Marla in the Kitchen

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Once again, the objective reality of this story is fuzzy. Accuracy, personal attributes, and specific details have been swapped around to suit my fancy. So if you’re looking for the absolute truth, talk to Gordon.

The battle lines were drawn—you had to choose a side. When the Harlows took over management (heels firmly dug in), they were determined to avoid bankruptcy, bring Sound Food into solvency, project a tidier, straighter image, and attract customers who didn’t change the baby on the dining room table. Jeffrey, comfortable with his role as artistic director and all-around tribal leader, was just as determined to teach his staff professional culinary techniques, find regional produce, and use ingredients no one had ever heard of.

Jesus Barn

Lavender’s 

Billy, Jim, and Jack

They wrangled over the merits of the Rykoff man’s frozen, hamburger patties over Don & Joe’s bulk ground beef, Muzak instead of  live music, whether to serve side salads with in-house croutons or sunflower seeds, the virtues of paper vs. cloth napkins, flowers on the tables, one-ply or two-ply in the restrooms, and… onions. The kitchen went through at least 50 pounds of Walla Walla Sweet onions, 15 pounds of yellows, and 10 pounds of reds a week. The Walla Wallas were trimmed, cut end to end, peeled, and thinly sliced (vertically) for French Onion Soup and chopped for Mother Hank’s Hot Sauce; the yellows were trimmed, cut end to end, peeled and diced for soups, stews, and spaghetti sauce; the reds were peeled, trimmed, and sliced (on a #2) for hamburgers and sandwiches and finely diced for salsa. 

Jeffrey believed that the quality of any dish depended on the cook’s close attention to every detail and her use of good knife techniques. Take onions, for example: using a stainless steel knife (never a carbon steel blade), trim the end opposite the roots, cut the onion in half end to end, peel, lay the flat end of the onion on the cutting board, make horizontal slices through the onion stopping just before the root end, make narrow, vertical cuts side-to-side, square up the onion half, and dice into identically square pieces appropriate to the dish. French onion soup—thinly sliced (vertically), julienne-style; soup of the day—each ingredient should fit in the bowl of a spoon; stew—1/4-1/2” squares the same size as the root vegetables; salsa—square-cut in a fine dice; spaghetti sauce—diced to the size of the crumbled ground beef so as to “melt into the mixture.” 

Jeffrey confronted haphazard knife skills head on with sharp words. (This prepared me for the yelling and screaming of future Chefs who shared similar onion specifications.) Bruce, always on the alert for money-saving measures, scoffed at that waste of time and money. “An onion is an onion. Buy 100 pounds of yellows a week at half the price, throw them in that Hobart attachment thing I just bought from the Rykoff man, and move on!” So, if Jeffrey had you in the back prepping onions, you kept one eye out and had the Hobart set up just in case. 

So, the days of smoking weed behind the dumpster, making out in the walk-in, leading a dance-in during brunch, bringing your dog to work, wearing your skirt too short or too long, and letting your hair fly free were over. It was 1978 and the summer of love was long gone. A Californian had come into the blue haze of peace and love, offering the Tribe stability, heath insurance, and a Minglement discount. Island jobs were scarce and there were mouths to feed, so most members stayed the course. A few escaped: there was one with pigtails and overalls who hitchhiked into Seattle and left on a Green Tortoise bus, a couple and their parrot who moved to Bisbee, AZ, a baker who went back into the Forest Service to fight fires, a manager who opened a tea shop in Thailand, and a night cook who followed her sweetie to LA. 

For those that stayed behind, Gordon and Mary were there to console them. 

Mother Hank’s Hot Sauce

• 4# Roma tomatoes or 2 large cans diced-in juice tomatoes
• 1⁄2 red onion
• 1⁄2 Serrano
• 1⁄2 green pepper
• 2 stalks celery
• 1 bunch cilantro (cut off just below the leaves)
• 1 small can tomato juice 
• 1/2 t. cumin
• 3 shakes of Tabasco
• 2 t. salt
• juice of three limes

Fine dice or Cuisinart onion, drain, and separately. You want the onions to be fine, but don’t want the onion juice to overpower the salsa. 

Grind remaining ingredients in the Hobart or a Kitchen Aid food grinder.

