Road Sick

Listening: On the road again, goin' places that I've never been, seein' things that I may never see again and I can't wait to get on the road again.

What's my problem? I miss the smells of...

On my way down here to Atlanta, I got bumped yet again. I think that this may be the fifth year in a row that I've been bumped at some point during the holidays. Last year, I got four hundred dollars, which became five hundred when they done fucked up our vouchers. This year, I walked with four hundred Delta dollars, three seven dollar vouchers for food and a night at the airport Hilton for taking the bump. This year's ticket's retail value (as it was bought with miles) was a hundred and thirty dollars. That's a two hundred and ninety one dollar profit even if you don't take into account the room at the Hilton.

Think about it. It all starts with one bump and a little bit of flexibility. For those of you in the white collar world with weeks of vacation to burn, I think that this could be a really great option. If you already have the time that you have to use every year, you could get bumped one year and have your flight taken care of for your next year's vacation.

I have to say, I'm itching. I'm itching to travel. I feel like (I would assume) a heroin addict in rehab feels looking for a fix, but knowing that it's not coming anytime soon. I have these Delta dollars, and I know that I can't use them anytime soon. I'll be too busy working. I have to see this new venture through, at least for a year.

Last night, I watched The Namesake. There were a few wedding scenes in the movie with these amazing flowers. They made me think of the flowers that I saw in southeast Asia and about how the smell of jasmine flowers permeated the air with the lightly sweet fragrance. I missed it. I missed it a lot. I can't wait to get back to it. I think about the completely different way of life and I want to see it. I want to be there.

I've been reading the beginnings of Pies' travel blog, and I feel like I'll be living a little bit vicariously through him. I'm really quite excited for him. This is his first foray into the world of solo travel.

I remember when I started my solo travel career five years ago. I took a month and traveled around Europe. At first, I was extremely tentative. At my first stop, Amsterdam, I stayed at a hotel where I didn't really meet any travelers or connect with any people. In Prague, I stayed at a hostel. I met some people there and at different sights, but I still wasn't able to make any good connections happen. I made one American friend in Vienna, spent my entire time in Strasbourg alone, and then fell into a good groove in Paris. Paris is where I met Jade, a girl I still keep in contact with. I even got together with her this summer. In Cinque Terre, I met Lianne, a girl who I have visited in London. She has visited me in Boston. I think that we continue to be good friends.

The point is that it took me a while to get into the groove with meeting people during my first trip. On my second trip, I met my first person at the airport. Cara and I got along right off the bat. Shared a taxi to Sukhumvit Road. Hung out at the weekend market together. It was a good time.

I hope that Pies can get into it faster than I did. I'm sure he can. He just needs to get some liquid courage in him, but not enough to bring out the belligerent Pies that we all know and love. That could cause more problems than I think he could imagine.

Anyhow, I don't know what I'm going to do with my Delta dollars. I don't see myself taking any real vacations this year. I may take a few "weekend" trips somewhere, but I don't know. We'll see what happens. I have to find a way out of this country sometime in the next few years though. I got the itch. I need the scratch.

Coming Soon....

Listening: Chicken chow mein with a little white rice. That's good. I need a couple of egg rolls in my neighborhood. That's good.

What's my problem? I'll be rolling right into work on the 5th

Okay, for those of you who have been keeping up with me, I took the job helping to open up the new Chinese inspired joint in Inman Square. Right now, we're slated to open up on January 5th, the day I get back from Vegas. For those of you who are interested in the menu, here's what's on offer.

cold
celery root, chicken, bean curd, sesame mustard sauce

kohlrabi and carrot salad, sesame ginger vinaigrette

napa cabbage, sweet and sour

pickled vegetables: daikon, beet, carrot, anise scented

hot
scallion pancake, roasted garlic chili sauce, seasonal pickles

braised pork , shiitakes, toasted shallot sticky rice

sweet potato fritter, chili mayonnaise, sour plum powder

pork tenderloin, molasses, five spice, braised daikon

roasted brussel sprouts, lemon, Sichuan peppercorn

braised beef wonton, garlic chili oil, local greens

snacks
curry dusted carrot chips

candied peppercorn pecans, sesame

five spice boiled peanuts

noodles
hand-rolled rice gnocchi

with chicken, turnips, shiitakes, xo sauce

with shiitakes, kale, carrot, sweet bean paste

home made wheat noodles

with beef shank, celery root, spicy beef broth

with winter vegetables, poached egg, vegetable broth

dumplings
pan fried or boiled (5 pieces)

pork , winter squash, five spice

shrimp, carrots, ginger, cilantro

carrot, chive, egg, bean curd

I have not included prices, as the final prices have not yet been determined. At the last time I checked, we had nothing over ten dollars on the menu. We may take the pork tenderloin off the menu and put it on as a special.

We are currently expecting people to buy three or four items per person, and the portion size will reflect that.

Anyhow, I hope you all come out and support this new venture. If you don't, I may be looking for a new job sooner rather than later. There are twenty five seats in the entire joint, so stagger when you come. Don't all come at once. But come in and eat. I'll be happy to feed you.

Small, Small World

Listening: "You look like you could do with a friend," she said. "You look like you could use a hand." "Someone to make you smile," she said. "Someone who can understand, share your trouble."

What's my problem? Self-righteous, racist vets.

I've said before that it's a small, small world. I heard that as a kid while I went through the ride in Walt Disney World. I experienced it when I met people in southeast Asia who had met me and then met each other down the trail.

I applied for jobs at Hungry Mother and East by Northeast. The chef of East by Northeast both worked for the chef of Hungry Mother, as well as with him at Lumiere. My pal Katherine worked with the chef of Hungry Mother at Lumiere as well, and I met her down on Nantucket.

The point I'm trying to make is that the world is a small place and no matter what you do or where you are, the degree of separation is a lot smaller than the seven degrees that people claim that there are.

It once again became evident a few days ago when I was at the Chez Henri holiday party. I rolled in after the big snowstorm expecting nobody to be there. Of course, I was wrong. All of my friends who still work there were there. A few alumni were there, including my pal John who works at the House of Blues.

When I looked down the bar, I saw a bartender that I wasn't familiar with and a very attractive blond girl. I was eyeing her for a good few minutes, because I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew her.

After a while, she came over and talked to a few of my friends, so I introduced myself.

"Hi. I don't know you. I'm ZEN!!!"

"ZEN!!!?"

"Well, it's a nickname. My real name is Jason."

"Ahh. I do know you," she said.

"You do? Err... What was your name again?" I asked sheepishly.

"Erin."

"Oh. My. God."

Erin was a girl I dated during the summer before I went to Colby. She was essentially my boss at Au Bon Pain in the same place where I met one of my best friends, Jess. This girl got me into the Cure, and to an extent Jewel (back when I really liked Jewel).

We talked for a good half hour or so. She remembered the mix tape that I made her, including some of the tracks that I had put on it. I remembered her getting me into the Cure and that she lived in Chelsea at the time. We caught up and it was nice.

It turns out that she worked with Chez's general manager, Beth, at Joe's American Bar and Grill down by the waterfront and that Beth asked her boyfriend to work the bar for the holiday party. See, it's a small world. What made it funny for me is that one summer, during college, I was having lunch at that very Joe's American Bar and Grill with Jess and I think that I remember pointing Erin out to her.

I have to say that it was kind of an ego boost seeing Erin again. So many people see exes and automatically think that it's going to be a bad thing. For me, it reminded me of what kinds of girls I have dated in the past, who they are and what they have become. When I met Erin, she was a cute seventeen year old girl, working at Au Bon Pain so that she could afford to go to college the next year. She has grown into a beautiful (I mean REALLY beautiful) woman, social worker who paid for her way through college and has come out the other side to be a really cool person.

Seeing her makes me remember that I've dated girls like that. I dig that. I have really dated some outrageously gorgeous, cool, intelligent people who are doing good things for the world.

It's good to remember that as I come off of a self-inflicted dry spell. Being on the road and being on the island has done nothing good for my dating life unless you count the married girls and the cougars. In other words, nothing serious. Being back in Cambridge on my home turf, I fully intend on flexing my social skills. It's time for me to get back out there and meet some hotties. I just hope that the new job gives me the appropriate time.

In another side of the small world thing, I had a bad experience on the way to my stage at Hungry Mother. I was on the subway going from Porter to Kendall when I ended up sitting across from a loud talking military vet. He was talking at a family about Obama and how he sucks and all of that. Initially, I was fine with ignoring him, until the family started ignoring him. That was when he went after me. He made comments that he would kick my ass and that I should go home. He made comments about how he would bomb our asses back to the stone age again if he could, but that he would be satisfied with just kicking my ass.

In my head, I had half a mind to open my knife case to fillet him like a striped bass. I knew that he was a drunk, shell-shocked sunuva bitch. I know that it's no excuse, but I bit my tongue and let him say everything he was gonna say, including spitting at me until the doors opened at Kendall, when I let loose.

"Hey, I'm an American. I was born here. My parents were born here. My grandfathers fought for the Americans in World War II, so why don't you go fuck yourself."

To that, he said, "I don't care! I'll still kick your ass."

I was on my way out with the doors closing behind me saying, "Maybe if you weren't drinking yourself to death, you'd know what an American is, you racist douche."

