Sign, What Sign?

Somewhere, just below me - or all around me, the strains of the 70's song, 'signs, signs, everywhere there are signs' is bouncing against the rocky precipice that forms the house's platform and coincidentally upon which I am, metaphorically, perched at this moment. For those of you who don't know I live in the beautiful BVI. 
It's been a year of great discovery and what once felt like I was dropping out or escaping became a place of awakening for me - and if you've never been here, lemme tell you it's about as dense as any third world country. 
So again, I'm presented with a dichotomy, not necessarily a polarity. I've seen relationships come and go and somehow in this particular shade of darkness, I've found my light- that which burns within me. 
I also found my own self love, something I never thought would happen - after all I've been the man of many faces, and facades - none of which where every wholly me and although fun to play with always, and ever, marginalized my self worth
But I digress...... 


So, what was presenting was to leave here.


Looking back I can easily recognize that my time here was because my higher levels wanted - inviting me really -  to heal; not with any type of mitote or shamanistic ritual but rather it was simple as having the guts to go direct, that I was, indeed, worth it and equal to the task at hand - which as it turned out was forgiveness.
So, I could, in fact, leave here with 'my' head held high and reinvigorated by my life and it's possibilities.
Now know this one very important thing about me, I've spent my life being the rescuer, protector and spent most of that time carrying those that I love (as opposed to simply caring for them and the slippery slope that that choice presents)
So for me to make this decision, at this point in my life is HUGE.
The last time I did something like this based solely on what will bring me joy was the night I left home after my high school graduation.
Now before any you start congratulating me, I just wanna say that :
Right now I'm kinda freaked out.
Ya, kinda - lmao
Cause before today it was all talk.
Last night I went to sleep asking my higher levels to show me, just freekin show me... I mean I have had conversations around this and prospects but, in my life before awakening, I never made a move unless there was a job waiting for me - right now I can here my mother's voice 35 years - maybe a hundred years ago - 'Adam, don't make a move until you have something secured' 


Fascinating word, 'secured, secure......scared' I wonder what it really means.


So, in 'the I absolutely have no f****** idea club' I declared that it was time for me to move on; way out on the very tiny, thin branches - without a plan, job, exit strategy, on a wing and a barely whispered prayer.
So, this morning, listening to someone - the higher me?, I stopped in to office of the warehouse manager to see when I had to drop my personal effects (affects?) at the port for shipping. He told me, after a phone call confirmation, that TODAY was the cut off, cause the boat to the good ole USA only sails once a month. 
So I filled out the paperwork by noon, then went home to finish packing.
Now I had been 'dawdling packing'
You know the type - kinda maybe sorta packing but not so in deep that if something happened, one could very easily just unpack - right?
Still everything was staged just so, that if the call did come, it could be completed easily enough But by 4pm? 
Fer cryin out loud......
Now I had someone come down with me, which didn't work out but the break up was amiable enough, but now II had the additional chore of executing the physical separation predicated by the emotional one......not a big deal, just another detail.
I was struck by how little was 'mine' and how much was 'hers'
I got it all down to the port before the deadline - how? I have no idea....
So now, sitting here, bathed in my own sweat, I am surrounded by nothing that is really mine; was any of it really mine or was it an illusion that my ego became attached to?
I have no clue
The only thing I think I know is that there is nothing separating me from my inner guidance and even though my ego is completely apoplectic - he might even need an epi-pen before this is all over, everything WILL work out perfectly, especially when I don't know - or can not even barely conceive of what that will look like.
Shit, gotta run - the warehouse guy just called and told me that there is still a document that I need to sign before they can ship my stuff...
Has anyone seen my passport?

A Meme of Panic

update -kinda sorta
last night I dreamed that I lost all my teeth
I can still feel them laying in my hand as I spit them out then scattered them on the earth, like johnny apple-seed but not really sure what I was planting 
Couldn't quite make out what the dream meant, if anything
Today it was whispered to me, not long after I remembered the dream, that this was a metaphor - or my reality now - for me to start discarding all of my old paradigms, ways of being, personalities and ego conversations; that they will, indeed, no longer serve me - and as useless, need to be exorcised (my word)
And I get to 'grow' new ones to replace that which will not serve me any longer moving forward - forward and out beloved, for what choice do we have?
We're all headed out, either as a willing, co-creating participant or dragged along kicking and screaming.
RIGHT after that my ego piped up, 'you're not that easily rid of me, b*** - how about these feelings????'
And then they descended - fear, panic, loss, negative self worth - the whole kit and caboodle - can anyone relate?
I was struck at how beautiful they were - the feelings, even the negative ones; so complete, convincing, conniving, calculating...they were so intricate - really a wonder to behold.
Tragic
Awesome
Delicious
Extravagant
Yet separate - but wait how can that be?
Are they not me?
Are they not a part of me?
Who am I without them?
Dammit, this was a conundrum....I 'saw' them, 'tasted' them, I even crawled inside of them to see them from inside out and finally came to the conclusion that,not that I know anything of course but maybe, just maybeI can live my life, and this incredible adventure before me...without them - or more appropriately a new one:
Grace.
I know I'm not out of the wilderness yet, or maybe will never be but the fear does not define me, not anymoreI know now that I can find, and enjoy playing with, the middle ground - neither completely gagged by my emotions or so removed from my experience that I am above them - I mean were's the fun in that?
Let's Rock!

"And now for something completely different..."

   So I've been diligently compiling material for a book in progress for the last couple of years. I was so proud of myself, including quantum mechanics, arcane references that only a few would get and nifty quotes from historical figures that no one remembers.
  It got away from me and became this cumbersome tome that, try as I might, eluded all my efforts to make it readable.
  I sent drafts to friends, who sheepishly told me weeks later that they hadn't been able to get through it.
  Rare praise indeed.
  Not their fault at all.
  I felt like Andy Kaufman, creating jokes that only one other person in the room gets.
  I, like many others, are influenced by others that got there first.
  I had to get over my own self judgement as someone who couldn't possibly have something more profound to say than others already had; what could my voice possibly add to the discourse that had already taken place.
  Did I really need to be more clever than the rest and if I did, how would that water down the spirit of what I was trying to get across?
  As someone who prides himself as verbose I was uncharacteristically quiet, dissuaded by my own criticism to continue to try.
  Then I met Gabrielle Hamilton.
  http://bloodbonesandbutter.net/the-author/
  We met at Kimball House in the DR at a social function and based on everything I had learned about her, I was eager to get her advice.
  If you've never seen this house check out this link:
  http://www.blessthisstuff.com/stuff/culture/travel/kimball-house-dominican-republic/
  She asked me one simple question, "Adam, what's your book about?"
  And in that moment I realized how far I had overreached; stammering and blabbering about this and that, vainly trying to convince her that it was worth her time even speaking about it.
  She was kind as she gently stopped me.
 "Adam, just tell a good story"
  Good story, hell I got plenty of them, I thought.
  In that place, in less time that it took me to explain my book to her she had slashed through the bullshit to the core of the matter.
  I had gotten away from the story - my story, and no one can tell that story better than me.
  So Goodbye to "Kanji in the Kitchen" and Hello to 'The Dream of the Dance, the lifetime pursuit of one perfect culinary moment"
  Thanks Gabrielle for your insight, can't wait to come to Prune and eat like the hedonist I am
  Blessings
 

P in P #6 - Be Where You're At - Have What You Have

 I've been struggling lately until someone forced me to remember that "all is, essential, well" and sometimes I just need to get out of my own way.

      excerpt from 'Kanji in the Kitchen'

11 ~ Be Where You’re at, Have What You Have

           

Or, no matter where you go, there you are.

“The most precious gift we can offer others is our presence. When mindfulness embraces those we love, they will bloom like flowers.”

                                                                               ~ Thich Nhat Hanh

It’s always works out perfectly even if we don’t know what that looks like, especially when going through a particularly stressful situation, like the one I experienced early in my career at Charley’s Crab in Ft. Lauderdale back in the early 90’s.

