Meeting angel and shallot hell
So, here's how I met Angel and he helped me.
Last Saturday at Candle 79, Dave and I had a great meal and as I was leaving I had the urge to thank the chef and ask if he was taking interns. The head chef is called "Angel" and he came out. I told him how much I loved the food there and if he would take me on as an intern once a week. I decided to start my internship early so that I can enhance my studies and get most of it underway before finishing school, but only do once a week so that it doesn't interfere with my studies and required outside work called stewardship hours. Well, Angel was very nice, agreed and said I had to speak to the manager, which I did on Monday. The manager was very nice too and relaxed and we agreed that I would start working every Sunday from 2 to 10 pm. It was very easy and natural how it fell into place and I could start interning at the best vegan/vegetarian restaurant in NYC.
So, I'm just back from my Sunday shift and survived! My legs are swollen from standing for over eight hours straight, my fingers are red and smelly from handling beets, turnips, onions, and other ingredients, and they are highly sensitive and very sore after a five hour session with the shallots from hell in the dark low basement kitchen, cutting the ends off each and peeling them carefully, and ending up with over 10 quarts, which may not sound like alot but believe me, it's very labour intensive. I did one bag and thought thank goodness that's over. But then they brought out another big bag and then another big bag. I guess it's the job that the kitchen staff don't like and I know why. It's meticulous and the peeling of the shallot skins and the juice from the shallot made my hands very raw and sting to the point that I didn't think I could take the pain anymore to my hands and would have to stop. I felt like a prisoner in a large old boat (the basement had that feeling like those old movies) chained to the table so I had to keep on working. So, I tried using my left hand more and then I found some plastic gloves, which are the greatest invention. I thought they were for sanitary reasons but they really help to protect your hands when working with food as you don't realize the effect of different juices on your skin and under your nails, especially if they're exposed for a few hours to the same juice.
Also, I tried to pass the time by focusing and taking short breaks to watch the "juice" boy next to me, hoping for samples when ever he made too much, which I was rewarded with. I felt like a dog, being good and waiting for my biscuit. I say boy because he couldn't have been more than 17 I think, and he was such a pro preparing the different juices and doing a lot of prep work in general. He didn't speak English, only a few words, which is the surprising thing when entering the kitchen overall. Everyone at the back of house is Hispanic and do not speak very much English.. dishwasher, bus boy, cooks and assistants... and I was the only woman. So, I have spent the last few weeks learning culinary terms and now I spent the evening trying to learn as much Spanish as possible. When I speak in English, I only get the odd word or two when I ask a question or a shrug like they don't understand, or don't know the answer, or just think I am a crazy English-speaking person in the kitchen to annoy them.
I spent the first part of my shift with the cold prep chef who does the appetizers and desserts for the most part. It's very akward, like you shouldn't be in there in their way as they are very busy, but have to so you try to be attentive and look ready to help but want to disappear at the same time as you can't be of much help and when they ask for something you have to get them to show you where it is. I know this will get better over time but it was challenging at times, and the fact that we couldn't speak English didn't help the matter.
I worked with the cold chef to prep some of the items for the appetizers, including the guacamole; marinated beets and turnips slices using the Japanese madeline, which he was able to thankfully tell me in English is " very sharp and be careful"; almond cream for the dessert; prepping of cherry tomatoes and large portabellos mushrooms; baking of sweet potatoes, and then the preparation of pounds and pounds of shallots from hell.
At the end of the night, one of the assistants came to rescue me and told me I could order anything off the menu. I rushed to finish and ran up the stairs to order my meal and decided on one of their signature dishes and Dave loved last week - grilled rosemary pepper seitan with celeriac-leek puree, haricots verts, roasted shallots, cabernet and wild mushroom ragout. The dish was beautifully presented but unfortunately you have to eat standing up at the back of the crowded kitchen and quickly or in the downstairs dungeon, so not quite the same ambiance as the upscale dining room but the food was still excellent and I said thank you to the chef in Spanish. I helped create some desserts and then they said I could leave so I took my tired body out of the restaurant and on to the bus home. One shift down! Yeah!