I know I shouldn't have gotten into it with him. There were kids around and I tend to throw around words like "fuckin'" and "douche." I couldn't help myself though.

This world is getting smaller every day. The more people who think like this drunk ass veteran, the further away we become from being a truly peaceful global society. As soon as we recognize that people are people wherever they are, the closer we'll be to having a peaceful world. It's, first, about respect for each others' culture, and then about recognizing that, although we aren't all the same, we all might have some valid ways of life or of being.

Anyhow, I'm off my soapbox for now. Stay tuned for more info on the new gig. I'll post up some useful information.

Game On.

Listening: This time it's not personal. The universe will help you now, to find a place you can breathe and do what you've got to do.

What's my problem? I actually have to live through the winter.

Well, there it is. It's done. My professional time on Nantucket is done for the foreseeable future. It's bittersweet, as I have come to love the people I worked with this summer from the dishwashers to the chef to the front of the house. This year's staff was by far the most intelligent staff that I've worked with to date which made the conversation at the end of the year never dull.

This year, Pies and I not only really got along, but I think we solidified a bond as friends. I don't know if it was because I came back more humble or if it's because he reflected on his management style in the off season. The bottom line is that we're totally cool now, and I would work with him again anytime.

I think this year Chef understood what I was working on in my cooking and he gave me the space to work on it. I think that at the end of the day he appreciated what I literally and figuratively brought to the table. He told me that if I ever needed anything, a reference, a job, advice, etc., all I had to do was call.

As far as the front of the house is concerned, I think that I made some really good friends. At the top of the list are Ieva and Gabi. Ieva is, hands down, the best server that I have ever worked with, even if she did screw up her last order of the season. I have never met another server with as much knowledge about wine as she has. She bakes for the kitchen. She's totally chilled and laid back. To top it all off, she plays cribbage. She took me surfing once this summer, and even though I sucked royally at it, I had a great time. I hope that over time we stay friends and in touch even though I am part of the Facebook resistance.

Gabi, I've known for two seasons now. My crush on her was completely thwarted when she got married this winter, but I still value her as a friend. Whenever I've hung out with her, I've had a great time. She has a killer sense of humor, even if she doesn't realize she's being funny. I'll miss chatting with her while we're waiting for the first table to be seated or the first ticket to come in. I know that being a server isn't what she wants to do with her life, and I hope she figures it what she does want to do soon.

So, I'm off the island now. I've been off the island for five days or so. Initially, I intended on being very busy on the ten days before I headed down to the ATL to visit the fam, but it didn't really pan out. I was supposed to work at Salts for five days, but they hired someone and no longer needed my help. The House of Blues has been dragging their feet getting back to me about filling out some paper work. And my new chef hasn't called on me to do anything yet. I will be going in on Monday to work though.

In the meantime, I have been trying to keep myself out of trouble and am more or less doing an okay job of it. I have no food in my house, so I have to go out to grab food. There's no use in buying groceries now if I'm going to be away for two weeks or so. It's been good, though. I have been bulking up on my ethnic food, something that was in short supply on the island.

Also, in an effort to stay out of trouble, I have been studying. I know I said that I would never go back to school, and I have held to it. I am currently studying a Chinese cookbook in an effort to prepare myself for my new job. You would think that being brought up in a Chinese family would mean that Chinese cooking techniques would be in the blood. However, as familiar as I am with the flavors, there is still I don't know or don't know how to quantify. There are still a lot of ingredients I haven't worked with.

As far as getting into trouble, I have been out and about a little. It seems everywhere I go, whether it's dinner at the Dizzle or at Chez, I'm constantly meeting new people. My first night back in town, I met a really cool biological physicist who likes explaining science through food. That was a worthwhile two hour conversation. Also, the other day, I went out for drinks with my friend Mona and her pal Ajay (at least I think that's what his name was... cool cat though). We met up with some other people that she knew, and laughed at two guys who didn't get the clue that the girls weren't interested in them.

A quick aside... We were at Barbara Lynch's bar drink for drinks. I had heard so much about this place, and I was thoroughly disappointed. The service was questionable. The atmosphere wasn't nearly as dank and speakeasy as I had heard. Furthermore, the clientele was just as pretentious as the employees. There were a lot of cougars there, so if that's you're scene, more power to ya.

I am trying to kick start my social life again, though. After two seasons on the island, I'm ready to get out there and meet some new cool people. The old cool people are still here, well, some of them are still here. Others have moved or will be moving. I just want to get out there, though. I want to get excited about getting to know someone, which is much different that getting excited to see someone that you haven't seen in a long time.

In other news, I haven't done a stitch of holiday shopping. I just can't get myself into it. I just don't care enough. I see plenty of things that I'm in need of professionally, but for other people, I could just care less. Call me selfish. Call me a grinch. Call it how it is. I'm glad that I have, for the most part avoided the shopping crowds.

Oh yeah! A couple of weeks ago, I went to the House of Blues to see Raphael Saadiq. Gabi came with me, and we had a blast. The concert was ten times better than I thought it would be. I can't wait until he goes on tour again.

Anyhow, I'm done writing for now. Time to get back to reading. I'll leave you with some footage I took at the concert.

Day 216: The Light

Listening: So I kept on walking, kept on striving, kept on singing and guess who showed up?

What's my problem? It's fucking cold.

Well, after a offer from Salts, a scheduling of a stage at Hungry Mother, a job offer from the House of Blues Boston, I've accepted the job that I wanted.

So, starting with the opening, I'll be working at East by Northeast in Inman Square, Cambridge.

The reason that I'm not saying a firm date, is because, really, you never know when a restaurant is going to open for sure. There are all sorts of pitfalls and holdups. The idea is that I'll get off the plane from Vega. I'll grab my knives and head straight into work. If this happens, it means that we'll be opening on January 5th.

So, as it looks like right now, I'll be off the island on December 14th (My good buddy, Carlos is gonna be nice enough to give me a lift with my crap). I'll be working at Salts from the 15th through the 19th. I have a stage at Hungry Mother on the 22nd. I may work some parties with my buddy John at the House of Blues on the 20th and the 21st. Then, I'll head down to the ATL on the 24th. It's going to be CRAAAAAAAZY.

But at least I'm getting a $25/wk raise. That's right. Moving up in the world $25 at a time.

Time for the second to last day of work on the island. Boo-yah, bitches.

Day 199: Wouldn't Ya Know It...

Listening: You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you might find you get what you need.

What's my problem? Do I take it?

Wouldn't you know it.... The day after I publish my post about my stage at Salts, I get a call from Marsoir. It turns out that the guy who was working garde manager was planning on quitting that day, and if he didn't quit, the chef was planning on firing him anyways. The chef told Marsoir that he liked the way that I gelled in the kitchen and wanted to get me in there.

As I said in my last post, I have some reservations about working at Salts. I just don't know if I'm up to it yet. In a lot of ways, I feel like taking the job might be setting myself up to go down in epically gigantic flames.

When I came to my current place of employment, I thought I knew a lot. I have always known that I don't know everything, but I thought that I knew a lot. My friends and colleagues have always pumped me up, telling me that I was a great cook and so on and so forth. I believed it. I still believe it, but what happened over the past year and a half is that I also realized that I'm nowhere near where I want to be in the kitchen yet. I don't have the skills to pay the bills, so to speak. Managerially and mentally, I think I'm ready to be a first cook or a sous chef, but after the past two seasons, I have learned that my body hasn't caught up with my mind yet.

So, if I walk into Salts knowing what I know in my brain and potentially not being able to deliver physically, what does that mean?

I told Marsoir about my reservations, and he said that he would convey them to the chef. But I also told Marsoir that I would do whatever I could to help him out wherever he was. This meant that if they're a man down when I get off the island, I'll step in and work until they break for the Christmas/New Years holiday, and maybe even stay on until they find someone permanent.

Everyone that I've talked to has said that I should take the job. I know that it would be a fantastic place to have on my resume. Am I ready for it? I don't know. Half of me wants to hold out and see if East By Northeast gets back to me, because, really, those flavors are what I'm most interested in learning more about right now. French food and technique will always be there, but the finer Asian places are few and far between.

Fuck. What to do... What to do....

Day 193: In Over My Head

Listening: Let's rearrange. I wish you were a stranger I could disengage. Just say that we agree and then never change. Soften a bit until we all just get along, but that's disregard. Find another friend and you discard.

What's my problem? I know where I am in my skill level.

I'm on the "Thursday" of my five day break from the island. The time has dragged and has flown by at the same time. I have spent the time largely by myself, getting out of bed late and into bed rather early. I think that two of the past three nights I was in my sleepwear before midnight. Normally, I would watch TV in bed or plink around on the internet, but the cable is out and the wireless router is on the fritz too, so there's really nothing to do in my room besides sleep, read or listen to music. It's not a bad life, but it's hell when you want to check your e-mail and the signal from the neighbor's router is awful.

A big part of this break for me was to start the hunt for potential jobs, just to flesh out my options for the next year. Do I go back to the island for one more season? Do I try to get a steady/non-seasonal job in Boston? Where do I find said steady job?

One of the reasons that I'm looking at jobs back on the mainland is because, after two seasons on the island, I don't feel any closer to "going native." I don't feel like I speak the language of the island. I don't hold the same values of either the residents, the workers, or the vacationers there.