             Back then it was a highly regarded operation that was all about balancing quality with volume. There was a special kind of madness that ruled this very busy restaurant as will happen when young men have a little too much power and not enough common sense. Greg had come from Colorado with his young family for a fresh start and he was clearly over qualified for the position but to my amazement and relief he accepted the position. He worked for me as my Sous Chef and it was, all in all, a grand time for all involved.

At one point as I was cutting fish in the cooler and as Greg was counting out his line stock for the night he quietly said to me that I was the first Chef he had worked with that he hadn’t actively tried to burn down. He hadn’t stopped counting his fish as he spoke matter-of-factly, never really explaining why but I somehow got that it was some sort of compliment. I didn’t say a word and he kept right on setting up his line,

Somewhere between expediting 300 early birds, doing shots of tequila at the service bar, stripping naked at the beach and Alan Zimmer playing a Blues in E on the piano in the dining room for his Sunday night guests dressed in just his underwear and clogs, three years went by and it was time to part ways.

Greg had finally got the promotion to his own store that he so richly deserved. By that time Zim had washed out, Sparky had been canned and Doc did just what he had to do to get by each shift with his sanity.

Greg left at the beginning of the busiest quarter of the year. It felt like we were getting divorced and I got the kids and yet life, funny enough, went on. The restaurant needs went on unabated and there were still guests to be fed, crew to lead and owners to satisfy. Simply said, the show still had to go on albeit at a disproportionate disadvantage. 

            The separation had been a potent and effective force within the little social laboratory that was our kitchen; Greg had an excellent skill set, a mystical sense of taste, a great sense of humor and a tenacity to get the job done regardless of the circumstances unlike any I had been party to before.

            A man, I’m sure you would agree, that would be sorely missed, by none more so than me for I drew strength from him as a professional and a sense of community from him as a person. Into this breach I found myself, a little less sure and a bit more stressed. His absence necessitated a drastic shift to the game plan, crew schedule and major changes to the priority list of things to keep an eye on, which egos to massage and practically anything else required getting through the next shift.

            The person most affected by this change was me but not in the ways I might have previously thought. Sure, I’d worked seven days for the last three weeks but I had found myself somehow mysteriously charged and energetic; able to knock down twelve hours in a single bound although my body moaned inwardly a little more than in the past when I used to throw myself around the kitchen with wild abandon, sacrificing all else for the sake of that last plate up banquet.

Perhaps more painful of all was the sacrifice I made to my wife and children, short lived as it may be. While my career situation changes from year to year their presence in my life does not and all that they require is merely my presence, nothing greater or less. Even they found constructive ways with which to use their new found time together.

            It had been a challenge day after day; keeping focused on the most immediate need while somehow coming up with the solution of how I would staff two carving stations at the same time when I had no one available, save a dishwasher or two.

            I had always appreciated all that Greg had done and shifting his responsibilities onto myself as well as working at accomplishing all that I had to do those past weeks was a frustrating white knuckled experience given that we were up 15% over the last year and up 15% each and every year for the past three.

While the increased revenue makes for happy owners, crew with overtime and guests who get to experience an operation on its game, those kind of numbers puts an incredible burden on staff morale, physical plant integrity and FFE inventories.

            So much so that one wonders if the damage done could be repaired to heart and hearth until, that is, when you hear the echo of honest laughter coming from the pantry and in that raw moment you know, it’s all going to end up fine.

            Suffice it to say that there was more irony apparent here than I wanted to look at then, but look, I did.

            As much chaos as a change like this can breed it can also be fertile ground in which plant the seeds of greatness.

            Changes such as these often become highly charged catalysts, bringing about a positive change with far greater ramifications than had only been dreamed of. Suddenly the possibility to move the mission forward in significant and substantial ways loomed just over the horizon, more attainable than ever before.

            Crew who had been chomping at the bit to show the true measure of their mettle now had the opportunity to make their voices heard. A chance to reconcile attitudes and abilities; entering into a commitment of creating real growth through coaching or mentor-ship, to really show them just how valuable they were to us by increasing their value through training, both on site and off, a plan that would get them to where they dreamt to be. Systems that heretofore had been merely acceptable could now go through an evolution so that they, not only, could quantify the information but make it accessible and, low and behold, understandable.

            We are all too often simply human and with all things being equal and given just enough time to make anything a ‘routine’, we fall into a place of comfort. Comfort being different from complacency though both can be dangerous without careful consideration.

Several months later I stood on a Saturday night and marveled at the man/metal organism that was that kitchen, alive, organic, pulsing, as it danced its way through the night’s reservation list with a grace and effectiveness that made short work of orders and special requests; precision incarnate.

            At that moment I knew that this was going to be the crew that took us through season, breaking numbers without breaking a sweat.

           

The crew had changed, not for the worse, but for the better. Nobody’s fault, none right or wrong, it just was. The loss of one of its leaders had not deterred this group of individuals brought together for a common purpose but instead reunited them, reinvigorated them, recommitted them to the mission that they, together, chose to make manifest every day that they punched the clock and donned their aprons.

Be where you’re at, have what you have.

Never had I heard more valuable words for I knew there were times when I was, and when I wasn’t. Then I knew, at any moment, I could choose to be present and connected. Sometimes it isn’t pretty but it’s so much better than arguing for your circumstances.

            New blood and renewed exercise can bring back damaged muscle and repair it; maybe not to what it was but it often builds into something new. It becomes capable of things that it never could have accomplished before, regardless of the effort used to bring it about. I could have easily slipped into melancholy about what I had lost or how things could have been different but in the end I chose to have what I have, be present and look for the opportunities that existed right there before me.

            Something to be said for change, hard as it may be for the heart to bear at times; or so some of us would have us believe. ¨

Pilgrim in Paradise #5

Okay
Today I feel stronger, steadier - more grateful.
Grateful for the work, for the moment - lighter and moving with more purpose.
Phone calls to the family help; the music I crammed into a 500G hard drive is proving to be a balm for sore nerve endings. How can it be that music, for some people, is an incidental pleasure - like supermarket muzak; emotional wallpaper that merely dresses and not defines the moment?
Today I feel like I can make a difference, I can sense another shift within; one that will support me in breaking through all my doubts and fears.
A Food & Beverage Director without the title, a Chef with not one kitchen but 4 - a leader without an expectation of followers - I can see the right in it and that will be enough for me to take some small action, every day; in order to make the lives of these people a bit better - if only for this moment.

That will be enough.

I must take a moment and give my thanks to those in my life who have stepped in to show me another way of being, and by their clear example have given me something to grasp onto, in order that I might pull myself up - one rung at a time.

Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.

Stand Tall & Frosty My Brothers and Sisters because we all stand together - even if apart.
Never Doubt It

Blessings, Beloved

Tortola

Well, I've been on island for about 3 weeks and I wish I could say that it's been smooth sailing - I find myself missing my loved ones, my family and friends very much. I'm working on making new friends but no one can ever replace the family that I've been blessed with.

Work is a good remedy for my weakness and I'm reminded of a story that I know well but was reminded of by my mother:

My father, after discharge from the Coast Guard, got a job with a meteorological company in Boston. Little did he know that once hired, the company would send him packing to 1957 Cuba. After a couple of weeks he called his mother complaining that he was lonely, couldn't eat the food, couldn't speak the language and the water had him running for the latrine every half hour.

The Grand Dame, freed from a selfless life with a demanding man who had done the only right thing by dropping dead, was living her life large and didn't really want her youngest son around to dampen her groove. She told him, I'm sure in the kindest way, to suck it up - be a man, stand up and step in.

He did, and in the doing, found a love - several really, that would define his life and fill him with a joy of laughter, that he would change the course of his life in such a profound way that it;s impossible to think of the ole man any other way.

So, with his example in mind, I'll quit my pining and bitchin; and look forward for a change - forgetting for the moment what lay behind me; after all I don't want to fail to recognize any opportunity for joy that may present itself in this moment.

