale, roll, cut, bake, and repeat. All night. I wonder if I will always be one of those "the grass is always greener" people, because I found myself longing for the high-demand chaos of dinner service, despite all of the days prior when, in the midst of said chaos, I could be seen daydreaming about the calm, monotony of the bakeshop. Neither are better or worse than the other, and both have their merits, yet I still seem to have a hard time being content or present in the midst of either. Awareness of this distraction made it only slightly easier to refocus and actually complete the task. We'll get back to that...I was also distracted by this worsening pain in my side and back, that eventually got so bad that I left work early to see a doctor. Turns out, the back pain and cramps I had been chocking up to being a muscular issue for almost a year, was actually shingles. I was given some pain medication and an antiviral, and sent on my way. I am not a good patient as it is, but I am especially not a good bed-ridden patient. I already feel inferior at Stone Barns and, as an intern, there is already within me a compulsion to prove myself. Throw in a physical challenge like this and I find that my fear that I will be treated too delicately runs rampant. Having said that, it would be easy for me to give in to this fear and push myself beyond the physical limits that I should, (and I am very compelled to do so) but I have gained the wisdom to know that this just a projection of insecurity and that, in the end, I will do much more damage to my body and my ability to be a pastry chef if I can't honestly assess my situation and rest when it is needed. Back to the bakery...I made a series of careless errors in the last few days, about which I am embarrassed. I burned 3 trays of cookies at the end of my shift, because I forgot to set the timer (a rookie mistake), and I pushed a half sheet of cooling butternut squash off of the speed rack because I was being hasty as I pulled cookies from the oven. I was ashamed to waste the product, but there is no point on dwelling; the best thing in situations like these is to refocus, be more mentally aware, and move on. I am learning the delicate balance of efficiency and quality (key: think less, do more), and after being hounded daily about "the details", I am finally finding success in the details. The time at the farm is flying past, and I am grateful for the lessons that my body is absorbing. Tomorrow the restaurant is closed, but we are in need of so much prep for the upcoming Harvest Fest this weekend, that I will be there for several hours. After taking a couple early days due to the shingles, I am eager to make up my hours and regain some credibility with my pastry chef. Objectives for tomorrow: push myself, but not to the point of exhaustion; stay focused and make fewer careless errors; increase efficiency and ask more thoughtful questions.

Avinu Malkeinu

Whatever my spiritual leanings may be at this point in my life, the tradition and ritual of fasting, confession, and repentance on Yom Kippur runs deep within me. The time of reflection is certainly not limited to this holiday, but there is something powerful and moving for me to know that as a community we are engaged in the similar act of repentance, together, on this day. There are many I have wronged in this year, and many by whom I have been wronged, and there is something beautiful and redeeming about making peace with both sides. I believe we do not forgive because those who have wronged us are "deserving" of it, rather I believe we forgive because we are all deserving of the freedom and peace that comes with the act of letting go. It can be painful and difficult, to be sure, to release ourselves from the bondage of bitterness and anger, but to do so is to choose peace and a more non-violent life for ourselves. There are many times I have found myself stuck in the cycle of caving to ego, holding grudges because I do not know how to let go, and carrying a hardness within my heart that serves no purpose other than to weigh me down. So often this hardness has crippled my ability to clearly communicate with those I love, and has threatened to destroy relationships that are valuable and provide much comfort to me. I have found myself behaving in ways that are incongruous with my genuine desire to live in peace with my community, and even the awareness of the act is sometimes not enough to prevent it from happening. To release my friends and family from the unspoken expectations I place upon them, to accept them as they are and not as I wish for them to be, to earnestly seek acceptance by them as I am and not as they wish for me to be, and to forgive myself and my community alike for all the ways in which we fall short. I am reminded of all that is sacred around me, all that is holy within me, and all that is possible within my community. G'mar Chatima Tovah

