Let's talk about chefs.
I had 5 chefs in my time at citycomm, but there were 7 all told in residence.
Chef Mustache - on our very first day in the kitchen, my class' normal chef instructor was out. We had a substitute chef to get us going. Middle aged, mustachioed, glasses, he looked like Luigi Mario come to life. He was a kind, patient man and very thorough in his instructions. Aside from that first day, I had no other experiences with him. Like I said he was a sub and so every now and then he'd be in the kitchen to fill in for someone.
Chef DudeBro - this was our first chef ever. He was a big, charismatic presence. He was like a super stoked frat guy 20 years later. Great sense of humor, also very patient. I never saw this guy lose his temper or his cool. He was always on the ball, knew how to move us around and keep us motivated and functioning. This was the chef who first instilled knife skills, economy of movement, efficiency, etc. There was a lot of equipment, various specialized machines, techniques, ingredients, cooking apparatuses to learn about and he was the one who started us off. One time, he go me with the "Hey Sammy, there was a girl out front looking for you." which honestly wouldn't have been uncommon since I had so many friends on campus from high school. Only moments later did it register that he was fucking with me. This guy really knew his way around big, industrial kitchens. He taught us how to just crank out volume and how to think and operate like an assembly line.
Chef Hammertime - if I recall I think he was the department head, i.e. the chef of chefs. This guy was tall and imposing and a commanding persona. If he asked you a question, you better have had an answer - because he already knew it anyhow. We were all reverently terrified of this guy. It was better to be under his radar than anywhere on it. When he came walking through, you wanted to be doing what you were supposed to be doing and nothing else. He wasn't an angry, shouty, fly off the handle sort of chef. If you fucked up, he'd ask you about it, talk about what went wrong and what to do next time. It wasn't so much a "I'm not angry, I'm disappointed" exchange. It'd be more like "so do you see how and why that could have gone better?" kinda deal. One time I was chopping an ungodly amount of onions for gallons and gallons of soup. I attempted to scoop them from my cutting board to a hotel pan I was holding just beneath the counter. Well the weight was too awkward and I ended up spilling onions on the floor and shelf below me. I didn't lose much, and salvaged what I could. Hammertime walked by, saw the evidence of what I'd done, and knew immediately what I did wrong without even asking me. Rather than scold or reprimand me, he recognized that I knew how I fucked up and that I'd learned my lesson. Despite his intimidating demeanor, he wasn't unapproachable or even unreasonable at all. There was a time where I simply didn't know how to do something and it was for an a la minute order. I humbly told him that I had not seen it done and I had to make one right that moment. He took the time to show me the way to do it and what to look out for. This balance of discipline, an all seeing eye, and yet the patience and understanding to instruct would later help shape the way I've overseen others. One of his ubiquitous lines while passing by was "You fired up there, chief?"
Chef Frenchie - very old school French pastry chef. Short, portly, white haired, wire rimmed glasses, ruddy-faced jolly old chef. He was kind hearted and good spirited and short tempered but always a generous man. We all considered him our grandpa. He had a bad heart and was on a restricted diet. Everyone, every single person, looked after him and his diet. "Chef! You can't eat that!" Chef Frenchie learned to cook a whole generation removed from my other chefs. It was very different for him coming up. There was less explanation and instruction and more just doing and learning and trial by fire. We learned heaps from this guy, but it wasn't always easy going. He learned by watching and doing what his old school French chefs showed him, and that's the way he tried to impart knowledge to us. Now and again we'd have classroom lectures for certain techniques or theories - to little or no effect. It was more like here, do this. Ok, why? Don't ask why, just do it this way. And then do this. Then do that like this. There, see? Merde. I can decorate a cake like no ones business because of this man. Sadly I don't think he's still alive, but I remember him often and fondly.
Chef Butcher - this chef taught us everything there was to know about meat fabrication. Great instructor, had to be hands on and explained things judiciously. Muscles and primals and bones and how parts of animals came together and came apart. We learned how to make all of the traditional French mother sauces in his kitchen. Every day toward the end of class he would cook us all lunch - the ONLY kitchen/class where a chef fed us daily. I won't get too deep into the workings of the butchery kitchen - that'll be part 3. But! This chef was great, thorough, patient, undersanding, just an all around joy to be under his guidance.
The Austrian - the only other old school European chef we had. He was incredibly demanding and disciplined. In part 3 when I expound on what we did with him in his area of the kitchen, it'll become clearer just why he was such a slave driver. He was stern and not particularly fun or funny. A better teacher than Frenchie in that he explained the hows and whys, but it was also a trial by fire with him. He drove a really classic, boxy, beautiful Mercedes from decades ago - with badges on the grill and an entirely metal body. He parked it a stones throw from the loading dock in the faculty parking area. Like Chef Hammertime, you didn't want to be on The Austrian's radar. This man was like a drill instructor. He worked us hard and got a lot out of us and instilled just keeping your head down and cranking out food. He was unforgiving and no bullshit and I once spent an hour or so beside him mid-service just breading and frying schnitzel non stop. He, too, worked just as hard as he worked us.
There was a substitute pastry chef when Frenchie was out for heart surgery. There was also the night class chef who instructed a smaller contingent of culinary students. The nightly food program wasn't nearly the same scale as the breakfast or lunch operations. It was a more intimate, focused class and he covered way more bases as one chef than the other 3 or 4 in the daytime. I had no experience with either chefs, but I know that substitute pastry chef has her own eatery in the Fairy Building. Night Chef was a pretty cool guy, at least in passing.
In part 3, we'll get into the nuts and bolts of each section of the kitchen and how each chef ran his department.
Ciao.
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