And, in doing so, may I serve as an example to my children and my friends that life is worthy of risk.
Lord knows I love you all so.

Pilgrim in Paradise #3

   Waiting, waiting, planning, revising the plan, going to sleep with no other thought bouncing around, excpet the plan,  only to wake up in mid conversation about how this could all go wrong, and, how it all could go so massively right.
  Unable to take another step forward because of government bureaucracy there seemed to be a new path layed out in the apartment every day as boxes and bins started to fill the space where furniture had once sat, given gladly away to anyone who would brave the three flights and forty stairs to retrieve it - what would come, what would go and what could stay, at least for the time being
  An essential question started to be bandied about - jokingly at first, then as each day passed the answers took on more urgency, more introspection, more stress but the rationale offered were no less any clearer:
  What does one REALLY need in order to make an apartment feel more like a home than a vacation rental? How far is the trip to the nearest big box store and how much toilet paper should be used as stuffing against the fragile items placed in the bins?
  Heated arguments spilled over into unsuspecting conversation where it became apparent that asking the question felt more like a critique - a judgement then simple physics.
  There's only so much room to ship, to store and to display; how can one make a decision based on a space sight unseen?
  Certainly comfort is not too much to ask for when one senses that the job at hand will require much mental and physical effort but really - what is important - non negotiable?
  A great pair of shoes, check
  Monkey Butt Talcum Powder - how does one survive a kitchen shift in the tropics, neat the equator without it?
  Iron, spray starch - purely mechanics; what about something that feeds the head - art, music, incense, yoga mats - how are they any less necessary than your favorite fruit mix or pictures of family and friends?
  In the end, I felt like having a good old fashion bon-fire because once the flames consume old menus, song lyrics that don't make sense any more or reams of notepads, calculations, inspiration and solutions - surely they worked once, couldn't they be counted on again in the another, yet unforeseen crisis -there would be nowhere to go but forward, the fire having consumed the past.
  Or was it all just clutter?
  Maybe the real treasure, the one worth keeping, feeding and building was what resided in my mind, my spirit - my soul, all of which could be counted on to come up with a new solution, to a new problem, in a new age.
  Boxes were unpacked and rearranged - some begrudgingly, even bordering on the bitter - some because it didn't make sense to fight over one more box of memorabilia. There would be battles ahead that would require much more effort than this - this was, after all, not really important.
  Our health - now that was important
  Our spiritual quest, our daily sharpening of the saw - that was really important
  Nourishing our body and our spirit - at last compromise was met
  The path through the apartment changed daily, really confusing the cat - me, I just wanted to make it to the bathroom without a minor mistake occurring.
  That's how time was spent, waiting.
  And then came the call; several really - one right after the other along with blazing scenes of deja vu; so strong I had to turn my head in the moment and question whether I was imagining it or not - but I knew better.
  And then, there was no more waiting; time, it seemed, was a premium - and one not to be wasted on trivialities - now I had to get moving..
  After a month on craigslist.com I got an email from someone making an offer on the Vibe
  My first response of any kind - email, phone call - or shout over the back fence for the entire time it was listed
  My trusty blue 2005 Pontiac Viberator GT, who had sat dormant  - unheeded and uninspired in the want ads for a month with nary a bite, nothing, zitch, bubkuss - suddenly had become a hot property.
  It sold in a day.
  I had three payments left
  6 years and 16% interest and suddenly - it was gone
  And so was my last key

 Those of you who have been following my progress as a Pilgrim in Paradise know that, by now, I have winnowed down my possessions to a single key.
  One last key remained of my attachments to the life I had previously known, and lived and now when  I had given it away, willingly I might add at my asking price, I felt...
  Relieved, at the reality of no more car payments - no, I had gotten good at budgeting
  Jubilant at the end of 6 years of usury - not exactly, I had signed on the bottom line after all

  Mainly I just felt......
  Naked
  That's what I felt, completely and utterly naked -
  Not the nakedness of someone stripped and laid bare without their consent; this was a freeing nudeness - one taken on willingly, joyously, one to be celebrated with a romp, a dance and maybe even a song
  Well maybe not yet - I have one or two steps left before I jump this rock and emigrate to a new and exciting land - one where an apartment awaits although I have no idea what it looks like or what's in it.
One where a car awaits for me, although I have no idea what make and it didn't seem too important to ask; I, after all, now need a car - and right now, any that works will do
  I have a job waiting for me to fill with enthusiasm, intelligence, good humor and the energy of a novice.
  Yes, this time, I'm going in celebrating that which I do not know, reveling in that fact that there is much to learn and I am an eager student.
  All that awaits me but for now I have several more days to love my friends and family up and make the most of the moments I have left here.
  Stay Tuned my Friends - tomorrow I promise to tell you where I am going - your gonna love it!
  Tall & Frosty now
  Yes - all my love

Pilgrim in Paradise #2

"I fare well in stormy weather"

Fact: I've spent nearly my adult life in the Hospitality business, working mostly as a Chef
Fiction: I am what I do for a living
Fact: I've been let go twice in my career
Fiction: Neither time was for "unsatisfactory work performance"
Fact: Each time kicked me in the gut and had me foundering for some sense of 'why'
Fiction: I was lessened by my loss

Quite to the contrary, each loss has fortified, steeled me to myself in a way that all my successes couldn't

Fact: I have 1 key left on my key chain

It's for my 2005 Pontiac Vibe GT, which I have faithfully paid despite a vicious interest rate and some lean earning months.
I have 3 payments left.

In a sense it is the only thing I really "own" at this time.
I have some books, tools, pictures, tapes, DATS, albums, a 500 G hard drive, some clothes and a box that contains one monogrammed Chef coat from every job I have ever held.

In the past month I have had to leave a job, that although paid well, asked much and took even more.
I gave up my key card, Pcard, access codes and keys

Ended the lease on my apartment in a city I once questioned why anyone would go
Gave away or left behind most of the furniture, fixtures, and anything that wasn't nailed down
I gave up my key card, apartment key, storage key.

Moved what little was left to my girlfriend's parents house, interspersed in closets, unused bedrooms and the garage.

So, now I have 1 key left to give away.
Carmax will have that soon enough when it's time, and time is getting very short now.

I've been offered a job off this rock, on a British Protectorate that requires a very vigorous Work Visa application process.
There is a one bedroom apartment waiting for me to bed down in
There is a car waiting for me to drive on the left side of the road
There is work waiting worthy of the sum total of my experience, skills and all the guile that my mind can conjure
There are other keys to gain
New perspectives to witness
New opportunities to capture
New gains to be made in this new, quite radical, chapter of my life
And yet -
I feel that there is a deeper process at work, a more profound change than merely latitudes and attitudes

I'm not quite clear on what exactly it is; it's something near enough to grasp but far enough way to elude articulation but my intuition is calling it out for me to pay attention to.

I'll let you in on it when I make sense of it but for now, know that I place my face into the wind and one foot in front of the other because the past is dead and standing still is not an option; entropy is an ugly way to go.

Stand Tall & Frosty my Brothers & Sisters - Jonathon Livingstone Seagull is on the job

Pilgrim in Paradise #1

A dear friend asked me just the other day, 'So, Adam, what would it look like, feel like to not judge yourself?'
The question dumbfounded me, primarily because I've spent my life and career, as a judgement machine. Sometimes because our particular craft continually intrigues, beguiles and bewitches us with time lines, best practices, hot young upstarts, crafty masters and the daily dance of getting through the day successfully and with some form of, if not self satisfaction then at least the esprit of a job well done.

So "Judgement" always seemed valid and indeed necessary.
But when that judgement extends into the darker recesses of our self  assessment, self perspective and self esteem then that can lead one to some lonely, and stark assumptions of one's self.
And sometimes the places where those thoughts can lead, plant a hook so deep that no amount of pep talk is gonna dislodge it from the place where the pain emanates.

