Step Into My Kitchen - Part II

So, throughout my ill fated year-and-a-half stint in Ohio... (Bowling Green State University to be exact. A place that is completely flat with the exception of the artificial hills built up for the interstate ramps and overpasses and so cold that eventually you really start believing that a 35 degree day is so warm you shout take your coat off and hop about like a giddy little bunny. ) I returned to work at the resort in Virginia during every single break in academic action. Spring Break was and exercise in culinary techniques. The same went for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and of course the entire Summer. I was there knee deep in the five restaurants of the place as well as the Banquet kitchen, which in some ways was a pleasant respite from the head strong ego associated with the sous chef of the various restaurant, but it is from them that I was dipped into their different flavors. There was: a very healthy sort of spa guy that was way au naturel, an Americana pot head who could pull the standards, but had no finesse, a massive German bastard who threw fits and was so fat he would invariably crash into anything and everything around him, the just coming out of the closet, I can really cook but mostly I'm worried about my new sexuality chef guy who was turned loose on the lesser outposts of cuisine, the stoic banquet queen chef who was tough as nails with a voice to match, and the cerebral executive chef who understood what food was all about, but could not align himself with the business side of the whole equation. In short, I was in heaven. This was a creative pot that I loved to be stewed in. The personalities and the joie de vive that accompanies the pressure of high volume, high quality cuisine. I was pushed through mountains of vegetables and yelled at when they were not of consistent shape and size. I was shat upon at every possible turn, but at the end of the day my love of the job and commitment to the mission of getting everything done left me grinning like the Mad Hatter and accepted by the big boys and girls running the show.

Thinking back through all of that, I want to leave whatever this is that I do right now and head back to that place where creativity and production so firmly meshed. But alas, all good things must come to an end. By the time I was dropping out of school in Ohio and heading back to the Commonwealth, the team was split up and a new executive chef was at the helm. Luckily for me, the former executive chef had opened up his own place in the rundown town in which my parents live and he was game for taking me under his wing and making a chef out of me. His name is Peter Dixon and I owe him more than he will ever know. I'm sure I was a pain in the ass employee, largely because I was 19 & 20 during my time there and completely out of my mind, but he showed me the ins and outs of menu design, ordering, food costs and the art of the kitchen. He taught me more about wine than anyone I have still yet to meet. Not because it would help his business out in any way, but because it was a part of my education. Eventually, it was time to go. I had to move out of my parents house and jump into the next stage of my culinary education and eventual awakening.