Knife's Edge - Restaurant Rants & Raves

C'est la vie say the old folks

It goes to show you never can tell.

Continuing in the who knew department. Pork belly is certainly a trendy ingredient. In fact it's so trendy that by now I'd say it's passe. Particularly since we've been selling some lately. Our town is somewhat behind the times in most things, mullets here are hair-dos, not fish, and no, they're not ironic. They're being sported in all seriousness. Widespread internet use has brought the town a bit more exposure to the outside world, but it still takes a while for things to penetrate the fog.

On the current menu we decided to try pork belly again. In years past we've only been able to sell it as a special and only as part of a pork sampler that featured a much safer ingredient, like ham. But since it's fairly inexpensive and we make our own bacon and usually have belly around we thought we'd give it another try. We had a few ideas but I think all of us in the kitchen were not looking forward to yet again not selling the belly so nothing really seemed right. Finally I decided, "Hell, it's not going to sell anyway, let's just do something weird." So we've got it on the menu with a root beer reduction. And it's selling. More than we ever have before. Perhaps the mullet wearing citizens of my town only see the BEER part of the sauce and their eyes glaze over. The sauce isn't actually as weird as it sounds. In some parts of the South folks cook pork and chicken with Coca-Cola. This is kind of a thin root beer BBQ sauce with shallots, chile flakes, root beer and vinegar.

This menu is a nice collaboration between the cooks and I. Everybody has a dish or component on there, which is great because I have shifted much more to the GM's job. It's nice to see the kitchen taking a greater interest in their part of the restaurant. The GM has been spending time with one of the cook's wife since our Sardines are close in age and she said the cook came home excited, telling his wife all about the new menu. She and the GM came in to try things last night and were both really happy.

So am I, except 1 chocolate dish needs a little more work. So, after research in SF (we're leaving today) I'll see what I can come up with. Anyone with free time, send an email or give a call.

Pork Belly Futures

We got a taste of the summer crowd this weekend. A local festival brings in the budget minded, the family traveler and the culinary confused. As is typical for these folks we had at least 20 people looking at the menu and leaving because for instance, "We're looking for seafood. All you have is pasta." Hmm, yes, we have a crab pasta and a rock shrimp pasta it's true. So other than oysters, mussels, crabcakes, fish of the evening, striped bass, gumbo and scallops we have no seafood.

This year I have a remedy. A sushi place opened across the street from us. From the name you wouldn't know it's a sushi place. When the seafood lovers arrive and the 40-60% of our menu that is seafood doesn't move them, I'm going to send them all across the street.

We actually sold some pork belly last night. It's usually a tough sell for us and we have to pair it with another "safe" pork cut like ribs or ham. We had it lightly cured and roasted with mashed sweet potatoes. We may put some variation on the spring menu.

I've mentioned before that spring is tough. The weather is turning nice, things are starting t o bloom and it feels like we should be serving artichokes and strawberries (no, not together) but the produce just isn't quite there. The menu changes a lot more frequently to accommodate what's just coming in. There are a lot of false starts. Something is available for a week, you put it on the menu and the source dries up. Or the quality isn't what it was the week before.

I am really starting to miss the GM's presence at work. I am totally delighted that we have the opportunity for her to be at home with the Sardine and I don't want to change that, but the minutiae is starting to grind away at me. I have a lot of help and my crew is for the most part amazing but my left hand is gone. (I'm left handed BTW). It doesn't help that I have a lot of extra-curricular activities. Committees and meetings, meetings and committees. Thankfully I've been able to absorb some of the GM's ability to organize and take notes. I am slowly learning her ability to delegate. When you read this sweetheart, please don't feel pressured to return. Just know that you are appreciated and missed.

We'll be headed to SF at the end of the month. Hope to see some of you. We'll be in touch.

Farewell for a Friend

Fair warning. This isn't remotely food related and if sentimental animal tales aren't your thing, move along.

When  met the GM nearly 14 years ago I was an avowed animal loather. My only love of animals was the love of eating the tasty ones. I had no interest in sharing my life with furred, feathered or finned creatures.

The GM of course had two cats. I understood she loved them. I didn't understand why. It didn't matter, I loved her and was willing to put up with the beasts.

The white guy in the photo is Ziggy. He came to the GM in Chatsworth, and  became her guardian, friend and later, reason to live. When I met the GM she was recovering from a work related accident, unable to do much physically without pain. She was something of a hermit, sitting for hours with her Ziggy, watching movies, smoking weed and trying to make sense of her life.