Last Saturday at Candle 79, Dave and I had a great meal and as I was leaving I had the urge to thank the chef and ask if he was taking interns. The head chef is called "Angel" and he came out. I told him how much I loved the food there and if he would take me on as an intern once a week. I decided to start my internship early so that I can enhance my studies and get most of it underway before finishing school, but only do once a week so that it doesn't interfere with my studies and required outside work called stewardship hours. Well, Angel was very nice, agreed and said I had to speak to the manager, which I did on Monday. The manager was very nice too and relaxed and we agreed that I would start working every Sunday from 2 to 10 pm. It was very easy and natural how it fell into place and I could start interning at the best vegan/vegetarian restaurant in NYC.
So, I'm just back from my Sunday shift and survived! My legs are swollen from standing for over eight hours straight, my fingers are red and smelly from handling beets, turnips, onions, and other ingredients, and they are highly sensitive and very sore after a five hour session with the shallots from hell in the dark low basement kitchen, cutting the ends off each and peeling them carefully, and ending up with over 10 quarts, which may not sound like alot but believe me, it's very labour intensive. I did one bag and thought thank goodness that's over. But then they brought out another big bag and then another big bag. I guess it's the job that the kitchen staff don't like and I know why. It's meticulous and the peeling of the shallot skins and the juice from the shallot made my hands very raw and sting to the point that I didn't think I could take the pain anymore to my hands and would have to stop. I felt like a prisoner in a large old boat (the basement had that feeling like those old movies) chained to the table so I had to keep on working. So, I tried using my left hand more and then I found some plastic gloves, which are the greatest invention. I thought they were for sanitary reasons but they really help to protect your hands when working with food as you don't realize the effect of different juices on your skin and under your nails, especially if they're exposed for a few hours to the same juice.
Also, I tried to pass the time by focusing and taking short breaks to watch the "juice" boy next to me, hoping for samples when ever he made too much, which I was rewarded with. I felt like a dog, being good and waiting for my biscuit. I say boy because he couldn't have been more than 17 I think, and he was such a pro preparing the different juices and doing a lot of prep work in general. He didn't speak English, only a few words, which is the surprising thing when entering the kitchen overall. Everyone at the back of house is Hispanic and do not speak very much English.. dishwasher, bus boy, cooks and assistants... and I was the only woman. So, I have spent the last few weeks learning culinary terms and now I spent the evening trying to learn as much Spanish as possible. When I speak in English, I only get the odd word or two when I ask a question or a shrug like they don't understand, or don't know the answer, or just think I am a crazy English-speaking person in the kitchen to annoy them.
I spent the first part of my shift with the cold prep chef who does the appetizers and desserts for the most part. It's very akward, like you shouldn't be in there in their way as they are very busy, but have to so you try to be attentive and look ready to help but want to disappear at the same time as you can't be of much help and when they ask for something you have to get them to show you where it is. I know this will get better over time but it was challenging at times, and the fact that we couldn't speak English didn't help the matter.
I worked with the cold chef to prep some of the items for the appetizers, including the guacamole; marinated beets and turnips slices using the Japanese madeline, which he was able to thankfully tell me in English is " very sharp and be careful"; almond cream for the dessert; prepping of cherry tomatoes and large portabellos mushrooms; baking of sweet potatoes, and then the preparation of pounds and pounds of shallots from hell.
At the end of the night, one of the assistants came to rescue me and told me I could order anything off the menu. I rushed to finish and ran up the stairs to order my meal and decided on one of their signature dishes and Dave loved last week - grilled rosemary pepper seitan with celeriac-leek puree, haricots verts, roasted shallots, cabernet and wild mushroom ragout. The dish was beautifully presented but unfortunately you have to eat standing up at the back of the crowded kitchen and quickly or in the downstairs dungeon, so not quite the same ambiance as the upscale dining room but the food was still excellent and I said thank you to the chef in Spanish. I helped create some desserts and then they said I could leave so I took my tired body out of the restaurant and on to the bus home. One shift down! Yeah!
posted by Caroline at 8:22 PM
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