I love working for my chef. He's a great boss to have, as is his wife who handles the front of the house. After a hard first season of people quitting, walking out, butting heads, and nearly passing out on the line, I came back with a new mindset. I think I set aside my ego (which a lot of people who know me would think impossible), and set my mind on focusing on what was in front of me. I was focused on being the best cook that I could be in that very moment. I was determined to live up to my moniker and be ZEN!!! in the kitchen.

I think that I achieved a lot of my goals this summer. I think that I improved on doing what was right in front of me. Sometimes I walked away from extra projects just so that I could make sure that what I had was tight.

What makes me want to stay on the island for another season is the fact that the familiarity of the setting and the people might make it easier for me to progress and improve upon myself in a number of aspects. The things that I am constantly improving on are rudimentary things such as speed and precision. In this kitchen, as it is with almost any kitchen, I would undoubtedly have an opportunity to work on my speed, both in line work as well as in prep work.

Precision is another story. We do nice food or food that looks nice. However, we don't have a lot of precision cuts on our dishes. We don't have obvious fine brunoise. A lot of our knife cuts are hidden by the composition of the dishes. There's never a point where a plate hits the table and someone instantly thinks, "Holy shit! That's a whole bunch of tiny, perfect cubes of vegetable!" I've eaten at places where I've thought that. I've produced cuts close to that, but never as consistently as I would like to.

This brings us to the question of "Where would I go if I don't go back to the island?" Well, so far, I have dropped my resume at two places and have staged at another one. The three places are all in Cambridge, which should be of no surprise. The first place that I dropped my resume, is a place called Hungry Mother. It's a great place near Kendall Square that specializes in southern cuisine. The reasons that I would love to work at Hungry Mother is because I am familiar with, and I love eating southern cuisine. I love the collard greens and the smoked pork products. I love cornbread and barbecue sauces. Furthermore, the restaurant isn't just a down-home southern joint. The chef there has been in fine dining for a long time, so it's homestyle food done nice.

The place that I staged was Salts. See, my pal, Marsoir, recently got a job there. My friend Brook has been working there for the past few years. When I asked Marsoir if I could use him as a reference, he asked if I wanted to come and check Salts out. I thought it was going to be one of those, "Oh, hey! Come and check out what I'm doing!" kinds of stages. Instead, when I walked in the door, I found out that they were hiring.

Salts isn't a place that should be taken lightly. Gabriel Bremer was named as one of Food And Wine's Best New Chefs of 2007. He's doing bangin' food out of a tiny kitchen in a tiny restaurant in Cambridge. Both Marsoir and Brook are monsters. They kill it in the kitchen. Right now, I honestly believe that they are ten times the cook that I am.

So, when I walked into the kitchen in my whites and went to work, I was much more careful doing everything that I was asked to do. This slowed me down. I kept my eyes open, watching my pals as they rocked it out and as they were in the weeds. Prep at Salts is intense. It was more intense than anywhere else that I have ever worked. Chef Bremer does all of the pastry himself. They have an immersion circulator, a piece of equipment that I have never used before, to sous vide, a method of cooking that I have never done. There was no fryer, no grill, and no tongs. There were food additives (not crazy stuff, chemically, but things like xantham gum, agar agar, soy lecithin, different root derivatives), some of which I was familiar with, others that I was not. It was extremely intimidating.

I thought that I would just be watching service, but when they had to pick up an eighteen person party, I was told by Brook to plate up the veg dishes. I was plating and saucing and garnishing for Gabriel Bremer. I got it done and did a good job, but I was still kind of in shell shock. I just didn't expect to be plating that man's food. I'm not as shocked as I would have been if, say TK or Grant Achatz asked me to plate up on a one day stage.

To be honest, I think that if I were to go work at Salts, I would be a bit in over my head. I would probably be in the weeds day in and day out. And worst of all, I fear that I would end up disappointing Marsoir, a guy who has had my back and has been a great supporter of my culinary growth. I would never want to disappoint him. On the flip side of the coin, a place like that would really push me to be better if I could actually keep my head, or possibly only my nose above water. It is really nice food.

The final place that I dropped off my resume is probably the place that I want the job the most. It's the place East by Northeast, the Chinese inspired fine dining joint that's slated to open in Inman Square early next year. I met the chef when I went in to drop off the resume. He was alone in the space sanding tables. Covered by sawdust, we talked about my experience, his experience, the restaurant, what he thought it would end up looking like, and about travels.

The space is only going to be twenty or thirty seats, a size that really appeals to me. I can see a very small kitchen staff and some really nice food being rocked out. The chef doesn't know exactly how he's going to staff his kitchen. He doesn't know if he's going to hire another qualified line cook other than him and his sous, or if he's going to hire a dum dum to just fold dumplings. I hope he hires me. I really want to be working with the flavors and the ingredients that he plans on using. I think that the learning curve there would be steep. I'm excited just thinking about it.

Anyhow, that's what I'm looking at. We'll see what happens.

Right now it's late (and five days from when I started writing this post). It's time for me to crash out so I can get some work done tomorrow. I'm making lobster potstickers for the Christmast Stroll menu. I have to fold and freeze a hundred of them so they're ready to go for a week from Friday. It should be fun.

Day 186: Identity

Listening: Don’t you wanna swim with me? Don’t you wanna feel my skin on your skin? It's only natural.

What's my problem? Figuring out the next move.

I was lured into the world of food and cooking through new American, French based cooking. I was. I was enamored with seared foie gras, deep rich sauces, and pan seared fish. I was lured in by the perfect individual plates with their schmears, swooshes, drizzles and garnishes. I was birthed into this industry making vinaigrettes and aiolis. I live in rendering individual duck breasts and pan searing/roasting fish. I reduce down my stocks. I use wine. And butter. Lots of butter.

I was taught cooking in a western style using western ingredients. It largely defines who I currently am as a cook. The restaurants that I have cooked at are all western restaurants, whether it's the American regional cuisine I'm doing now or the French/Cuban fusion food that I started off doing at the beginning of my career.

The fuct up thing is that when I put up specials, or add my input on specials, it is, without a doubt, with an Asian flair. I have made Peking duck, ginger and lotus broths, crispy fried sushi rice cakes, quick kimchee, and dumplings upon dumplings upon dumplings.

A lot of these are flavors that I grew up with. Aside from cucumbers and asparagus being a couple of my top favorite vegetables, I would also throw in gai lan, or Chinese broccoli, water chestnuts, bean sprouts, and morning glory.

I love soy sauce and chili pastes. I love noodles and dumplings. Do I cook with them much at work? Not so much. Usually only for staff meal or the occasional special.

I'm finding that more and more every day, my soul as an Asian-American cook supersedes my soul as a western cook. I'm not saying that I want to put down my saucepans and my demiglace and trade them in for woks and claypots. I just feel the need to use the flavors that I grew up with and the ones that I hold closer to my heart. I feel the need to learn to produce and use that which I am so familiar with.

Lately, I find myself being enamored with cookbooks focusing on Asian cuisine. I bypass the TK's AdHoc cookbook and barely give a second glance to Joel Robuchon's books (though they are very nice books). Instead, I spent a half hour looking at a book that strictly dealt with Asian dumplings, how to make the wrappers from scratch, how to fold them, and what to fill them with. It was entrancing. I looked at the Momofuku cookbook and was drawn in by the ingredients, the methods and the dishes.

So, as I ave been thinking about my career, I think that maybe I should try to go work at an Asian based restaurant. I don't mean that I want to go work in Chinatown, though that would be really cool. I feel like I need to work at a place that will help me become a better fine dining cook while allowing me to use some of my Asian tastes.

I would love to go work for David Chang at Momofuku in New York City, but I'm sure that guy has a million people banging on his door. Ken Oringer does Asian fusion food at his sushi bar, but I think that's far too close to white tablecloths for me. Ming Tsai... well.... He's out in the 'burbs, and I'm not particularly fond of his food.

I did, however find a job posting on Bostonchefs.com for a new place opening up in Inman Square. It describes itself as a Chinese style noodle house that will be creating Chinese inspired dishes using locally grown ingredients. They'll be using whole animals, which is a plus in my book as well. The chef, apparently, worked at Lumiere, T.W. Food and Hungry Mother, which is a big selling point for me as well.

I'm planning on dropping off my resume this Monday when I'm back home for break. We'll see how this all plays out. But for now, I think it might be a good move for me. Maybe it's time I got in touch with my roots in a professional setting.

Day 185: Git You Moist

Listening: Are we human or are we denser? My sign is vital. My hands are cold. And I'm on my knees looking for the answer.

What's my problem? Procrastination and boredom.

I realize that I have been a bit laxed in getting pictures up of what I have been doing this summer, or even this fall, so I'm gonna have a little payoff post. So, here y'all are. Half of these pictures are why I now weigh the most I ever have in my life.


Pigs ears like gummi worms, all ready to be dredged and fried.


Mini fresh ham biscuits of love.


Pig's ear poutine, Deep fried pork rillette stuffed with foie gras and cranberry jam, and fresh ham biscuits with housemade honey mustard.


The housecure: Fresh ham, country pate, tete de porc, citrus and parsley headcheese, copa, apple and fennel sausage, and mortadella


Crispy fried poached duck egg


The team of pork whores


What you get when your thumb gets into a fight with a julienne peeler.