But what I think really think my friend meant was that we are our own worse enemy when it comes to "Judgement"; Jungian philosophy has always held that, in our own hearts and minds, there are the ever present specters of the Judge, Jury and Accused, as expressed by the id or our own egos.

The First is always quickest to Judge any particular thought, action or consequence
The Second is always ready to pronounce judgement, and
The Third is always ready, willing even to embody and internalize the Guilty verdict - almost as if it knew it was guilty from the start and wanted, needed, to be punished which only perpetuates the cycle again and again until any real self confidence or self reliability has been worn down and one is left with the only real thing that they know for sure:

That they suck
That I, in particular, suck

But I mean that in the most affectionate manner because at any time, in a moment's notice - that can all be changed and be free of the bondage of 'Judgement"

I know, because I've lived it.

My mother just recently wrote me an email where she told me that she knew that since I hadn't been in touch with her that I was living in the past and not yet looking forward, into my future.
I was still stuck with feelings of guilt, anger, betrayal and, more often than not - sorrow about how my last employment ended.
Try as I might, I just couldn't shake off the feeling that I had let everyone down, my associates, my family and not to mention myself.

Dont'cha just hate it when Mom is right?

So you see this email from a friend suggesting a different way of looking, no strike that, feeling hit me in my head like a hammer and after pondering this particular way of viewing myself in my world I've come to the conclusion that she has given me a precious gift.

One which I will not squander.

So, as a preamble, I'm about done.
Over the next several months I'm going to be taking some time and letting you in the metamorphosis that is occurring within me as I shed my place of residence, most of my belongings and most of all my internal baggage because the "Me" that is forming inside is already feeling a bit more free, especially from the doubt and - and here I have to be careful to be clear and honest without any heavy handiness - self hate; c'mon you the kind I'm talking about - the one the "Accused" in our head loves to feel when the 'Guilty' verdict is handed down, and, with which gives him license for all kinds of self destructive behavior. 

Poster Child for Bad Behavior?
Nope, not me - I've got finer places to fly


Getting what you wish for is sometimes the straightest path to finding out what you really want because as Abraham says, when you get what you don't want you're already setting up your intentions for what you do want; remember - nature abhors a vacuum (my words, not his).

Stand Tall & Frosty my brothers & sisters; next time the particulars of our shared journey.

And so it goes;

  Or more appropriately - there it went!
  After all, it was only a job
  Still I fell hard, crushed under the weight of a slightly inflated ego and delusions of grandeur.
  I actually dressed for work and left the house for a week before I could swallow my shame and guilt and admit that I had 'lost' my job.
  Lost my job? It was only lost to me - to another it might be a perfect find
  But after going through my grief - "The only way out is through" a friend once told me - I find myself cleansed.
  Well, almost.
  So, the wheel has turned - but strangely I sense that the worm has turned as well; the one at the core of my spirit that has started a transformation of how I view myself in the world, my place in it - my responsibility to it and my actions within it.
  There's something big happening behind the scenes but I'm not allowed to part the curtain quite yet; I've a few more contracts with fellow souls to satisfy - for whatever the reason.
  I've been presented with an opportunity, for the second time,  with someone who I thought lost to me - and a chance to regain my own self respect.

 I'm going to take it, and run like hell

 'The meal', and the act of producing it is a sacrament dedicated to those that partake of it - and a blessing to those that cooked it that nothing else in this world can compare to.

 Be Proud, my brothers and sisters; and take good care of those in your care, even if for a moment.

A Love Note for Summer from South Florida

You get what you get

 Especially if you do what you've always done.
It's been about 4 months since I last posted and the absence has been a planned one, albeit a bit longer than I anticipated.
 For those of you who've followed me for a while you'll remember that my personal and professional story had been written in the daily headlines as the recession affected millions of people, myself included.
  For those of you who haven't followed me, my recent history was as challenging as it was unremarkable from those you may know more personally and whose details you may be more intimately familiar with.
  I passed a billboard the other day which read, "Recession 101, it's a test, not the final". The first time I saw it, the message stung like hell because at the time it felt like a death sentence; certainly not the motivating message it was meant to be or that which I would come to view it as. Two years ago I had lost a very good position with a start up company - the job had everything I could have wished for but when the housing market collapsed, and the subsequent credit crunch ensued it became clear to my employers - and to myself that, a company has little use for a Corporate Chef with only one unit and with all other deals either on hold or dead in the water I could easily read the writing on the wall.
  Looking back on it now I'm amazed that I kept it all going for the next 2 years as I saw my income wither and dry up but plug forward I did.
 In a moment of clarity, buoyed by a vision of what my life could become and dismissing my then current reality I spent 3 days deep in thought and an hour at breakneck speed writing out a 'script', a movie if you will about what my life should be if anything was possible.
 Sounds like a frivolous project I know, given the bleak outlook of those days but I crafted what I called, 'My Perfect Day', whose narrative took into account every single detail - from what I would have for breakfast to what clothes I wore to the car I drove - well, you get the 'picture'. I rationalized since this was my delusion then I could make it up about anything I wanted but more importantly - what felt good to me.
 All of it was written in the present tense as if it had already come to pass; it was a cathartic experience but little did I know what kind of an impact that document would have on my future.
 The first line was, "I'm the Culinary Director or Corporate Chef for a progressive food service company, in partnership with committed, creative and passionate people, connected to the community and engaged in business with integrity and authenticity"
 As it turns out, that may have been the moment that my recovery was at hand because 4 months later I was hard at work for a national supermarket chain as the corporate chef. Although this particular company had seen it's share of hard times, a bankruptcy in 2005 which reduced the number of stores from 1,100 to 485 AND has been around long enough to be considered 1.) An industry leader, 2.) Perhaps out of touch with the 'new' merchandising (which I've come to know as the 'old' style of doing business - getting to know your customers, being locally relevant, socially responsible and  good stewards of trust; cycles within cycles - the point being that globalization often takes us far afield of our primary mission and if you can survive long enough, will be brought right back to that which is and has always been the right way to do business -by creating meaningful relationships.) and 3.) From what some stock market analysis claimed - may be on the ropes and ripe for a take over.
  Given the history of the brand and the realization that fainter hearts would have run for the hills in a feeble attempt to protect market share this company has gone out and put together a team of highly competent, imaginative professionals for whom risk was not a dirty word; bucking their history and convention to strike out in a bold new direction. For the first couple of months I wondered how I fit into this dynamic mix of operators and dreamers - I had never worked in retail before and found everything from the language to recipe costing completely different from the Hospitality industry that I had known and grown comfortable, perhaps even a  bit complacent with as well.
  Personally and professionally this seemed as good a time as any to stretch myself in a new direction and get out there on the skinny branches of the safety tree.
  Oddly enough the company had never had a Corporate Chef before so this was bit new to all of us!
  Then, in a meeting, I heard something quite remarkable - the visionary who headed up our department told everyone present that our competition was not the other grocery stores, big box marketers, club or discount stores - I mean they were but a can of peas is a can of peas is a can of peas; our true nemesis was every restaurant on the street and the real challenge laid out before us was that we need to get in the head of the restaurateurs, know what they know, model our business after theirs and everything, I mean everything  we offered had to be restaurant quality or above.
  Now that's something I could get behind, more importantly that's something I knew intimately and, consequently, something that I could offer my present employers - the gorilla mindset that is every good restaurant operator's credo - suddenly my mission, and my value, came into focus. Now, I thought to myself, I get it.
  So for the past 4 months I have been traveling extensively, meeting with vendors - creating flavor profiles that we can call our own, cooking more chickens than you can possible imagine - going so far outside the box that I can no longer see the lines and having a blast, humbly and gratefully, with every breath I have.
 Casting aside all that I knew to be safe and comfortable I now spend every morning mediating, focusing on what feels good - and right; setting myself up for success from the inside out.
 So instead of blogging at the end of the day, I'm going to commit to writing in the morning, just after my mediation when my mind, and heart, are wide open - resisting the urge to self editing and allowing whatever moves me that particular day to come forth. and relating to you, my dear readers, what this side of the food business looks, feels and tastes like - after all, in the future we'll be looking to promising young culinarians like yourself to take us to the next level.
 The path I lay may be a bit uneven, things are moving so fast that there's little time to make it pretty - I would rather work hard at raising the bar and shoot for the stars, you'll make your mark when you get here.
 Hopefully it'll be of some value to you, I know it will for me and I'm willing to do, say and be something different today, with the clarity that - coming from that place, we're sure to get something different that what we're always gotten and maybe, just maybe we can call it progress.
  At the very least we'll be able to call it fun.
  Make it a powerful day my brothers and sisters.

