I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve never been the best at dealing with authority, in which case I’m possibly reacting to more than is actually going on. But nonetheless I’ve found Susanna’s conduct with me to be grating on more than one occasion, and trying to figure out why has been a learning experience in and of itself.
Part of it is just the way in which she delivers instruction. I was once at a stage in Chicago where I was asked to cut asparagus on a bias. I started doing that, and after a few one of the chefs came over and explained that I was doing it wrong, but that I had gotten through so much that I should just keep going because it wasn’t a huge deal. He then went over to the cook who had assigned me the task and started scolding him, to explain that he should have checked on my work right away to make sure I had understood the instructions correctly, and that a stage should always be given full direction the first time she does anything because its new and she can’t be expected to know exactly what you want every time.
Compare this to Susanna, who the other day asked me to chop a large fish into smaller parts for broth. I did it, asked her if she needed anything else, and then went on to another project. As she was pulling the fish head out of the broth when it was finished, she called me over. “You didn’t remove the insides of the gills when you were prepping the fish.” Well how am I supposed to know that? I haven’t prepped stock with large fish before, and even if I had, the likelihood that I would have learned a different technique is quite high. So why was I getting scolded for this?
What she should have said could have gone more like this. “Jenny, forgot to tell you this when you were prepping, but for next time, make sure to remove the gills because they have some blood in them and can cloud the stock.” I had to ask her for an explanation of why it mattered if the gills were left in or not. And she shouldn’t have criticized my work, as I did exactly what she asked of me--it was her problem that she didn’t explain fully in the first place or check my work. And it is really, really grating to be talked at in this manner.
She doesn’t often give me good explanations of why we do things the way we do. Another story: we have a cured fish that we do in the restaurant, and part of the cure includes a lot of grated ginger. The first time I grated the ginger I didn’t wear gloves, which left my hand feeling like it was burning slightly for the next few hours. Not pleasant. Furthermore, the size grater she had me working with ended up getting clogged with ginger threads, which meant that I also ended up cleaning these threads out with a toothpick so that the grater could get used again, since it wouldn’t come out in the dishwasher.
The next time she asked me to do it, I asked why we don’t just put the ginger in the blender, since the grater essentially juices the pulp anyway, and this would not only be easier but faster and would mean that nobody had to waste time cleaning out the grater either. The answer I got was “It can’t do it.” Or something like that. Now maybe it was my language skills getting in the way, or something about how she speaks so softly that I often can’t hear her over all the other noise in the kitchen, but her explanation didn’t make sense to me. Is our blender not strong enough to break down the fibers? Did the ginger need some blood, sweat, and tears to taste better? I really wasn’t following, but apparently the whys of the kitchen aren’t really important for me. Except that I’m there to learn, not to just do her unpleasant work, and so the whys matter the most. So leadership lesson: always give a why with the instruction.
Something really annoyed me yesterday though. For one of our dishes, we boil chestnuts and then remove the pulp from the shells for a way of adding body to our squash soup. Susanna really dislikes removing the pulp, as it is messy and kind of feels unpleasant. Yesterday she asked for my help with it, and then after I had gotten started she walked off. For a few minutes she did something else, but then as I was standing there, doing her grunt work, I noticed that she had started stirring a sauce with a lot of attention. A sauce that usually doesn’t need any attention. She was trying to look busy so she didn’t need to do this unpleasant task. Then she stood around for a few minutes. As I did her work. So I started playing a game. I stopped working and had some water, standing around, for every minute that she wasn’t working. I am not in that kitchen to do her work. I am there to help, to make it so that things can be done better, or so that more things can get done. I refuse to just do something for her so she can avoid doing something she dislikes. It isn’t like it’s my favorite task either. While the other things she has done were somewhat grating, this actually felt disrespectful. Make use of me, don’t abuse me.
So I guess this needed to get off my chest, and while I wish I were learning things in a way that didn’t just illustrate what not to do, I’m still learning. And that’s what I’m here to do, no matter what. Plus, its good training for me to get used to holding my tongue a little better.
Also, look! I did make the veg dish with fennel, chickpeas, and radicchio. I topped it with some fresh fennel fronds and some shavings of parmesan. It wasn't the kind of dish that people would come back to the restaurant for over and over again, but it is still respectable, and I imagine with some professional kitchen dressing up it could get that lift it needs into the realm of awesomeness.
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