Pork, foie, ginger & leek potsticker, or two bites of perfection.


All of my soldiers lined up.


This is what I do when I'm bored. I hand roll and hand fold 63 individual potstickers.


I just wanted to let you know that everyday, our onions come from "somewhere."

Day 184: Dead Body Parts or I Wanna Dance With Somebody

Listening: Go upstairs and change. We gon' do some things. I'm gon' tie ya down. Let's just move aroun'.

What's my problem? There are far too many lost arts, or at least arts that people will look at you strange about.

December ninth, Raphael Saadiq is going to be playing at the House of Blues, and I'm PSYCHED. For those of you who don't know his music it's neo-soul/Motown, and it makes me want to dance. His music has made me want to get up and dance since I was in middle school listening to Tony Toni Tone doing the Roger Rabbit and the running man.

When I think about going to this concert and his music, I don't want to just stand and bob to it. I want to dance. By dance, I don't just mean flail about by myself (which I have done before). I want to dance with somebody. I want connection and lead/follow. I want to groove with somebody.

Unfortunately, that doesn't happen much anymore in the modern world. For most people, partner dancing is reserved for wedding receptions where you have your carefully choreographed foxtrot, and your swaying back and forth dance with the father/mother of the bride/groom dance. If you're still in high school or middle school, partner dancing exists, I guess. But really is there any feeling in the groove, or are they just trying to cop a feel?

The problem exists in my mind that there is no casual venue where people can dance if they want to. I have friends who might disagree, who think, "Hey, there are several lindy hop/west coast swing/Argentine tango dances a week." That's not what I'm looking for. I'm looking for a place where the music exists whether the dance happens or not, and the option of dancing is exercised because of the music, not because of the dance. I want to go, listen to some good music, and groove with someone random without them looking at me funny because I'm touching their hand when I'm dancing with them, not grinding hips.

It's tough. As I think about art forms that I have participated in, a great deal of them are dead, dying, or just plain snickered at these days.

I am an ex-raver/ex-DJ. In the United States, the rave scene is dead. If you want to listen to electronic music, you have to go to clubs with Armani clad hipsters who are thinking, "Are you really wearing that?" That fun, welcoming, sweaty, underground scene that I used to be a part of died sometime around seven years ago. There are no more colorful flyers at record stores telling you that these twelve DJs will be playing here at this warehouse until six in the morning. There are no longer any active online rave bulletin boards or hotlines to call. The fun is gone.

The music is still there, both new and old. I listen to it often and want to jump around with kids in bright clothes who suck on pacifiers. By kids, I mean people over eighteen years old. I have friends who have babies who wear bright clothes and suck on pacifiers.

There are festivals around the world who cater to electronic music, but nothing you can find on any given day off. I remember a day when there were at least seven parties in a week that were all well attended by all sorts of folk, just showing up to dance to the music. Now I'd be lucky if I could find a decent club night once a month.

The truth of the matter is that though I say these art forms are dead or are dying, they're really just underground where they're just not as accessible, or they've changed to something less organic. Sure, I can go to Winter Music Conference in Miami in March to jump around to some killer DJs, but I want it where I live... continuously. And, sure, I could either go to a night to dance a specific step to specific music, or I could grab someone random out of the crowd at a concert hall to dance, but I don't want to feel like the only reason I'm there is to dance, or that I'm the only one who wants to dance like that.

I guess that's what it comes down to is organics. I want things to happen naturally. I want to groove with a girl, because the music moves us both, and we can move together in a natural, non-contrived way. I want to go to parties where the crowd comes together for the love of the music, not the love of the scene, the love of the booze or the love of the pills.

So, anyways, I had this thing that I wanted to tie in about how the art of dating is lost, but I think I've said enough about music and dancing. But, if you do like Raphael Saadiq and plan on going to see his show, and you do catch the groove and want to dance, I'll be there. If you don't know, here are a few clips of him.


Bear with the sound quality. It gets better.

Day 180: Serially Involved, Socially Un

Listening: I'm a monster, walking these streets, crawling these walls, whatever it takes to get to you.

What's my problem? I'm overly involved in serial dramas.

The internet is a wonderful thing to have when you don't work a nine to five and don't have a DVR. There are all of these wonderful sites where I can watch all of my serial dramas that I dig and some of my reality TV programs with slightly less than desirable resolution. I follow a number of shows. I probably spend more than ten or fifteen hours watching television on my computer. I'm lucky though. If I watched it on actual television, I would spend another few hours a week just waiting through the commercials.

Just to give you a clue of what I'm dealing with as far as my addiction to serials, I'll give you a list of all of the shows I'm following that are currently in season: "How I Met Your Mother," "Heroes," "Glee," "Top Chef," "The Ultimate Fighter: Heavyweights," "Grey's Anatomy," "Private Practice," "Survivor," "Smallville," "Dollhouse," and "Californication."

See, that's a lot of shows. I am dead tired right now from getting up at the crack of dawn to get back to the island for work, but instead of going to sleep, I caught up on shows that aired today.

I have to say that today's episodes were extraordinarily well written. Well, I don't know if they were actually that well written, but I really dug today's episodes. It could just be that I have watched these shows for so long that I have gotten to care about the characters, as fictional as I know they are. You dig what the writers do, and you realize that, even though these aren't real people, the characters become living breathing ideas that can evolve and can be killed off. A good writer can get people to care about characters, and I really think that the writers of "Grey's Anatomy" have done just that. Aside from the show's namesake, I really dig all of the characters. I think the namesake should be killed off.

It's so weird. I get involved in character and plots. The stories get emotional reactions from me whether it's laughter or (very manly) mild teariness. However, back in the real world, as I work on this island, I am incredibly insulated from everything. Nothing's really happening on the island and there's nothing really increasing my own personal drama here, so I walk around unaffected.

I was filling out an application for something, and it asked what is one word that other people would use to describe me. I asked the intern. He said, "indifferent." I had to think about that for a moment. Here, on the island, I am kind of indifferent to people and what's happening on the island. I think it could be because I don't necessarily feel like I fit in here on the island. I do what I do, and I could care less about what other people think about it (with the exception of my superiors). I'm somewhat self-alienated.

That self-alienation is a weird thing to think about when you think about who I am, where I am, and where I have been. I'm an American in what technically qualifies as America, yet I don't identify with most of the people who live in the same thirty mile radius. Earlier this year, I was an American, not in America, in a place where I don't speak the language, know what to order, or anything like that, but I found places to fit in. I have yet to find a place to fit in here on the island, so I guess that may be why I choose to hole up in my room, while the weather has become cold, and watch my little serial dramas. Though I don't find I "fit in" on any of these serial dramas, it gives me more to care about than just the food that I put up every night.

Anyhow, those were just some thoughts running through my head. The other news in my life is that while I was in Boston this past "weekend," I weighed myself. It turns out that I'm now a hundred and fifty pounds. A HUNDRED AND FIFTY POUNDS. I think that it's the most I've weighed in my life. It's so weird. I don't feel heavier. I look in the mirror and say to myself, "God DAMN, you're a sexy beast!" still. Well, truthfully, I never say that, but I have been known to say, "Yeah. I look good." A bit of narcissism. What more could you expect from a regular blogger. A bit of megalomaniacalness too perhaps?

It's cool. I can accept that. But for now, my eyes are starting to burn. I don't know if it's from staring at my computer while watching my shows, from my lack of sleep or both. I think I'll drift off to sleep while listening to Henry Rollins' "Black Coffee Blues" spoken word CD that I have finally re-ripped onto my iTunes after months of thinking about it and forgetting to do it. There's just something soothing about good ol' Hank's voice as he reads journal entries that he wrote while touring Europe with Black Flag in a crappy van. Some of the stuff that comes out of that man's mouth is genius that no one else can come up with. Makes me wish that I could drop knowledge about my life like he does his. Maybe I do, but I just don't recognize it because I'm too close to the project. For now, I'll just focus on his words and drift off to some much needed sleep.

Day 174: Restless

Listening: But there's no release. Mo peace. I toss and turn without cease. Like a curse, open my eyes and rise like yeast.

What's my problem? I can't get no sleep.

Yeah. I can't get no sleep. It's been months since I was asleep before three. Now I'm riding right around half past four when I can even get somewhere in the general realm of rest. It's usually around half past five when I actually lose consciousness. I can't get no sleep.

Two weekends ago (my weekends, not 9-5ers weekends), I was up in Boston, in my own wonderfully comfortable bed, warm and surrounded by pillows, and I still couldn't sleep. I closed my eyes and turned off my music. Then when that wouldn't work, I turned on my music. After an hour of that, I turned it off again and turned on the TV. I ended up not getting to sleep until what I think was around an hour and fifteen minutes before the alarm went off telling me to get my ass in gear so that I could catch the bus back down to Hyannis.

I'm not entirely sure what I should do about my little bit of insomnia that I have. I don't really know what's been bringing it on, or rather, what's been taking it from being a simple night owl to becoming a full blown vampire. Sure, like everyone, I have things on my mind from work to personal. Nothing's new. I just wish I could get to sleep.