Ebb and flow

Today marks my last day of my first week at Blue Hill. It's crazy to think that it has only been 5 days of work. This weekend has been a long, delirious, beautiful experience, with today being my first big event at the restaurant. We hosted a marketplace event where folks from an unnamed corporation were able to experience a bit of farm life. I manned the "tomato table" where I served samples of four different heirloom varieties from local farms (green zebra, brandywine, orange beefsteak, and the great white) and, as simple as that may sound, it was a delightful treat and a great way to break up the 15 hour day. I have to say, as much as I enjoy the bakeshop, and as much as I am finding confidence and comfort in dinner service in the restaurant, the event today really enforced my belief that catering is where I am headed. I love to bake, I love the solitude of early, cool hours with the smells of yeasty breads and sweet pastries, but there is something to be said for getting to witness the experience that folks have as they enjoy those treats. I crave that interaction, I am learning, it is the element in which I most thrive, and it fuels my desire to continue feeding and serving people. Beyond the event today, I started the weekend off harvesting asian pears from the farm, followed by prepping and making purees from peaches, plums, and concord grapes. Brief as it may be, I look forward to and treasure any time I get to spend in the orchard or on the farm. It is part of what drew me to this place, and I wish someday to have a farm of my own. I love the fact that I can walk downstairs, out the door about a hundred yards, and have at my disposal nearly every piece of produce that I could want. Today someone commented that this is not how the real world is, and that "American's don't eat like this", which saddened me to hear. Perhaps I am naive, but I don't believe it is unrealistic to hope that everyone can have this kind of experience. If you have never tasted a fresh tomato off the vine, or an ear of corn recently harvested from the stalk, or even a potato straight from the ground, you are missing part of the sweetness that this life offers. As I have said before, I am aware of the way that I have idealized this place and these kinds of experiences, but I do not believe it is out of the realm of possibility that all can share these experiences. One needn't pay hundreds of dollars to taste these foods at Blue Hill (though, I will admit, what I have seen here, and what we produce, does seem to be extraordinary), one must only go as far as the closest piece of land (backyard, window box, farm in the next town over) to enjoy this. I am encouraged by the eagerness that my fellow chefs bring to their work, and I have found myself challenged to become a better, more critical chef by this eagerness. I must admit, though, I was unprepared for the name-dropping that seems so prevalent in this world. I hope that my skill will speak for itself and that my attitude will pave the way for future endeavors, but I am moderately discouraged by the "who knows who" attitude that I am finding runs RAMPANT in this industry. Do we not all share the same love for food and feeding people? Are we not all in this industry because we see the beauty in creating an experience and product by which people are moved? I choose to believe that we chefs, we culinary artists, are driven by a force much greater than praise, and that we would prefer happy, satisfied, full-bellied guests over the momentary satisfaction of having met someone famous, or having worked for someone famous. This may seem hypocritical given my love of Dan Barber, but more than the joy of being able to say that I work for him, I am delighted to say that I am learning from him. He is no greater a human than any of my less "famous" chefs, and I stand to learn just as much from them, and indeed, I am. As this long, hard week draws to a close, and in the midst of the high holiday season, I am so satisfied, so grateful, so humbled, and so earnest in my desire to create more experiences like those that I have had so far. Objectives for tomorrow: SLEEP! And possible wash some of my clothes, which now permanently smell of sweat, oil, fruit (did you know that a million quarts of peach puree can eventually smell like poop?), and meat. Yes, there is soooooooooo much meat here. It's a beautiful thing to converse with a boar one evening, and then eat it the next. And, on that note, I can't wait to break the fast with my executive chef in just a few days. :) Yes, this new year is Happy.

Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, Can't Lose

The best part about working 15 hours today was that I can hardly remember any mistakes I made. Ha. Seriously though, there is plenty of time to dwell on what I did wrong (dumped many quarts of ice cream base on the floor, attempted to send out 3 desserts with the wrong garnish/sauce, burned tuile cookies) but I'd rather ride on the high of an otherwise awesome night. Dinner service is coming more easily to me, and I am leaning to set a pace for myself that is expedient and still precise and accurate. My pastry chef complimented me on my knife skills as I cut pounds and pounds of asian pears into a fine brunoise (thank you, Chefs Cronwell and Thompson for endless hours of practice) and I got to use the sous vide machine solo (honestly, it is the coolest thing in the world). I cranked through another batch of brioche, (again to the praise of my chef!) and made scones, ice cream, concord grape puree, pretzels, flat bread, tuile cookies, and dried another million peaches. I am finding myself more at ease in the large kitchens (though, I will find it hard to leave such generous space) and I am becoming more confident in taking the initiative when I see a need. I am constantly in awe of the environment here; the beauty of the farm transcends the walls of the kitchen and it seems as though everything is bathed in the sense that we are all lucky to be a part of what is happening here. Perhaps that is just projection, but I feel inspired and more creative in this place, as I am challenged by the creativity of my peers. As the week comes to a close and we head into a busy weekend with weddings and large parties, I am finding it necessary to make time to breathe and decompress. The walk-in freezer has become a sanctuary for moments throughout the day, and I have come to really look forward to my hello/goodbye chats with the 700 pound boar who lives at the top of the hill. As I walk up the road to the restaurant I pass the many full chicken coops, the bee house, and the field of boars (all of whom look fat and happy). It is this kind of home that I have sought for many years, in many ways, and I am realizing now that I have idealized it. This realization has increased my gratitude and awareness of the fact that I can take this place with me wherever I go next, as it is already deeply imprinted upon my brain and heart. One of my fellow bakers has labeled all of our speed racks with tape that reads, "Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose", which I just think is hilarious. Little things like this remind me throughout the day that professionalism must be tempered with a sense of humor, and that both are equally important to survive the day. Objectives for tomorrow: seriously memorize the metric system (thanks a LOT, American education system), become more efficient in tasks without sacrificing standards, breathe, be more observant, burn myself fewer times (2), and sleep in (ha. HA.)

Humility (or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love The Criticism)

The irony is that at a time when my body would have been able to endure this schedule and the physically demanding labor of this kitchen, my personality was such that I wouldn't have enjoyed it as much as I do now. I am falling in love with Blue Hill and my knees and heels are not. I am also learning just exactly how different baking in a restaurant is from baking in a bakery. Apart from adjusting to the total shift in schedule, there are a million things that I have to learn about this new position. Today started off easy enough: making peanut butter sorbet, cutting and drying about a thousand peaches for a wedding cake, more brioche (which may become a favorite, rather than the bane of my existence it once was), and then it was time for dinner service. Each night before service in the dining room begins, the entire staff (which includes not only our pastry kitchen, but the savory kitchen which numbers nearly 30) enjoys a family meal. This 10 minute respite has given me an opportunity to reflect upon what it is I want from this experience, in personal terms. My deficiencies have become glaringly apparent in the last 2 days, and admittedly there are times when my ego and pride has threatened to keep me from learning. When I am honest with myself, I would rather fail at something new, momentarily look foolish, and learn from it, than to not challenge myself at all, yet preserving my "image". This image, I am learning, is not of value to me. I struggled tonight to keep up with the speed of dinner service, and at times found myself yelling at my pastry chef "LISTEN, PSYCHO, this is my SECOND day EVER doing this. How the fuck am I supposed to know the difference between the cheeses/compotes/ice-cream-that-is-all-the-same-color when you didn't label them!", except it always came out more like, "Yes, Chef!". The point being: yes, it is embarrassing to be called out for mistakes; yes, there is an inherent urge to defend myself when challenged, or when feeling threatened; but there is more to it. Underneath all of those emotions is a desire to become better. A better baker and pastry chef, a better communicator and observer, and a better leader even when I am a subordinate. There was a time in my life when I believed that leaders did not make mistakes (or, rather, did not admit to them), and that self-preservation was key at all costs. My experience has taught me that leadership is a quality, not a title handed to you, and I desire to increase that quality within myself, and by doing so, hopefully to encourage others to become good leaders, not just good bosses. I am thankful to be working in an environment which encourages learning by experience, and thankful that my superior chefs welcome my questions and provide stellar examples to follow. There were several times today that I asked myself if I am where I want to be. Literally and figuratively, there is nowhere else I would rather be. It is becoming easier to be "here", and easier to welcome the unknown. Objectives for tomorrow: wake up early enough for a run AND stretching (holy balls, do my feet huuuuuuuuurt), cut off fewer of my fingers (.5), take better notes, remind myself that it is only my third day and I won't do every(any?)thing right, be as present as possible for each experience, find joy in the monotony of tasks which I think are beneath me, and remind myself how lucky I am to be given this opportunity.