Job Search 3.0

So here it was; 500 resumes reviewed, 147 panel interviews - down to 17 viable candidates, now just four left. The Company decided that the best way to determine who would fill the position was to have a 'Top Chef' style cook off, oh my.
Southern Style Meatloaf and a Chef's choice entree. 1 Presentation plate and tasting plates for 10.
A month passes and I get the call, it would seem that I'm one of the last three standing, one candidate dropped out when they found out that they would need to cook it off. For a week I can think of little else, so many questions; what's at the site, who will I be cooking against, what dish would best exemplify my cooking style and reflect my food focus in the actual job? I can feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, bearing me down as the date comes inexorably closer. I wear a rubber band on my wrist in order to express some Neural Linguistic Programming - when I find myself getting overwhelmed by the prospect of doing poorly and letting down all who love, and depend on me, I snap the band so I can come back to a place of calm and presence - I can only hope that I can do the same thing on the day of the event simply by just looking at my wrist; jogging my sub conscious into a placid place.
Soon all doubts would be answered.
Very soon there would be nothing left to do but to do it.

Driving to the city of the cook off I spend the hours staring through the traffic and road hazards like I'm trying to peer through to the present to the 'almost here'. The car ride feels like I'm hurtling towards my future, be it good or ill. I really have to now idea what's going to happen and trust in the tightly held belief that 'it' always works out for the best no matter what that may look like.
Have I invested myself so dearly, emotionally, that if this doesn't go well I'll be able to square my shoulders and hold my head up high regardless of the outcome or will the let down cripple me for weeks to come; limping along without a cause or purpose?

I sing through my conflicting emotions with the music on the flash drive stuck into the dash like a two by four thrown through a barn door by a twister.
The car rolls on.
I had googled, facebooked, linkedin and searched the blogosphere for information about the other 2 and the Company principles. Proper preparation yes but still and all the proof would be in the pudding. In one way it didn't matter what I found, in the end my only real competition would be me. Would I be able to get out of my own way, allow 'it' to flow, accept the moment for what it was without forcing it? After all my writing, and talking about Kanji in the Kitchen would I finally be able to express it without it sounding false, trite or insipid? Would I be found to be a poser, inauthentic - the 'fraud' of the ego that we all secretly fear or would I be able to harness my passion, ramp down my 'bull in the china shop' spirit and articulate my deepest gratitude and humility that I was even here at all - surely there were so many out there, just as deserving of this opportunity? The questions were deafening.
And yet here I was, moving forward.

At the hotel I spent a very restless night sleep, going over my plan - movements, timing, script, options, backup plans and fall back positions like an Olympic athlete - my body swaying in the brisk early morning breezes of the hotel room balcony as I close my eyes imagining the furious last moments right before service. Before I know it, or I believe myself ready, the clock says it's time to go; time to stand tall and frosty my brothers and sisters and bring it - after all this time there is only this day, this moment of presence that is real, gritty and tastes a bit steely in the mouth.
I straighten my jacket, check my tools for the 10th time, get into my clogs and head down stairs towards what feels like my time.

The three of us meet. We're shown the kitchen where we'll be making our magic. We go to the store where we're to buy all the product necessary to prepare our dishes later at 1:30 pm. We find out that it's not 10 people eating but 12; did we buy enough food? Had we considered the cooking shrinkage or picked up enough seasoning?
I go back to the hotel to get a nap but sleep eludes me, my mind filled again with the dream of the dance until I resign myself to the inevitable. I get up and suit up again. Had I eaten? Did I even need to? The adrenalin flushing my face would be fuel enough for me, I decide and head down again to the car. The one other candidate in the hotel and I make mindless chit chat during the drive, each firmly entrenched in our own internal dialogue. We agree that no matter what we'll be professional and help each; finding pots and pans, locating an onion or plating the dishes as we only have 10 minutes between courses.

And here it is, no time left to consider the others in our lives or the possibility of defeat. Everything falls away and there is a moment of clarity unlike anything else - a place where all possibilties exist at the same time and the hands run true and the knives all cut straight. I'm getting ahead of myself I realize; with all my product arranged around my cutting board I take a deep breath, close my eyes and give a moment of silent thanks - a prayer of gratitude for even being here at all. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.

'You Okay?' my compatriot asks noticing that I'm not moving. 'Yeah, brother - thanks' I say as I pick my knife up and start moving with a purpose, grounded finally. Yea, man I think to myself, oh hell yeah.

The first hour flies by as we'll all heads down, elbows akimbo, stripping produce, blooming herbs and shallots, reducing gastrics and molding meatloaf's. We all steal glances at one another through the tools hanging on the overhead rack, calling out time and checking each other for progress. I realize that it's a perfect day, a perfect moment frozen in culinary heaven; each of us has a distinctive style, unlike the other and our meatloaf plates are a direct reflection - French country, ACF American and southern as southern can be. Our entree plates have three different proteins, three different focuses, three different approaches.
It's apparent that the Company picked well, they would have their work cut out for them - ain't no scrubs in this group.

All competitiveness, judgment or self serving criticism has disappeared. We watch each other for best practices and realize that there is something to learn from the other's approach.

Cool.
2:30 comes and goes like it was never there.
We find out that there will be 13, not 12. Alrighty then - no worries now; just keep going.

Suddenly we're all three outside the back door grabbing a breath of fresh air. Three different styles, three different dishes and we're all at the same point; ready to rock with a moment to spare.

We find out that there is a scheduling change and we'll present both our presentation plates at the same time; oops, now I gotta scramble - I thought that we had an hour between the two presentations. I grab pans of food, staged and nested in bowls ready to fire. I cook enough for the 1 plate. We all work silently on the presentation plates until we're called out in front of the group, quickly wiping rims at the last and checking the height of the fried onions on the meatloaf.

'You know if this was an ACF competition, non functional garnish would cost you points' one competitor comments at the plates on the table. I wonder that the ACF would say about one candidate bringing in prepared corn bread and collared greens or the other bringing in a container of tools nor available to the others. I brush off the comment, no time nor energy to give that criticism - almost there, just keep going.
I look around, startled by the observation that time is going to be tighter than I thought and shift gears, cooking and staging items necessary to plate. Wow I think to myself, this is bangin', enjoying the moment as we walk our plates out to the staff assembled around the table.
We take turns talking about our plates and are then excused back to the kitchen to finish it off.
I'm number 2 and started getting the plates ready; 8 minutes someone shouts.
In 6 I'm finishing the garnish and following the plate parade to the table. I stand mute, ready to answer any questions but it's apparent that my meatloaf has done the talking for me; all heads are down and forks scrape plates - a most perfect silence.
I am excused to stage the next meal.
Back in the kitchen I start wondering what's become of candidate number 3. He seems to have been out there for a while, probably talking himself up - arguing for his greatness. I have little time left but, for a second, I ask myself why no one asked me any questions about my meatloaf or culinary pedigree.

7 minutes! I have my marching orders and I execute; beautifully I might add.
No matter what, I think to myself, I represented myself well today - that, beyond anything, would be my solace and my bragging rights no matter what happened.
I walk out with my head up and my heart on my sleeve, apparent for all to see.
Then the questions come; about the meatloaf, why I got in the business in the first place, what I thought the position would entail, how I saw myself in it. I speak humbly, thankful for all my history, experience and skill set. I speak like the job was mine, saying things like 'ours' and 'we'. Assuming the position was not lost on them as I look into their eyes and see slight smiles and nods of heads.

