I Wasn’t a Great Cook Until I Burned Down the Kitchen

To this day, I still can’t believe they gave me the job. There I was, all my life referred to a ‘mediocre’ cook on my best days, and my favorite cafe, owned by a man named Bob*, hired me to work under new their amazing chef. Jeff was at least 6’6″ with a tattoo on half of his shaved head, he was one of the sweetest men at the coffee shop, so soft spoken, and the best chef I had ever encountered in all my 19 years. Before I tasted his food I had no idea what good food was like (aside from the sushi restaurant I visited at age 12). After one taste of Jeff’s Fettuccine Alfredo I was a foodie, sold for the rest of my life to the idea that food could be. that. delicious. My mouth waters just thinking about that creamy pasta.

How did I ever explain my credentials to someone of this caliber? I told him that I’d been cooking for my family since I was eight. And he deemed that enough experience to work under him.

I was never so excited to make $6 an hour. I mean, this was above minimum wage! And not only that, I got to work at the single coolest coffee shop in town, where I’d been hanging out since I was 11. People here were a second family to me. Not always sober, but family none the less.

I drank in every speck of advice Jeff had to offer, and although I was a sponge, I think he was exasperated by how much I didn’t know. Still, he was patient. And I had to learn patience too: the counters were built for his comfort, and I was slicing and dicing at my shoulder height. I’m a mere 5′ 1/2″.

But I learned, and tried my best to keep up with all the prep work, even when I needed a ladder to reach any spices.

It was a snowy evening. Bob, the owner, and I were the only ones working, and we didn’t anticipate many customers. This was New England, after all, and snows could lay on pretty thick in January. And since there weren’t many food orders that evening (the restaurant portion of the cafe was still very new) I manned the espresso machine as well as the chef counter. Bob, being the owner, had people to chat with.

At first it wasn’t so bad.

Then came the order for Fettuccine Alfredo, Jeff’s signature dish. I set the sauce on the stove over low heat to simmer while I made the three cappuccinos that had been ordered.

I looked up from the espresso machine to see five people had just come in from the blizzard. And Bob was still chatting away at the milk and lid counter. I really wanted to think well of my boss, but I wasn’t thinking well of anyone at that juncture of my life. I muttered many things I repented of later on.

Three orders down, four people in line, two more walking through the door, and the Alfredo sauce I’d forgotten about suddenly boiled over. I’d had it up just a little too high.

I rescued the Alfredo sauce, cleaned up the stove, wiped down the counter and rushed back to the espresso machine. “Bob!” I called out over the hustle and bustle of the crowd. “A little help please!”

“Oh.” He rushed behind the counter and began ringing customers up.

Once there was a lull again, I set a pot of rice to boil. I could easily make macchiatos and keep an ear out for boiling water. After all, a watched pot never boils. Right?

It turned out that I hadn’t cleaned the Alfredo sauce as well as I thought I had. There was some still under the cooking element on the electric stove. It bubbled and sparked against the element. Even though I didn’t see this, one of the customers had.

“Excuse me, there’s a fire. THERE’S A FIRE!!!”

After that, everything was a blur. Someone grabbed the fire extinguisher and started the sweep motion.

Someone was ushering everyone out of the cafe into the blizzard.

Everyone complained about the smell. The cold. The emergency vehicles swarming the cafe.

I don’t think Bob was very happy with me. He didn’t blame me, but he wasn’t happy with me.

And I didn’t want to imagine what Jeff would say.

“How’s the kitchen?” I tentatively asked one of the firefighters.

“It’ll be a long time and a lot of cleaning before you can use it again.”

I hung my head. A week later, I resigned from the job with profuse apologies to both the owner and to the chef I respected so much.

I had the biggest failure a cook could imagine. I’d burned down the kitchen.

After that, my cooking skills took off. I’d done the worst that could be done, and I could only go up from there, right?

 

Chicken and Spinach Alfredo (inspired by Jeff)

1 pint cream or half n half
1 c. or more parmesan cheese
salt and pepper
1/2 tsp nutmeg
2 tsp garlic
2 tbsp olive oil
2 handfuls spinach
2/3 – 3/4 lb boneless, skinless chicken
1 tsp. thyme
3/4 lb fettuccine

 

Method:

Sprinkle chicken w/salt, pepper and thyme and set under ‘broil’ for 5-7 minutes. Turn and cook another 5-7 minutes. Set aside, and chop when cool enough to handle.

Start water for pasta.

Heat olive oil in a frying pan over med-low heat, then add garlic. Once garlic is golden brown, add salt and pepper, then slowly add cream, whisking lightly. Add nutmeg. Whisk nearly continuously. Once cream begins to bubble, add parmesan cheese, 1/4 cup at a time, whisking each portion in before adding more. Once sauce begins to bubble again, add spinach. Stir continuously. When you’ve added the pasta to the boiling water, add the chicken to the Alfredo sauce and continue to stir.

Here’s a secret I’ve learned: drain the pasta while it’s still very al dente and add it to the sauce. Stir to coat the pasta. Remove from heat, cover and let sit for at least 5 minutes. The pasta will absorb some of the sauce’s yummy flavor during its last stage of cooking.

Okay, my mouth is watering and I’m going to go make lunch now.

I hope you’ve been encouraged–even if you’ve failed as massively as burning down a kitchen, get back up and follow your dream!

*Names have been changed.