To top off the sleep deprivation, I woke up on my "Saturday" with a crick in my neck that's still here on my "Monday" night. I need a massage something fierce. A few years ago, I don't think I would have ever said that. Now, I just want a tiny Thai chick to crack all of my joints for the sum of 200 Baht ($6).

Anyhow, in other news, this past Tuesday was the staff party. Although there was a lot of drunken debauchery, including a "who has the biggest belly" competition and people eating sweetbreads on top of mashed potatoes with a veal bolognese sauce (really who orders that, let alone puts it on the menu... I understand the components, but putting them together is just wrong), and long-winded drunken speeches. Luckily I didn't partake of any of the debauchery, but I did witness most of it.

Normally, on a night like that one, I would have imbibed a little bit, and I did have a couple of beers and a couple of glasses of wine, but I was by far the most sober employee, save the intern who is just... well, strange. However, that day was the day one of the neck crick, so I opted out of drinking enough to get me the JT drunk walk as my pal Junko would call it. I probably had the least eventful night out of everyone there, which was fine, because I was still having a good time.

These days at the restaurant, though, have become increasingly more slow. I spent most of last Monday's prep time making dumplings. This time they were pork and foie pot stickers. Everything was from scratch down to the wrappers. When I cooked a few of them up, they were perfect. Pan seared and then steamed. I sat and wrapped sixty eight of them. It felt like it took me forever, but it was well worth it. I have pictures of all of my soldiers lined up in rows. We sent some of them out to VIPs as little treats.

Other things that I have been doing to keep myself occupied include making desserts for staff meal. I made a tart tatin one day and individual pear tarts another day. I've put my stamp on a few of the entree specials, naturally taking them in an Asian direction.

I'm still trying to figure out what's going to happen to me post-island. I know I'll be down in the ATL around Christmas, but after that I have no clue. My New Years plans are kind of up in the air, and I don't know if I'll be going on vacation or getting a job come January.

I have money in the bank right now, but I didn't bank as much money as I thought that I would this summer. I can't really justify depleting my savings for another three month trip unless I know for sure that I'll be stepping right into some work when I get back. And, if I do go on a three month trip, it means I'm no closer to taking my year off to travel.

I've also been getting back into listening to my electronic music. I had put it down for a little while, but I have been listening to it again. It was because of this that I thought about taking a little vacation at the end of March in order to go to the Winter Music Conference in Miami.

I miss going to see DJs. I miss the raves and losing myself as I bounce up and down to a fierce bass beat. Come to think of it, the anonymity that you have is a lot like the anonymity that you have traveling abroad. You're in a room with all sorts of different people with different cultures and understandings of what's going on around them. You all bond together with a shared experience of the music or the "Lost In Translation" moment that you all are having. I miss that.

So, I think that I might like to go to Winter Music Conference and the Ultra Music Festival. I think that seeing DJs again might be nice. I think that dancing until my knees hurt may be mentally therapeutic, and, yes, that means that I think that I need some mental therapy right now.

Anyhow, it's three in the morning. I'm going to go try to do some reading. I want to give a shout out to Manni who was the first to get back to me about my travel journal. He gave me a lot of good feedback, and a good place to start gathering writing samples. Hopefully I'll hear from more of y'all. Until then, some of y'all get some winks for me. 'Cause I know I ain't getting many these days.

Day 158: Hog Wild!

Listening: Just when I thought I said all I could say, my chick on the side said she got one on the way. These are my confessions. Man, I'm thrown and I don't know what to do.

What's my problem? It's starting to get cold.

It's the end of days. By that, I mean that we're slowing down SERIOUSLY, and we're going from six day workweeks down to five day work weeks as of next week. Two of the interns have taken off. The last one was supposed to take off next Monday, but because of the way the internship had to be completed, he has to stay until the ninth of November. We've gone from having consistently over sixty diners a night to between twenty five, which we had last night, to forty, which we had two nights ago.

The bonus to it slowing down is that the sous-chef, the saute guy and I have started doing rounds. We'll all prep our home stations, but we'll work service on other stations. I'm working grill two nights a week and I'll be running a couple of days on saute and a day on the plating station a week or one day on saute and two on plating.

Yesterday I worked my first day on the plating station since last year. I'll be honest, I don't always make the prettiest plates. Sometimes I have a hard time gauging how to wing sauce off of a spoon and make it look nice when it hits the plate. I get nervous when I'm not comfortable on a station, which makes it harder for me to get it right. It's not like I shake like a leaf, but I definitely beat myself up when things don't end up looking like I want it to look like. I figure it'll take me a few more shifts before I get comfortable again.

What I really want to happen, probably won't. See if Chef would be willing to work the saute and the plating station, we could do a complete round robin. We could each take a day on the other three stations and work the weekends on our home stations. Chef pretty much sticks to hot apps or grill if he NEEDS to. The saute guy has expressed interest in working hot apps, and I enjoy my time on hot apps, whether I get buried or not. There's just something satisfying about seeing a perfectly browned, seared scallop. Then again, there's something satisfying about eating a perfectly browned, seared scallop as well.

In other news, the restaurant is holding its first annual Hogtoberfest weekend. Chef Matt Jennings from Providence's La Laiterie to run a few classes with my own Chef and Pastry Chef over this coming weekend, and will culminate in a Nose to Tail six course dinner with wine and/or beer pairings. It sounds like it's going to be pretty bangin'. We've got some jowls hanging in the walk in, tails in the brine, and ears already poached in addition to the house cured ham, mortadella and other tasty treats that Chef Jennings has in store. I strongly urge anyone who can make it down to Nantucket for this coming Sunday to book a reservation for the dinner.

Actually, I found the menu, and this is roughly what it's going to look like. We might tweak it a bit. In addition, if you're in the industry, you get the beer tasting cost for free.

Food:
Snacks
Fresh Ham & Cheddar Cheese Biscuits, Pork Rillette with Sweet Chili Jam, Pigs Ear Poutine.

1st
House Made Charcuterie & Assorted Favorite Garnishes

2nd
Boudin Noir & Smoked Jowl With Poached Pears, Arugala & Crispy Poached Duck Egg

3rd
Cast Iron Seared & Slow Roasted ginger Beer Pork Belly with Anson Mills Buttermilk Grits & Pickled Apple

4th
Pork Pie: Savory pork Shoulder & kidney Tart With Confit of Root Vegetables, Mustard & Parmesan Reggiano Cream

5th
Three Little Pigs Grilled Loin of Pork, Braised Pork Cheek & Crispy Tail with a Maple Parsnip Puree, Drunk Plums & Caramelized Brussels Sprouts

6th
“The King” Peanut Butter, Chocolate, Bacon & Jelly

$95 for Food
$120 food & Beer
$135 food, Wine & Beer

I also want to tell you that the pigs' ear fries are RIDICULOUS. Fucking RIDICULOUS. Makes me want to cry like a baby.

In other news, there isn't much other news. I told Chef that I would be dressing up as a ninja on Halloween. That's right. I'm going to look like a ninja on the line. Halloween is on a Saturday night, which means that it's going to be a crazy slow Saturday. I figure a ninja on the line might provide some comedy. What would be even better is if I could find a Storm Shadow costume. I mean, he already wears white...

Anyhow, finally, I'm still on the hunt for proper writing samples. I've decided to cut and paste all of my entries into a Word document in an attempt to clean them up and edit them a bit. I am still looking on feedback from my entries and which ones people particularly liked and which ones people didn't and why. So if you're reading, check it out and let me know. Hopefully it'll parlay itself into some sort of work for me. Til' the next entry...

Day 150: Electonically Ressurected

Listening: I love the feeling of being slightly lost, to find new spaces, new routes, new areas.... I love the lack of logic. I love the feeling of being slightly lost.

What's my problem? Stability doesn't suit me.

I got an e-mail from a friend of mine the other day that said, "its like youre electronically dead over there. i just checked your blog, which i havent done for awhile and you havent updated for a long time." It's true. It's been a whopping fifty-four days since I composed, even tried to compose a blog. I could tell you that I have been really busy, or that my computer broke, but those would both be lies. I have been spending a lot of my time veging out in front of my computer watching TV shows from back episodes of Joss Whedon's "Dollhouse" to the newest in a long line of shows that I liked that are/will be canceled, "Defying Gravity."

The other truths in the matter are that I have been all over the place since my last entry. I was up in Boston for the hell of it, in Maine for a wedding, hanging out with friends who came to the island to visit me, and a host of other things. Also, for a while I was sharing a day off with one of the interns and we'd hang out. That would curtail my alone time to plink out one of these entries.

Probably one of the biggest reasons that recently popped up over why I haven't posted is because I haven't had a day off in about a week and a half. See, the grill cook walked out on the line halfway through prep. That's right. The grill cook took his ball and went home. Let me explain how all of this went down.

Overall, our kitchen is tight. We all get along. We all get the work done. We all put it all down when it comes to everything from the food, to the cleaning to the staff meals we put up every day. We all did, except for the grill cook. He's the forty-three year old line cook. He doesn't scrub much. He puts in the minimal effort for staff meal, and he calls everyone out on anything he can, but can't accept criticism himself. That's how it all went down.