My feet never touch the ground walking back to the kitchen.
Clean up, restock, gather dirty pots and pans - the days not over yet and there's till work to be done.
We congratulate each other on the back dock, stealing a cigarette. This could go any way, I say, confident in the truth of it. We all did well and we respected each other through the process - a winning day in my book. As we walk back into the kitchen to get our final instructions I start to feel the inevitable adrenalin crash in my legs, suddenly heavy.

We're again introduced to the panel. Profuse thanks are offered and I get the feeling that this went very well for the Company. Pictures are taken, hands are grasped - eye contact made trying to get a read of how it went or who might have the edge.

In the end, we're told that a decision would be made after the weekend.
Manoman, it's going to be a long three days

Recession Lessons

'It'll be nice to take you out for sushi', I confessed to my girlfriend.
'Or bring home flowers every week...' She gives me a wry smile.

Over the last two years, after losing a job I really enjoyed but which was victim of the housing and the consequent credit crisis, my life has become an exercise in contraction as I became - just like many others, underemployed.

I am very grateful that I had clients who were appreciative of my work and kept my head above water with new projects and who paid fairly consistently.
Others have had it much worse with little or no work to keep them mentally and emotionally active and one step in front of the wolves at the door, so I'm keenly aware just how lucky I am.

But as with anyone in business in a challenging economic period, some of my clients discovered ways closer to home to spend their ever precious revenue and it became clear to me that I might need to re-enter the ranks of my culinary brothers and sisters manning the kitchens of operations all too aware that they need to work harder than ever to secure their profit line; and with little else to whittle away I saw job postings with smaller and smaller annual salaries and hourly rates.

I revamped my resume, worked at broadening my networks, worked my vendors, associates and friends for job leads. Even a recent Irish wake for a dear friend of mine became a networking event as the crowd filled with people In The Biz who I hadn't seen in years. Business cards were exchanged, meetings arranged, phone calls promised. Everyone seemed to be in the same position as I, needing work and looking for an advocate, any advocate; someone to help get past the gate keepers of the jobs we most wanted.

At home, it became essentials only, carefully planned trips to the grocer and leftovers for lunch; nothing was left to chance and when we needed it the most, money came in the nick of time to take care of what was most important next; rent, electric, car insurance, groceries.

Chess, backgammon, dominoes or card playing became a nightly ritual; ways in which to stay connected in the midst of the stress of making the next payment, the worry of how many hours of work there had been that week - the realization that such worry was taking me further and further away from those that I love; that if I wasn't careful I could, very easily, insulate myself against the world, cocooned by my stress and disconnected from those that keep me sane, and against all odds - laughing; lightened and strengthened for tomorrow's possibilities.

It's been an emotional roller coaster of questioning, gauging the marketplace, promising leads that ultimately lead nowhere; times of self reflection, getting clear about what I really wanted and thinking about what I really need; it felt to me that life and it's circumstance had provided me with an opportunity to clear the decks and get really connected about what I wanted my life to be about and tangentially what would make up my life.

So I got some real work in; some of it wasn't pretty but it was all necessary.

Now, it would seem, I'm in the running for a job that would really inspire me, will really groove me, push me and cause me to really grow - as a professional and a person. And with it comes the reality that all things really do work out for the best, even if we don't know what that looks like because had I taken a job below my skill level or experience set just to have a job then I certainly wouldn't be in the position I am today - with what looks like the possibility of having my dream job.

So what have I learned?
That a strong sense of self and faith in the process is more important than any 401K
That health, family and friends are really the only currency that matters
And that all else, may it be sushi or flowers, is negotiable and is only just icing on the cake.

Sous Vide White Paper

Here follows an extensive treatise, or primer on Sous Vide Cooking; I'm a novice and have just come to this cooking philosophy even though it's been around for years. I once heard a story of a restaurant in France that has 2 cooks for 300 seats and their whole menu is Sous Vide. I was always curious about a product that can be cook at 56 degrees Celsius for 30 hours and come out Medium rare through out the entire loin. Properly chilled the product undergoes pasteurization; and because of which the product remains pristine for up to 3 weeks. There is a passive pasteurization process championed by Pan Saver where they use a high heat bag, metal clamps and utilizes the craftiness of the cook to properly top and seal a bag with little to no oxygen when sealing. Chilled properly, down from 220 degrees to 160 degrees F within 2 hours and the rest of the way down from 160 to 40 degrees F within the remaining 4 hours.
The result is a demi glace, fume or chicken stock that can used up until 3 weeks after production. Try that with a lexan of pomodoro sauce in chilled down overnight in a cooler; anyway I digress....

Since the paper is 38 pages long - I'd like to suggest that anyone interested in the document by Douglas Baldwin and is very detailed and scientific where it needs to be, including time and temperature logs, graphs and charts - it's well worth the time to email me at cheflam@aol.com and I'll get it right out to you.

A taste is found here; 

              Introduction by Douglas Baldwin
<
sealed plastic pouches at low temperatures for long
times. Sous vide differs from conventional cooking
methods in two fundamental ways: (i) the raw food
is vacuum sealed in plastic pouches and (ii) the food
is cooked using precisely controlled heating.
Vacuum packaging prevents evaporative losses of
flavor volatiles and moisture during cooking and inhibits
off-flavors from oxidation (Church and Parsons,
2000). This results in especially flavorful and
nutritious food (Church, 1998; Creed, 1998; García-
Linares et al., 2004; Ghazala et al., 1996; Lassen
et al., 2002; Schellekens, 1996; Stea et al., 2006).
Vacuum sealing also reduces aerobic bacterial growth
and allows for the efficient transfer of thermal energy
from the water (or steam) to the food.
Precise temperature control is important when
cooking fish, meat and poultry. Consider the
problem of cooking a thick-cut steak medium-rare.
Cooking the steak on a grill at over 1 000°F (500°C)
until the center comes up to 120°F (50°C) will result
in everything but the very center being overcooked.
A common solution is to sear one side of the
steak in a pan, flip the steak over, and place the pan
in a 275°F (135°C) oven until the center comes up
to 131°F (55°C). For sous vide, the steak is vacuum
sealed in a plastic pouch, cooked in a 131°F (55°C)
water bath for a couple hours, and then seared in a
smoking hot pan or with a blowtorch; the result is a
medium-rare steak with a great crust that is the same
doneness at the edge as it is at the center. Moreover,
the flavorful flat iron steak can be cooked (very safely)
in a 131°F (55°C) water bath for 24 hours and will be
both medium-rare and as tender as filet mignon>>

By way of explaining the detail in the paper I've included the email string between Greg and I where he tries to hip me to finer details and how he makes it work at his restaurant, The Charles Court at The Broadmoor. In particular you'll see these suddenly chic techniques on his Dinner Menu September 2010

Our conversation, like much of life is done moving forward but can only be clearly understood in reverse so if you don't mind...he sez....

    Ok, we do add some corn syrup to boost the simple sugars and also baking soda 
for ph so that the amino acids in the protein morph to sugar faster for the 
"crisp" texture you speak of.  As far as testing, I just let go and let God on 
that one.  If you set the temps right on the circulator and then properly shock 
at the end, you should be in good shape.  Celsius is we can set the temps to a 
tenth of a degree as opposed to our clunky forms of U.S. measurements only by the 
1/4 of a degree.  You don't see any measurements in lbs in any science book right?  
Short ribs we cook for 3 days in the circulator with a dry rub cure for 24 hrs, 
rinse, bag with herbs, garlic, shallots, butter and then the cooking for 3 days 
at 65c.  For the reheat, we don't put back in the water but reheat in pan for 
maillard and add either demi or remi and you have short ribs on the plate in 
like 5-7 min. P h is specific to proteins.  You need to research on the USDA web 
site to get the low down, but leaner animals like venison, buffalo have less and 
you need to add sodium-bicarbonate as well as  fructose to get the result you 
want.  With the braised items you need to leave in the bag with all the natural 
juice until you are ready to serve, just like leaving it in the braising liquid 
for the traditional way.  Important: sous vide intensifies everything so you 
use like half or less salt, seasoning, garlic than normal.
 