Stir in chopped onion. For more hotness, you can add some canned chipotles in sauce (a must-have for every pantry).

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Rest in peace, Anthony Bourdain. To watch the video featuring Bourdain at Les Halles, click on the post title to go to my blog’s website.

I was watching a TED talk the other day about Mihaly Csikzentmihalyi (had to watch a YouTube on how to pronounce the name) and his concept of “flow.” I remember buying his book, “Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience,” in the 90s, but found the read too New-Agey and I never did finish it. In the TED talk, the presenter described flow as the mental state achieved when a person is focused on performing an activity for its intrinsic value and is fully present, immersed, and in the moment. A state that is relaxed but intense, where time flies but stands still, and where actions are effortless within a challenging situation. Think of Michael Jordan “in the zone”, or an individual who is rock climbing, mountain biking, or surfing. 

Csikzentmihalyi applied “flow” specifically to artistic endeavors such as playing music, writing, dancing, painting and intellectual pursuits such as scientific research, concept development, and inventive design. Although TED didn’t mention blue collar work, I remember times cooking on the line in a restaurant kitchen when, apparently, we were in a flow state. 

It began like any other night: each station set up for the rush, manned by a professional with skills that matched the challenge. Service started at 5:30 with a few early birds; gradually picking up steam—then let the circus begin. The expediter shouts orders from chits coming through the Remanco in a tappity blur—“ordering one monkfish, one lobster, three chicken breasts with port, three poussin, two skirt steaks—one SOS; salads out on the 12-top; pickup four breasts with port; fire three New Yorks; 3 out on those hushpuppies; where’s the skirt for 13; ordering one risotto on the fly; ordering two clam spags; draggin’ two side salads; pick up cheese plate for a deuce; 86 the branzino; hold table 23; that’s five breasts all day; order/fire one ribeye—blue; kill one New York; stretch the soup; VIP on 24; fire the 12-top; Ruth Reichl’s in the house.” Cooks echo each call-out, “Yes Chef! One monk, one lobster, three breasts, three poussin, two skirts—one SOS.”

The heat intensifies, the fryer boils over, sauté pans hiss and sizzle, bursting into flame as bourbon is added: HOT BEHIND, YES CHEF, I’M IN THE WEEDS, WHERE ARE YOU ON 24, DROP FRIES FOR 23. Dishwasher sidesteps onto the line, shouting BEHIND!, stretching to put clean plates on the pass, picking up bus tubs heavy with sauté pans.

No motion is wasted: bend down to pick four steaks, three chicken breasts, three poussin, one monkfish, and four swirls of pasta out of the low boy, run to the walk-in to grab a live lobster, pin him down on the table and cut him in half, spin six sauté pans onto the hot top, a round of oil in each one, brown the poussin, drop the pasta, slide the dead lobster down to the grill man, check the chicken, sear the steaks, breasts in the oven, steaks out, bourbon in, pasta in, drop the hushpuppies, poussin out, plate poussin, cream in the bourbon, pasta out, drag a little pasta water into the pan. Second push comes, repeat over and over in varying iterations until the rail is clear at 11:30.

We look up at each other and wonder, “What happened?” The hours didn’t exist, only the dance—we were one beast moving in slow-motion but at a full tilt. 

When I’m just cooking for me and the Sweetie, I still try to focus on the techniques, enjoy the ingredients, and remember what Michael Roberts used to say, “The easiest way isn’t the best way.” So I whack whole garlic cloves, peel tomatoes, fine dice the onions, trim the skin off the ham slice, make a fruit coulis for the salmon, fry the tortillas to soften before stuffing them for enchiladas, and brine the chicken breasts. I don’t achieve “flow”, but then I don’t limp all the way to the bus stop either.

Michael Roberts’ Chicken with Port 

Add butter to hot sauté pan. When foaming has stopped, brown chicken breast, skin side down. Pour off fat. Add 2 T. shallots, 2 parts red Port to one part chicken stock to sauté pan with chicken. Roast in oven for 10-12 minutes. Remove pan from oven, remove chicken breast and keep warm. Reduce liquid (port/chicken stock) to syrup. Add 1⁄2 c. heavy cream—reduced until thickened. Add 2 T. stilton cheese, and whisk in 2 T. cold butter. If the cream sauce separates, just add a little water to the pan and swirl around.

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