Act 3, Scene 15: “Chef School”

TRL has always been a good cook. He remembers proudly making a crepe for his mom a few days after learning the craft in seventh grade home economics class. He loves taking an hour to extra-virgin-olive-oil sauté garlic and begin his base of homemade tomato sauce, layering on the anchovy paste, canned plum tomatoes, canned chopped tomatoes, fresh tomatoes, Italian parsley, and miscellaneous other ingredients, and then stir occasionally over a three-hour period as it reduces. Or make elaborately flavored chicken dishes out of simple ingredients like chicken breast, white wine, balsamic vinegar, and spices. Or pan frying steaks. Or making elaborate fresh salads. He loves food porn: TRL dreams of a Viking stove, Sub-Zero refrigerator, long marble container tops and built in cutting boards.

He has the ingredients and cooking and intuition parts down, and also the most important part: the pride of making and serving food to people he cares about. He has come to understand why his grandma fluttered between the kitchen and the table during family gatherings, cooking and serving but rarely sitting: you are the cook, you are in the zone, people are hungry and food must be prepared. But TRL never really got the timing down. People would wait for the first course, or wait too long between courses. TRL romanticizes going to cooking school to learn how to be a pro. And he and S did take various cooking classes in the hills of Chianti, Oaxaca, Mexico, and New York City. But TRL still hadn’t worked out the timing issues. Until recently, when he unwittingly enrolled in the toughest restaurant school there is: Le Cordon Twins.

When C and E are hungry, they want their food. Not in ten minutes, or two minutes, or even thirty seconds. Because C and E have no concept of time. They know only NOW. And that is when they want food on their plates. And if they don’t get it NOW, you can not send a drink out to placate them, or offer them a free dessert, or send apologies from the chef. Because They Don’t Care. They Want Their Food NOW.

They won’t smear you in a restaurant review. Or tell their friends not to go to you for dinner. Or refuse to pay the check. Worse. Much worse. They will whine. For maybe 20 seconds. And then they will scream, shout and cry. Les enfants terribles d’cuisine.

Which will raise TRL’s blood pressure as he scrambles to get dinner ready.

And piss S off, who is hungry after a long day at work. She will make some unwelcome comment. Which will further raise TRL’s blood pressure.

Focus, steam, grill, plate, TRL repeats to himself.

But the screaming continues. And the temperature rises. And no matter how good the food is, if it is delayed, it is worth nothing.

After several months of this, TRL feels something happening. His movements between sink and cutting board and stove became more fluid. He learns to cut the number of steps in a preparation and remove unnecessary equipment from the process. He values preparation: getting everything cut, chopped, diced and measured ahead of time. He coordinates the pasta boiling and the sauce making, the steak grilling and the asparagus blanching. He understands timing. Forced by a pair of screaming two-and-a-half-year olds, the world’s harshest critics of food service, TRL finally graduates from cook to chef.