I didn't hear all of the altercation, as I was on the other side of the pass, but my sous-chef ended up calling him out on the fact that he does a half-assed job and that he doesn't really help much with staff meal, that he is the last one to wrap his shit up, the first one to be finished scrubbing (even if the job isn't done), and the first one to pop beers. His response, which I heard clearly, was, "why are you busting my balls?" to which the sous-chef said, essentially, "It's my job to bust your balls." From there, the grill cook said, "If you're gonna bust my balls, then I'm gonna go home."

Now, Chef could have stopped and diffused the situation at any time. But when he heard the grill cook say, "If you're gonna bust my balls, then I'm gonna go home," he decided to let it play out. The sous-chef then said, "Well, fine then, go home." And he did. He walked straight off the line, leaving his beef cheeks searing in the rondeau, and three quarters of his prep list unfinished.

That day I was supposed to work hot apps, and luckily, my prep list was short. At three o'clock on a Saturday (I'll repeat that, a SATURDAY), I had to switch gears, figure out what was going on with the grill station, and finish the prep.

Usually on the days that I work other people's stations (seeing as I have no home station being a rounds cook), I talk to the cooks the night before to figure out what's happening on the station. How much of what they have, what needs to be prepped, what they want set up for them after they get back from a day off. I like to be cooperative with the guys who own the station. I'm just the guest on their station. It's much harder to walk into a station relatively blind. It's totally doable, but it sucks a whole lot more.

I still rocked it out that night, but in that, I became the new grill cook and for the past two weeks, no one has had a day off except for the interns. I'm the new grill cook, and instead of bouncing between hot apps for two nights, saute for three, and grill for one, I'm on grill for at least four nights a week, and saute for two. In the midst of this crisis/wonderful event, I have committed to staying through Christmas Stroll, and will be leaving with the rest of the hot line sometime around December fifteenth.

Now this is both a blessing and a curse all in one. I really wasn't ready to go job searching in two weeks. Of course, my resume is updated, and I could find work if I wanted to. Was I mentally prepared? Not so much. It means that I'll be getting a number of paychecks more before I leave the island, though, and a potential bonus for staying until the end, but you never know. This also means that I could travel for a while this winter.

By finishing the job in the middle of December, I'm pretty much saying that I don't want to work until the beginning of March. Looking for steady work in the months of December, January and February in the restaurant industry is tough. After the New Year's celebrations, everyone goes on diets and stops going out to eat in order to pay back the credit card debt they incurred over the holidays. February has a flash in the pan know as Valentine's Day (gag me), but that's about it. It's when spring fever hits that people start going out again.

So, I've been looking for things to do. Of course, travel is first and foremost on my mind. I always feel a compulsion to leave the country. With reading so much travel literature lately, including anthologies, travel memoirs, and periodicals, I'm slowly realizing that, as much as I love what I'm reading, there's not a lot of travel lit geared towards me.

What I'm looking for is what I can do right now. I want to know how I can make my way right now. A lot of these long form books are great, but they don't tell me how I can do it now and what it's like to travel right now. The magazines are all geared towards desperate housewives and cubicle jockeys that have wet dreams about a cabana on the sand where an impoverished local will rub you down with coconut oil as you sip a frozen libation. Don't get me wrong. In a lot of ways its the same as it is for food lit. Half of it is food porn or unattainable dishes for the home cooks. It tells you what's out there that you can't have at home (for the most part), but it doesn't teach you how to cook right now. By that I mean to say that it'll tell you how to follow a recipe, but it won't teach you how to cook.

The travel that I want to read about deals with the pitfalls and the trials of traveling off the cuff. I don't want to read about hotels that cost over a hundred US dollars a night. I want to hear about the ones that cost ten, but are still nice. I don't want to hear about all inclusive tours and resorts. I want to hear about how someone got lost going from the train station to the hostel/hotel and the people they met along the way. I want to hear about how exactly someone got from point A to point B and what they did in those locations.

One of my pals thinks I should publish a book. I dunno if I'm up for that yet. It seems like too much of a long, drawn-out process. I think I'd be much better writing for a periodical. What kills me is that there isn't really a venue for the types of stories that I would want to write. Conde Nast Traveler and Travel & Leisure cater to the jet set rich folk. They don't want to hear about sleeping on a bare bamboo floor in the middle of the jungle. They need their four hundred count linens. Outside and Backpacker magazines seems to cater more toward the people who want to just go hiking and camping, along with some other adventure sports. I thought about maybe Esquire, GQ, and Playboy, but they all seem to be a little bit high end to enjoy the type of travel that I would be writing about. The options that I came up with were Budget Travel and National Geographic Adventure, although I may be a bit less family friendly than they would like, and possibly a freelance piece for Maxim magazine.

A couple of my friends also said that I should be looking for places to publish online, as magazines are folding left and right (R.I.P. Gourmet). The problem with that is that there are so many lame ass bastards (myself included) writing bullshit and publishing it for their own self-importance. I suppose that I could try to write for a website like nerve.com, which would be fun, but what's most important is that if I write for someone, it's legit. I don't want to put out meaningless content. I want to bring my travel experiences to people who want to know what I've learned through travel, not get someone wet in the knickers over ANOTHER white sand beach, though I do have some stories that would make one wet in the knickers over white sand beaches.

So, my goal is to get my feelers out there by mid November. I want to see if anyone would be willing to subsidize my travel habit, or at least suggest a little methadone.

Anyhow, it's time to finally finish the posting. Hopefully, I'll have more time to post from now until the time I leave the island. Hopefully, my readership hasn't dropped off completely. But, for now, that's all I have.

Day 96: When The Stars Explode Under Water

Listening: I'm not sure all these people understand. It's not like years ago, the fear of getting caught, of recklessness and water.

What's my problem? I really can't get a nice day off.

Another Thursday off and another day not worth going to the beach. Not only is it cloudy, but it's raining again. Some don't believe me when I say that I have shitty days off, but here we are again. The skies are gray and the pavement is dark with moisture. The coffee house is crowded and people are being douchebags about places to sit and waiting in line for coffee.

I talk a little bit to one of the girls at the counter. Coincidentally, she seems to be the only one who gives good, speedy service. She looks a bit exhausted. She must have been in the weeds for at least the last half hour as I have been sitting here, and I don't know how long the line was before I even got here.

The other girl behind the counter is total hardcore lesbian and is indifferent to the numbers of orders coming in. If she were about five times faster, she would be on par with the girls who work at the Diesel Cafe in Davis Square, but not as hot, as far as lesbians go.

Since it's raining, the Vagabonds are here in the coffee house. They never order anything. They just take up space and smell like dirty hippies. I think one of the guys here is one of the owners, and he seems to like them. He should be behind the bar digging the girls out of the weeds.

I remember despising the Vagabonds from last year. I think that even if I didn't despise hippies, I would still hate the Vagabonds. At least my least favorite Vagabond hasn't shown his face that much this year. He was the one who wore his nasty loose pants so high with suspenders that it gave him (a guy) cameltoe. The least that they could do was order something. They never order a damn thing. They just take up space and smell.

Now, the owner gets off his ass and takes out the trash, but the customers are still at least eight deep. It's not like these people are out to dinner, sitting at a table conversing with each other enjoying their evening. These people want their coffee and they want it now.

But enough about the crappy day unfolding for other people in front of me. Let's talk about current events aside from the crappy day.

So, on Monday night, we had a long, hot service in the kitchen and I decided that I wanted to go swimming. My room mates decided that it was a good idea, so it was the four of us who lived above the restaurant, one of my room mate's friends, and our boss' cousin who all decided to go. We drove out to Nobadeer Beach on the south side of the island, and promptly hopped in the drink.

I can't remember the last time that I went swimming at night. I know for sure that it wasn't in the ocean. Maybe it was one night at a pool in Disney World all by myself. It was great though. It was dark and the waves were coming in. I only went out far enough for the water to come up to my neck at its lowest point. Some of us were body surfing. Some just dove over or through the waves. The water was just warm enough to not freeze us and just cold enough to cool us off after spending the past five hours in front of a piano spouting flames.

Even after getting out of the water, it was still pretty warm. We tossed around my light up frisbee. It was a helluva good time.

It was such a good time that we decided to do it on Tuesday night as well. This time, Pies came out with his dog, and one of the servers came out with a friend of hers from San Francisco. The water was a bit colder, as was the air, but it was still worth going in the water. I had spent the night on the grill, selling upwards of twenty ribeyes, eighteen pork, and a dozen each of the veg tart and the grilled salmon. Oh yeah, and I sold out the last four guinea hen specials from the night before. It was a busy night, split fifty-fifty between the saute guy and I. I had one ribeye come back for being undercooked, but I still think that I'm getting better with every shift that I work.

Anyhow, we went back to Nobadeer on Tuesday night with Pies and the server. Pies brought his little Logitech iPod speakers, and the server brought some booze. This time, though, we swam out further.

It was a little bit more frightening on Tuesday. It was cooler and the water was a bit cooler as well. The fog had rolled in on the island, to the point where we could barely see twenty feet in front of the car as we drove to the beach. The sky was cloud covered to the point where the shape of the moon was obscured by the hanging mist. A few stars poked through but for the most part, there was barely enough ambient light to make out where people were. There were a few times where I was afraid we lost Pies' dog, but he always came back. Pies was never worried. He says that his dog never goes far.