When we met I was on my way. I had already made plans to move to North Carolina when the work season here ended. She decided she'd had enough of chasing her father and decided to join me. Ziggy and Piper came along. Two cats, all our crap, a full Yugo and a roof rack across the country.

I still didn't care much for animals. My attitude was not exactly Descartesian but I wasn't convinced that a person could know the mind of an animal (I'm still not for that matter). However in Chapel Hill I did accept that Ziggy could communicate which has been a source of great misunderstanding between the GM and I ever since.

While we were there things got rocky. We split up and the GM moved out, taking the cats with her. She went along in something of a fog until one evening, Ziggy disappeared after she had been a little negligent. Once she realized her life had gotten out of control she knew it was time to change. We started speaking.

While she was changing, about a month or so into the new GM, a woman called me saying my cat was coming around her house. My number was on his tag. She lived 30 or so miles away. I drove over and indeed, there was Ziggy, but he wouldn't come near. I did this every day for a week or maybe two. I'd see him, but he wouldn't get close. Once the GM could travel I brought her over. The woman told her not to be disappointed if he didn't come over but Ziggy ran right up to the GM and hopped in her arms. We all went home together.

I still don't know how it is I came to love Ziggy. Or how someone who never wanted anything to do with an animal managed to have two cats and two dogs in his house. I do know that loving Ziggy was the first step to loving myself in a greater way and that opening my heart to these animals is, in some weird way, what allowed me to become a father.

Eighteen years is old for a cat and Ziggy had been showing signs of that age for a while. He became a feline skeleton, with papery skin. I could barely feel his weight when he was in my lap. He didn't seem in pain though. Just old. Finally his legs were giving way, he stood with difficulty and teetered around the room. It was time.

I took him in and the vet said he might respond to treatment. To go longer. I couldn't make that decision. The GM said let's try. So for a week I sat with Ziggy and a fluid bottle, giving him 100 ml subcutaneous liquid in an effort to get his frail body some moisture and muscle. Looking vainly for signs of improvement.

Before the Sardine was born for about a month and half we were constantly being bombarded with child situations. Customers telling me to fuck off because I wouldn't let them bring in a pizza for the children. Being in the NY Times as part of an article about children's behavior in restaurants. Nearly every day there was something that was making us examine how we felt about children. At one point I asked the GM, "What the hell is going on with all this kid stuff ?"

Now it seems like I am surrounded by the aging process, medical intervention. What to do, not to do. What "quality of life" means. We had a 94 year old man, and a 98 year old woman at the restaurant two nights ago. One of the cooks and I had to escort the 98 year old up the stairs as the elevator was broken. When we got her down, after she had enjoyed dinner with her family she gave the cook a big hug and told us, "Thank you for doing that for me. Otherwise I would have had to stay home." Could she do the same things she could at 40, 50, hell even 70 or 80? No, she had a walker and was moving slowly. Was she enjoying herself? She seemed to be. What was quality of life for an animal ? The same as a human? Do they accept that sitting by the fire might be as good as it gets when they reach advanced years? I don't know, and I don't think anyone else does either.

I brought him in today. The GM couldn't go with us. I held his head gently while the vet gave him a sedative and he very quickly fell asleep. She gave him another injection and within moments he died in my arms. I buried him by the steps, where he used to greet us when we got home from work.

I miss him. He was my friend. And my teacher.

Selling Out

Well as Jennifer predicted, no one offered me any money for the recipe. I got a nice email saying the client was declining to pursue the offer. Now I'm going to have to sell these things the old fashioned way, one at a time.

Speaking of selling I counseled one of our cooks yesterday. We were talking about new menu items and he thought of something then followed up with, "Nah, that wouldn't sell." I told him what is so hard to tell myself. Not to worry (too much) about what sells. To come up with a riot of ideas before pruning. We talked about the middle ground. About being too fancy/pricey/weird for the bargain hunters and unadventurous and being too down-home/affordable/accessible for the trendy types. And our need ultimately to be who we are.

Our place has been moderately successful because of the tension created by the complaint above, not in spite of it. And in recognizing that I hereby give myself the freedom to be more truly who I am. The more I can realize myself through cooking, the more successful we will be.

So we'll try a few new things out this weekend like Grilled Quail with Collard Ravioli, a Roasted Pineapple Parfait and a Slow Cooked Top Round with Hickory Smoked Salt and Sweet Potato/Harissa Puree.

They won't sell.