the artist and the technician

A couple of weeks ago my team, consisting of my wife- the event planner, a good friend- the mixologist, and a handful of loyal volunteers hosted an underground dinner party. One of seven thus far. The dinners go by the name of blue dinner underground. Each one has a different theme, setting, and likewise different menu. We’re not quite sure why it is that we do this. Each time we push ourselves further to the breaking point, and like addicts searching for a fix we desperately seek out the next high. The process is simple, a location becomes available- office buildings, roof tops, back yards, whatever, the theme is dictated by the location and the menu follows.

 Sometimes there is a kitchen, most of the times there is none. Blue’s concept is to keep all things true to form, manipulate as little as possible. Planning takes weeks, sometimes months of nonstop thought and brainstorm sessions. The day of the event begins early typically before the sun is up and ends late into the night. The week itself is an easy 100+ hours of planning, manual labor, and preparation. We call this fun. Our escape from the everyday routine.  

 At our last dinner, in hopes of spending more quality time with our guinea pigs (blue does not host guest but instead test subjects of our madness), I decided to take on help for the execution of a 7 course, 210 plate menu. I couldn’t have asked for a better setting to have done so. The conversations were intriguing and the questions led me to realize the fascination behind a chef’s psyche.  

 Although happily enslaved by my profession for most of my life, I can only speak for myself in attempting to deconstruct the mind of a chef.

 The word chef makes me uncomfortable. So easily tossed around it has become a term representing any numbnut that places food onto a plate. There is no respect behind the word as there once used to be. A term implying someone in pearly whites who hardly comes in contact with what they produce. Unfortunately for me there is still romance within the term chef, making me unqualified among my peers if I do not reside within its allure.      

To better understand the food you are eating you must first understand the psyche of the person who prepares it. In my work I seek an understanding of food a few ever truly find.

 Major insult- call me an artist.

 I am a craftsman, a humble cook, but artist I am not. The word itself cheapens what I do. Artists have the freedom to create for themselves, they do not have to take under consideration their audience. A luxury I wish I had.

 I understand where the confusion begins. Yes, I do get to play around and express my imagination but first and foremost I am a technician. I alter the structure of substance which will become part of you. There is almost a sexual intimacy between the cook and the patron. We understand the elements we work with, respect their reactions and follow a science unwritten. Our methods of control are touch, sight, and hearing. All mastered by years of repetition, trial and error.

 Much like blue’s concept I aim to keep things true to form. My goal- to cook with intent and purpose.