Another reason to be afraid going out further is because there have been two sharks seen off the coast of the island, and sharks feed at night. There was no real danger, because the sharks never come up that far, even during the day, but it's that irrational fear that keeps you a little bit more sober.

There was a big payoff for going out further though. Once I went out about ten feet further from the point where I could touch the bottom, the phosphorescent algae showed up. I had heard about it last year, but I never made it out night swimming last year, so I never saw them. I had imagined it being like how a gasoline slick looks on water, except shimmery and glowing. I had it all completely wrong.

The server who came out with us had seen them before and said it was like the stars were exploding under the water, and she was right. It was like, when you move your arms and legs to tread water, all of a sudden all of these stars light up in the water and follow the current that you created with your movement. Unfortunately, with my glasses off, I could only see the ones that I created with my arms and hands. It was cool though. I tread water there for a long time just watching the phosphorescents light up like stray pixels on a screen.

I didn't go out there with the intention of seeing them, but when the server brought them to my attention, It was like magic. It was just so cool. I think it's something I'll tack onto my list of things that I have seen that I think other people should see sometime too. I have a lot of things on that list, many more things than a lot of other people have.

I hate to sound arrogant about my life and what I've done, but I am extremely fortunate to have been able to do what I have done in my life. I've been to Japan and spent time in a local's home, as well as been able to travel to different cities in Japan with a native speaker who also enjoys good food. I've gone to raves in Amsterdam. I've traveled for a month on my own all over Europe, and three months in southeast Asia. I've switched careers into a profession that I love with the emotional and mental support of my friends, and bootstrapped myself up to a point where I'm well respected enough to work at well respected restaurants, and well respected enough to put specials that sell out on the menu.

Man, in some ways I live a completely charmed life. A lot of people I know make more money. They have more things. They live more comfortably. However they never go anywhere, do anything or see anywhere. Sometimes I wish I could slap them all and tell them to get out there and see what's going on out there. Eat something new and authentic in the place where it was born. See somewhere that's older than the skyscrapers and McMansions that are all too common here at home.

I know that, chances are, a lot of my friends will retire with more than I will. The life of a cook either ends up in riches, in the poor house, or in another career. My parents pester me to contribute to a Roth IRA, but after working for the corporation, I don't believe in all of that shit anymore. What I do now is I save my money for a while and then I go out and do things that I want to do. I enjoy my life. I'm not waiting until I'm too old to climb up mountains, too comfortable to sleep on the floor of a bamboo hut, and too broken to think that I can't do anything but go through the same motions every day to take two weeks off a year to do something close to nothing. I want to see more stars explode under water and I want to see more amazing sunsets from even more amazing temples made by amazing people an amazing amount of time ago.

Anyhow, I'll end that bit of rant now and start on another rant. The grill cook. Bag-a-douche. He's such a little bitch. No one in the kitchen likes him with the exception of Chef. He does minimal work, criticizes everyone, calls other people out, and throws them under the bus. He's forty four years old and is still just a line cook. He has no right to tell someone they're doing it wrong if his professional stature at his age says anything.

I worked his day off on Tuesday, and we had thirty or so steaks in the marinade at the end of the night. I had sold around twenty or so steaks on my busy ribeye night, so I thought thirty would be enough. I didn't pull any up from the freeze. We sold a lot of ribeye last night as well, more than I sold on the night before. At nine o'clock, an hour before the end of service, he's counting down steaks and freaking out. He pulls some from the freeze and tries to quick thaw them and then he proceeds to throw me under the bus for not pulling any steaks. At the end of the night, he still had a pre-marinated steak or two. It was close, but he had enough. He couldn't stop talking about it. He never mentioned my name, but we all knew what he was insinuating to Chef. He's a little bitch. I maintain that I didn't do anything wrong.

And to top it all off, he gives a lot of his prep work to the prep guy instead of prepping the station himself. He really doesn't prep much of his own mise en place. A lot of the things that he does is piddly shit. I can easily prep his station from top to bottom every day. Saute is much harder. There's a lot more knife and stove work. Grill has to cut packages of meat open and marinate or brine. He has to shell crawfish and pick cilantro. It's a dum-dum prep list. So, when it's time to throw work at the prep guy's list, I'll see what everyone else is giving him and then I'll throw on what I think he can handle, because I know that grill should be able to prep from the top down easily every day. He gets pissed at me for not throwing the prep guy ninety percent of his work. He talks his ass off during prep and only does what's necessary to get by. So he gets pissed when he actually has to work. Yesterday night he asked me who was I to say what should and should not be on the prep list. I shrugged it off. He's a fucking shoemaker.

On a more positive kitchen note to end off with, there's a local farmer who is producing the most amazing produce. This week, he dropped off some beautiful shiso leaf and Chinese celery among other things like five types of basil, salt wart, Thai lemongrass, and purple potatoes. Tuesday night, Chef knew that he would be running a bass special, but was a bit burnt out and wanted to wait until the next morning to figure it out. I threw out a couple of ideas and he said, that it sounded good and we'd refine it in the morning. When I got in yesterday, I threw the idea out at him. Sake glazed bass, crispy sushi rice cake, ginger/lemongrass shrimp broth, brunoise pickled ginger, chili and Chinese celery with a tempura shiso leaf. It came out amazing. The perfume off the dish was sick and it sold out within the first half of service. Twenty five portions, out the door before eight o'clock. It was awesome. I came up with it and Chef helped refine it.

Anyhow, that's where I'm at now. I just took some time off from writing the blog to show the cookie my travel pictures. Next week, Killa and I may head up to Boston for our day off. He went to get a tattoo in Hyannis for today. I think I'll go grab dinner somewhere and then I'll try to get a ticket to see G.I. Joe. at a quarter past eleven. Good times for a rainy day. Well, not really, but I'm trying to look on the bright side. Time to shut down for now. Hopefully next week will be brighter, or at least more urban.

Day 89: Little. Yellow. Angry.

Listening: Time ain't standing still, and there ain't no way to get it back.

What's my problem? Ducks weren't defrosted.

So I have a reputation in the kitchen. I'm known both as the dirtiest (not to say unclean, but definitively the most crass) and the angriest guy in the kitchen. I make the meanest mama jokes. I tell things how they are. And I get irked by little things. So whenever I'm in a kind of get disgruntled, someone inevitably says, "ZEN!!!, Little. Yellow. Angry." That's me. I need a t-shirt with that printed on it. If I ever try out for a reality TV show, I'm going to send in a video with all of the people that I know saying that I'm little, yellow, and angry.

When I get in a press on the line, I tend to get a bit snippy. I start cursing. I start getting testy with people. Last night was a good example of it.

It started off a little bit shady to begin with during prep. The night before, we had set out a case of duck breasts to thaw. The next day, I was supposed to separate the breasts, remove the tender, and trim up and score the skin before marinating them. On an average night, the normal saute cook sells around fifteen ducks. I had fifteen ducks in the marinade before the case of frozen breasts. The most that we had sold in a night was twenty. When I got to do the butchering and marination of the ducks, they were still frozen. They're never still frozen the next day at three in the afternoon. The pastry chefs must have come in earlier than normal and chucked them in the walk-in fridge before they had finished defrosting.

So I had fifteen ducks in the marinade. It was a Wednesday night. We'll roll with fifteen butchered ducks. The third ticket that comes in orders five ducks and takes out a third of my stash. That's quickly followed by ducks on each of the next three tickets. Half of my duck mise en place is demolished. It's not even half past seven yet. I was already sweating the garnish on the dish too, because the normal saute guy didn't prep the starch two days in advanced like we usually do.

It seems as if whenever he works, he sells less than the average number of ducks per night, and when I work, I sell way more than the average number of ducks. By the time I had run out of ducks, the night wasn't even halfway over, but the ducks were defrosted enough to butcher and use.

I also normally render off a number of duck breasts before the beginning of service, so I don't have to spend the time doing it as the crush comes in. I started with eight rendered, and as I said earlier, they were all gone before seven thirty. So with every subsequent duck order, "Awwwww, fuck YOUUUUUUUUUU...." could be heard escaping from my lips.

Not only was I buried in duck all night long, selling the record for this season at twenty one, I was also running the bass special. If there's one thing that people love, it's bass. I sold twenty of those that night too. Another twelve tuna or so and at least thirty flounder topped it all off. I was selling at least four entrees for each one coming off grill.

There was one pickup where out of twelve dishes, I had ten of them, and then the guy working the plating/expediting station asked me if I can pick up another flounder and a tuna, my reaction was, "I don't give a FUCK!" So he adds it on. Then, not only do I not hear the extra tuna tacked on, thinking it was only a flounder that I had to add on, but he didn't call out that one of the flounders was a medium-well. So, I'm picking up seven flounder, two tuna, and two duck, but one of the tunas I don't know about. The guy guy working the plating station asks me the duck as I'm putting the flounder on the plate, and I'm like, "What FUCKING tuna?" Then he asks me which flounder is medium-well, and I say, "You didn't call out a FUCKIN' medium-well!" So I pick up a flounder put it back on a sizzle platter and grab the one that I had fired as medium-well, put it in the broiler and brought it back up to temp.