Hope this helps....
b

________________________________

From: Adam M Lamb
To: GREGORY BARNHILL
Subject: Re: Hey Now
  Brother
  In regards to the Maillard reaction do you find yourself adding any extra 
sugars to facilitate a nice crisp exterior? How would one test for any remaining 
pathogens or spore outbreaks to ensure proper pasteurization? Do you find that 
you're referring to your temps in Celsius because of the settings on the 
circulator or just because most of the literature is in metric? Keeping the 
sauce separate makes perfect sense so how do you handle something that would 
have been traditionally braised such as short ribs? Oil, seasonings, bag, poach, 
chill then build the sauce separately - upon order reheat in hot water, sear, 
sauce and a quick simmer to replicate the traditional process? At what point do 
you concern yourself with the ph of the product; is it specific to a particular 
protein? Questions Questions, love love
    A
    ~ be a river ~


    Subject: RE: Hey Now
    Well,  we don't sous vide with sauces at all.  We add aromatics and oil or butter 
to the protein and usually pasteurize it to a nice medium rare or 55c.  The most 
important thing is to shock it after the circulator bath so there is no chance 
of bacterial growth.  At service all we have to do is the maillard reaction to 
caramelize the meat, bring it to temp and were done.  The egg deal is pretty 
much if you want safer eggs, then pasteurize them.  Same as the old coddled egg 
for Caesar of yore.  However, we cook them at 64.5c for two hours for the most 
perfect poached egg that you have ever seen.  They come out egg shaped!!  On one 
of our dishes we take the perfectly poached egg, bread it and fry it and serve 
it with shrimp and grits.  So the deal is you have this egg that looks like hard 
boiled and crunchy, but you cut into it, the yolk runs out and the whites are 
soft.  Kinda mind blowing when you first see it.  The sauces we do separately 
with the bones and what not and we do bag them, but just for storage.  We have 
them in 1qt bags and just throw them in the steam well just before service to 
bring them to temp, and then mount au beurre to finish.  The other really cool 
deal about all this is that first the vac machine pumps air into the bag, 
opening up the cells of the meat, then when it vacuums, it puts all the flavor 
of the herbs and oil directly into the meat so it basically marinates in like 30 
seconds instead of 12-24 hours.  Also, the compression process is great for 
tomatoes, apples, pears and etc as it intensifies their flavor 10 fold just like 
reducing a sauce.  The time tables are not accurate for us at 6500 feet, but 
most likely would be for you.  The thing to remember is that once the item gets 
to the temp you set, it cant go over so there is little to no chance of over 
cooking anything.
     I haven't found the right time to see if we can have you out yet.  I will be 
doing a benefit dinner tomorrow night with chef Sigi and that should be the time 
then. I will let you know.
much love 

     b

     From: Adam M Lamb 
     To: GREGORY BARNHILL
     Subject: Re: Hey Now
     wow, what a great piece - I'll have to reread it in order to get the math 
right but have you found that generally the time/temp tables to be accurate? In 
almost all recipes he doesn't address the addition of sauces much even though he 
does point out the the addition of a sauce impact the pasteurization time 
significantly; any reliable rules o' the road that you've developed/discovered 
in your mad scientist experiments?
      still trying to wrap my head around the pasteurization of the eggs; are they 
to be used like regular eggs in like a mousse recipe?
      many questions, hell I just gotta come and see it done - did you ever ask 
about a site visit for me and the liability ramifications? Will I be able to hold 
a knife?    
       you're a gift to me, my brother - in gratitude, I remain always, yours
       
       Adam 
        
       Sent: Mon, Sep 20, 2010 2:03 pm
       Subject: RE: Hey Now
    
        here is something to start with; refer to the white paper, available from cheflam@aol.com
 

        From: Adam M Lamb 
        To: GREGORY BARNHILL
        Subject: Re: Hey Now

        Hey that was arousing in a strange yet wonderful way - thanks my 
brother; we'll need to get into a complete dissertation on sous vide; I have a 
feeling that it'll come to the forefront of my efforts soon enough.....
        
     
       Sent: Mon, Sep 20, 2010 1:44 pm
       Subject: RE: Hey Now

       not yet but hope they do so I can sell your ass to them.
       Miss you too my brother

       b
                     
       To: GREGORY BARNHILL
       Subject: Re: Hey Now
       Nothing as of yet but I can already see myself there, coming up with 
ideas, procedures and products to make a difference!
       All good things, positive mind set regardless of what my reality 
might look like now; sowing the seeds of success with my thoughts, intentions 
and deeds
       Loving you! I take it that no one has called you for a reference or 
rave reviews?
       Love to the family!
            
                 And so it goes between my friend and me....
        

    

Sometimes it all about WHEN something grabs you that makes the differece

I came across an odd email that I was moved to click through; I'm sure that I had seen similar posts before but this time something grabbed my eye. I wish I could say it was some flash formatting or similar tactic that marketers use to differentiate them selves from the pack - but it wasn't; more differently this particular author and coach wasn't selling anything - at least that I could see, just giving away free copies of his new book, period. No hook, no bait and switch - just simply a desire by the author to get the information in as many hands that will be willing to use the outline he's created for a better life.
I pride myself on being sophisticated enough to see what's under the hype and for the life of me, I couldn't find anything untoward, just an impassioned man who wants to make a difference; and a simple message that spoke to me in a way I hadn't heard before even though the words seemed familiar until I realized that it's not just about the message - it's also about my willingness to be open and allowing for the message to be heard; timing baby, is everything.

Don't take my word for it, download this excellent book, 'Monetizing Your Passion' by Rich German. 238 pages of solid actionable content - no more pandering the ego's of the author, Rich breaks through to a level that grabbed me and before I knew it, I had started with some of his action steps in order to bring my game to the next level - and I know that he can provide you the tools and self motivation that will get you taking massive action based out of what you determine what's most important to you.

Wishes will never change anything; energy, discipline and enthusiasm will!
Please, do your self a favor and down load his free book 'Monetizing Your Passion'; you won't be sorry and I can be in complete integrity bringing you something that will definitely 'support you in your success'!

click here: http://www.richgerman.com/

Sous Vide

Just got blown up by my best friend and a true culinary visionary, Greg Barnhill, Executive Chef at The Charles Court at The Broadmoor Resort in Colorado Springs. Over the last three days we've been going back and forth about Sous Vide cooking and he schooled me but good.
It started easily enough, 'What are the three most used pieces of equipment in your kitchen?' It's a simple question that draws a lot of heat because in three small words it illustrates, and illuminates a lot. In less than a paragraph, if one reads between the lines well enough, one can get an incredibly detailed look at what's going on in a kitchen 1500 miles away.
'The Dehydrator, The Circulator & my CryoVav.
Once a procedure that was frowned upon as 'shock cooking' and lacking in the finer points of finishing Sous Vide has become one of the preferred cooking methods and if this can apply to one of the most adventurous kitchens in this country then it'll apply to just about anyone, anywhere.

I'll be posting a link to a basic dissertation about this process, or more appropriately processes that'll give you the leg up on the competition and a complete thread of our conversation - properly redacted to protect the guilty.
Back in the day we would send experiments/specials/eat that type of dishes to each other in cabs, pizza delivery trucks or anything that would get it there in one piece.
It was our way of keeping our 'saws sharpened' in a good natured, competitive way but the reality is if there's not someone in your life who challenges you, your perceptions, your skill set AND does it in a loving but in-your-face-way that precludes any denial of the opportunity to learn and grow, well hell - you gotta go get you one.