Practice makes permanent.

Well, day one was all I imagined it would be: busy, beautiful, challenging, busy. The morning consisted of: rolling a gajillion brioche loaves, then on to hulling 5 pounds of strawberries, followed by mise en place for flourless chocolate cake (thank you, OCI dream torte, for all that practice, as it was the only thing I did right today), a tour of the farm that left me speechless, and caramelizing aforementioned strawberries in sugar and balsamic vinegar. The chefs are full of encouragement ("Cheryl, you are folding that cake like you are homeless"), and the environment is the kind in which I thrive (did I mention already that it was busy?), and I managed to maintain composure upon seeing Dan Barber (though, I had to physically restrain myself). These 14 hour days are certainly going to be a challenge, but it's impossible not to be wired at the end of it. Dinner service runs like a well-oiled, albeit it crazy, machine, and what I have yet to learn is voluminous. Ending the night with filling tempered chocolate lollipops was a zen time, and I am eager to get started tomorrow already. I will upload pictures as soon as I have enough energy to figure out how to (Ava- how do I upload pictures from my phone??!) Suffice it to say, I am in awe of this place and this kitchen and its inhabitants. I have never seen so many people with positive attitudes at the end of a painfully long day (and it certainly was not their first). Objectives for tomorrow: learn the metric system; memorize every possible metric conversion; fewer burns than today (3); not fold meringue like a homeless person; take better notes; ask more thoughtful questions. All in all, I am thankful for hands that work, for legs that hold me up as I push myself to the limit, and for coworkers who will make it easy to endure tiring, rewarding work.

In memory, everything seems to happen to music...

I have been encouraged recently by many friends to restart my blogging, especially as I embark on this new adventure in New York. I also can't help but think that my time here will go terribly quickly, between the early, long work hours, and the sheer brevity of my externship, and I imagine that there will be much I want to remember. So, I'm committed to keeping this blog updated regularly as a chronicle of my culinary adventures. I arrived here, Tarrytown, New York, five days ago, after a cross-country road trip that was both excrutiating in length, while simultaneously being far too short on time spent with loved ones. Stops along the way in Salt Lake, Denver, Chicago, and Jamestown helped to ease the monotony of the drive, and there were beautiful faces of friends and family at each stop. My arrival here was premature, as I don't actually start at Blue Hill until tomorrow, but I have had time to explore the city a bit, including a lovely and unexpected day of adventure with MarMar and Jon. After spending the weekend in DC and finally meeting the beautiful baby Miller, I found myself back in Tarrytown last night, and already this feels like a sweet place to lay my head for a few months. I am eager to start work tomorrow, though there are still the nerves of starting a new job, especially in the kitchen of Dan Barber! How quickly the time has passed since moving to Oregon only a short year ago, and harder still to believe I am facing the reality of a dream that was once tucked very deep inside of me. I find myself overwhelmed with gratitude for the opportunities I've been given and for the encouragement that has been heaped upon me by so many friends. And, as always, I am reminded that what I seek is balance, not bliss. The quiet calm in the face of chaos, not the absence of it entirely. I am eager to learn more about baking, and in the process, more about myself as a baker, and I can't imagine a better place in which to do so. So, here is to the journey, wherever it may take us.