We did a hundred and fifty dinners last night and I'm sure that I did at least ninety of them. I think that grill did thirty five or forty, and hot apps did ten or fifteen apps as entrees (cheap ass mother fuckers). So, as I'm getting railed, I'm spouting expletives as I render ducks, pick up ten dishes at a time, sear and roast fish, heat up garnish, and think that the guy deciding the pickups is a moron for not analyzing the tickets better and putting together more realistic pickups. I think that if I was less organized and focused in on the order of operations, I would have been, not only buried, but totally lost in the weeds. There was only one time that I didn't have my all-day (all-day is what we call what we have on order), and it was on the last two tickets where I hadn't fired a flounder. Luckily, flounders are one of those dishes that you can do on the pickup.

But, yeah, I got railed all night long. I felt like a two dollar hooker getting fucked by a big sweaty beast for two hours straight. When the dust cleared, I was satisfied with my performance, and I had made it through the night without running out of anything, though the mise en place was DESTROYED. There was almost nothing left. I had vinaigrettes still, mussels for the tuna dish, scallions and that's about it. The regular saute guy had to rebuild the place from the ground up.

The night before, I worked the grill. We did a hundred and sixty people that night and I did a good job. There was nothing sent back and all of my food looked great. I got worked just as hard as the saute guy, and I had a lot of fucked up orders too. But I survived it with no one sending anything back or getting any negative feedback. I was so relieved at the end of the night. I didn't talk about how well I was doing all night long, like I was a pitcher in the middle of a no-hitter. In my mind, though, I I was ecstatic that I had found a groove and that I was rockin' it.

Speaking of groove, I had a really nice moment last Sunday. The past couple of Sundays, I have been waking up early to catch brunch with a friend of mine. This week, I woke up and turned on the TV as I waited for my friend to get back to my text saying that I was up and ready to go. The end of the movie Groove was on TV, right at the part where Digweed walks into the rave and drops the epic track "Heaven Scent" by Bedrock. "Heaven Scent" has to be one of my all time favorite progressive house tracks. When I hear it, it still gives me goosebumps and puts the hair on the back of my arms on end. I can feel it tingling down my spine as the beat washes out and the synthesizers push the theme. Not only does it bring me back to my DJing days, but it levitates me just like it used to back when it was played on the floors of clubs and warehouses. It's an amazing way to wake up. I think that maybe I should wake up to that song every day.

Anyhow, today, though, was a bit of a wash. Originally, killa, the cookie and I were planning on spending the entire day at the beach with our brand new beach grilling permit, Pies' smokey joe, a cooler full of wine and grillable foods, and a frisbee. Needless to say, it rained today. All day. It's okay, because I was up until five in the morning watching TV and really just needed the day to relax. So, that's what I'm doing. Relaxing. You gotta chill out so you can be the little, yellow, angry guy on the line.

Day 82: A Grand Day Out

Listening: Some would say I was a lost man in a lost world. You could say I lost my faith in the people on tv.

What's my problem? Didn't make it to the Bean.

Well, I didn't make it to the Bean today. The Bean is the local coffee house with free wifi, uninspired service and quality beverages where I usually park my ass for hours at a time on my day off as I read, twiddle around on the internet and blog. I meant to go there this evening, but better things presented themselves.

Starting this week, my room mate/the intern, who is known in the kitchen as "the crazy eyed killer" and is referred to by other names including "crazy eye," "killa," "crazy mutha fuckin' eyed killa," and "pickled fucker" had the same day off. We knew this was going to happen a couple of days ago and we planned on going to the Downy Flake, the closest approximation to a diner on this hellhole for real people and playground for popped collars.

We didn't get going until half past eleven when the pastry assistant, who shares a name in common with a specific cookie (and I find quietly amusing... and no it's not Oreo), called to see of the killa wanted to grab some lunch. He informed her of our plan and she decided to join us for a noontime breakfast at the Downy Flake.

I know the pastry assistant casually, as in, when she and the pastry chef are really busy, they're still there when I go in to prep, we have some pleasant conversation, and then go about our merry way. The killa knows her a bit better, because as an intern, he gets more time off due to the fact that he's hourly and not a salaried employee. Therefore, during his time off, he can socialize with her because she's typically done before noon. So they had a number of dinners together before, but this was my first time getting to know her at all.

But, we had the late breakfast. I had the Flake Special, which included two eggs, some bacon, some home fries and a donut. To that I added on a single pancake and a bottomless cup of coffee, which I milked 'til we were the last table sitting before they closed for the afternoon.

It was nice getting to know the pastry assistant who shares a name with a cookie (heh). She's a down home southern belle with a boyfriend waiting for her down in Nashville. She reads a lot of food lit including Michael Pollan books. She has never worked the line in her life and kind of wants to work for a test kitchen someday. Generally a cool, seemingly intelligent person.

After breakfast, the killa and the cookie waited for me as I got a haircut. Now, the killa insists that all of his days off are sunny and beautiful. I insist that all of my days off are crappy and disgusting. So, what happens when we have the same day off? Well, half of the day is crappy and the other half is great. Luckily the morning blew, so the afternoon was pretty nice. It was so nice, in fact that we ended up packing a cooler and heading to the beach.

I actually got into the water today. It was surprisingly warm, a fact that the cookie would not agree with. But, for New England, the water was almost tropical. The waves were out in full force with surfers kicking crazy turns and taking some diggers. The wind was blowing too. It was a little bit chilly, but I was determined to get some of my color back. I'll freeze my little Asian nipples off if it means regaining what I worked so hard to achieve in places like Koh Tao and Nha Trang.

I also started reading one of the books that I requested from the library. I requested a book on taking a gap year, and for the most part, it was really geared towards people who are looking to take their year in or around their college career. It was also geared mostly towards the Brits, to whom the idea of a Gap Year is not only a commonplace thing, but it's also something recognized by the government. There was a small section geared toward "North Americans." It included some good resources that I plan to research a little bit more like different agencies that aid people on taking gap years and such. I think that all of my talk about the idea of a gap year has sort of inspired the killa to take one once he gets out of culinary school.

We stayed at the beach for a long time because one of the servers at the restaurant said that she would come out. She said she would be an hour or so, and it was more like or so. She showed up after we had been there for a good three hours. It was okay though. We got to see her smiling face and shared a bit of our wine with her. She ended up heading out to catch a few waves on her board after a short while and we decided that we were gonna go grab some food. And we were hungry.

After the three of us got cleaned up, we headed over to Straight Wharf. In the past, I hadn't been really all that impressed with their menu or their food. I remember Gabriel Frasca from back in his Spire days and the food that he was putting out was nothing short of bangin'. At Straight Wharf, it's a little bit more subdued. But after looking at the menu, we ended up in the dining room. I gave a shout out to my boy Sean, who was working the bar kitchen on that night, and Gabriel was out doing a private function.

As the night went, we ordered some sauteed squash blossoms, a house made caviatelli, and Island Creek oysters on the half shell for our starters, and the scallops, the striped bass, and the halibut for our entrees. The cookie had a glass of sauvignon blanc. The killa had a glass of chardonnay, and I had a glass of the gruner. As a mid course, they sent us half orders of the Straight Wharf lobster bake, which included shelled butter poached lobster, little neck clams, chorizo, and fingerling potatoes over a sweet corn puree. Mighty tasty. I have no clue why they chose to send that as a mid course. It's an expensive thing to send. They charge a market price for it, which happened to be $42. What means that they sent out what essentially would have cost a normal person about $61. On top of that, when we ordered dessert, I ordered a glass of brachetto d'acqui, and they brought a glass for each of us. And, yes, we all got dessert.

I walked out of dinner both full and buzzed. Throughout the day I had about a half a bottle of wine plus a couple of glasses of wine with dinner. It doesn't seem like much, as it was spaced out over about four hours, but I think my dehydration from my six day work week in a hella hot kitchen and only being able to replenish my fluids so much made the booze take hold a little bit more. The night before, I was tipsy after a beer and two drinks when I met my friend out. I guess I have to be a bit more careful. I'm not about to feel like a bag of shit because I wasn't careful.

After dinner the killa and I came back to the restaurant and invaded the kitchen as the rest of the cooks were finishing their prep lists for the next day, but I was getting the sleepy drunk action, a trait passed down from my father, and went upstairs and crashed out for a couple of hours.

I probably should have just passed out for the night but I woke up to answer some text messages and to get something to drink. I ended up watching "Definitely, Maybe" with one room mate and then watched a couple of episodes of "The United States of Tara" with another. And now it's five in the morning. It's really time to go to sleep. We're expecting to do over two hundred on each of the next two days, so I have to get my rest so I can get my game face on. Two hundred covers in a recession is a good thing, but it also means that more people are ordering apps and entrees. This means that the hot apps stations gets fucked both ways. I gotta get ready to bend over and brace, because I'm gonna get fucked in a very uncomfortable place (like the back of a Volkswagon).

Day 76: Why So Sad?

Listening: Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise.

What's my problem? Dave Matthews has been making me sad.

So Dave Matthews has been playing in the kitchen all through prep and it's been making me sad. I love Dave Matthews, but it's not good to listen to music that makes you sad when you have a hundred and fifty covers on the books. It just makes no sense. We should be listening to Rage Against the Machine or Body Count's "Cop Killer." Maybe I'm just in a sentimental mood. Hope I don't get my ass kicked tonight. It's hot apps though. It's cake.