Or several; everyone needs a coach AND a Master Mind Group made up of friends, co workers or professionals who you look up to and who put you back on your heels with their experience, insight and skill.

I read a great quote today. "Your growth is directly linked to how willing you are to have uncomfortable conversations" and a Master Mind Group is a great way to have uncomfortable conversations in a way that's constructive and actionable because everyone understands that their participation is for everyone's higher good and holding back or fluffing only keeps everyone, and in this case me, small.

My friend Darren Jacklin has perfected the Master Mind concept to his credit, and his bank book, guided by a moral sense that keeps him pointed Due North towards his goal of helping a million, that's 1,000,000, people have the life that they dream of - all by the time he's 45. You can find him at www.darrenjacklin.com

It can be a life long commitment to excellence by the participants; it's essential for growth that means something and leads somewhere as long as the basic covenant of mutual honesty, integrity and understanding is honored

I'd rather come to this life as a novice, with the slack jawed awe that comes naturally to a rube in the big city than the smug complacency that comes from an expert who thinks that he's been there done that, yawn.

There's still so much to learn joyfully, laughingly and Greg, Clive, Christopher, Darren and others all support me in ways they'll never know and I'll spend the rest of my life looking for the appropriate words to express my gratitude for the gift they are to me.

If you turn up your nose and turn your back on something this powerful, don't be surprised if your competition beats you to it - the smart ones are always looking for a good tool to beat the pants off you - go now, seek, read, understand and apply

One of the Best

Authors; one to ponder possibilities with: http://www.theawareshow.com/connect/braden/

Kanji in the Kitchen

6 ~ Kanji Right Livelihood
“The verdict you pronounce upon the source of your livelihood is the verdict you pronounce upon your life” ~ Ayn Rand

I started mowing lawns when I was 12. My dad, a college professor had impressed on us all the virtue of hard work namely by letting up know early on that his meager salary would barely keep the roof over our heads and if we wanted anything else it would be up to us to provide it for ourselves.
Regardless of how hard he seemed to be pressed to keep bread on the table and the electricity flowing come Christmas or Easter morning there was always a bounty to be found around the hearth of our simple home.
I call it simple but it was really much more than that with the dynamic of four siblings, a highly spirited Cuban mother and a father whose favorite time of his life seemed to be when we were toddlers and would look up at him with unfailing and unquestioning love in our eyes.
No matter how loud it got in the house during the day with the natural sonic disturbance that‟s the daily life of any household, come nighttime, while all the children were packed away upstairs vainly fending off sleep like they were going to miss something, anything, my dad would make the rounds shutting off the lights, banking back the furnace, closing blinds and making sure that his prized Doberman, Pepita, had all she needed to guard us all vigilantly against the darkening streets.
He‟d then, in complete darkness, sit down at his Yamaha grand piano and play. Softly at first he‟d start with old ballads, sweet with longing then, changing the tempo he‟d pound out a honky-tonk and then finally build up to some Aaron Copeland arrangements full of counter melodies and pumping back beat.
I fell asleep almost every night I lived in that house with the sound of my father‟s tinkling ivories dancing up the stairs to sing me off to slumber. It‟s one of the kindest, most serene memories of my dad and our family at 321 Woodmar Ave. Its recollection would succor me through some dark doubting moments, long after he was gone and the piano and gone silent.
I finally got the nerve to ask him why he played at night and not, maybe just maybe, play during the day when I might sing along with him; I so desperately wanted to be with my dad when he played – to be part of that man, shit man that was cool.
He took a while to answer me, perhaps gauging my ability to understand more than his words but more importantly, his intent.
“I do it for me. It‟s the one thing I keep for myself”, he said with a sadness I hadn‟t heard from him before.
“At one point in my life all I wanted to do was play piano in a smoky bar with a tip jar on the top and some sultry dame leaning against my instrument”
Of which instrument he meant I was still a bit wet behind the ears to have even asked.
“But that‟s not the way it worked out and so I keep this for myself to remind me of who I was once and what I aspired to.”
No matter how he complained about the bureaucracy of the intellegencia, parliamentary procedure, tenure, the ignorance of some of his students or the intricacies of working in a university my dad really, really loved teaching. The accolades of his students and for the most part his contemporaries bore this out as he was given the Chair of the Modern Languages department at Purdue University and other awards.
One of his manuscripts is still being used in advanced Spanish classes I understand.
It was perhaps fitting that on a Monday morning during class that he collapsed and was rushed to a hospital emergency room. I was in England at the time serving in the USAF. The old man dodged a bullet that time but it would come back to claim it‟s prize several years later after he had finally come to terms with his remaining years by planning a cross country camping trip with Pepita‟s replacement, the precocious Fina de Casta Van Worlock; or as we called her, „The Little Bitch‟.
He never got to make that trip.
He cast a mighty shadow when he lived and sometimes, when I am quiet enough, I can hear piano music coming from somewhere just out of sight, right around the corner.
So, if all he wanted was to be a honky-tonk piano player, how the hell did he end up teaching Spanish to my high school Spanish teacher?
Why, love, of course.
His ego may have wanted to be a musician for the same reasons that mine did but it was Love that won out in the end.
After he got out of the Coast Guard he went to work at a meteorological company based in Boston, his hometown. Batista, down in Cuba – whether a US stooge or just someone who was getting tired of his country getting its ass kicked every hurricane season, contracted with several US firms, one having just employed a fresh faced kid ready for anything, or so he thought.
The scientific thinking at the time was that if one could lace clouds with silver iodine crystals it would create a natural disturbance within the upper trade winds that would normally steer hurricanes from the warmth of the African coast eastward.
Instead of steering currents aimed at defenseless and desperately unprepared populaces from Bimini to the Gulf of Mexico the silver iodine would create wind sheer, slicing at the heart of the beast and leave it whimpering with a few gale winds and some much needed rain for crop rotation.
Sadly, as it‟s been demonstrated time after time, man‟s attempts to control the normal, nay necessary cycles of the Mother are only so much spittin‟ in the wind.
During the year and half that the experiments were being conducted my father was stationed in Cuba without nary a guidebook nor a how do you do. The chief mathematician of the project, Manolo Lopez, took pity on this gringo that couldn‟t eat because he spent most of his time in the out house. Manolo would invite my dad to his house for the weekend. Manolo was a naturalist, adventurer; quick to laugh and patient
to an outsider. He was also married to the eldest daughter of a family of seven, five of which were women of captivating beauty and a lust for life as it was lived for the fortunate few of the early 50‟s in Cuba.
My dad would hold court in the front room, playing the piano and generally making the women laugh, sing and swoon at the thought of this sophisticated, handsome, single American.
Once, early on in his assignment, my father had called his mother back in Boston and pleaded to come home because he felt out of place and was rebuffed; the old girl had a right to live her life too now that the tyrant of the house had thankfully dropped dead, When he finally did come back state side it was with a heart full of the Cuban people, culture, of a sense of belonging to that witchy island and the Spanish language.
Instead of following through on his meteorological career, one for which he was trained and now experienced in the world and playing piano in his off time he went back to school. This time he would study Spanish, get married and get his Masters in Modern Languages. He had his first child and when his doctorate was almost complete, had his second child, my brother Jason.
Upon Jason‟s birth he sold the watch his father had given to him to keep it all going, all the while dreaming of sharing his passion for the Spanish people, their history and their language.
Why? What could possibly drive him to a life in academia, moving his family, now complete with two new daughters, four times in ten years; each time learning a little more, sharing a little more and gaining ground until we found ourselves in Hammond Indiana and he, apparently, having finally arrived.
He followed his passion and shared it. Kind of what I do, certainly what his grandson Anthony James Lamb does, he teaches middle school; something that he didn‟t decide until his third year of college when it became his passion. My son is doing very well and is highly considered by his kids and fellow faculty members; sounds like someone I once knew. I‟ve given him the plaque that sat on my father‟s desk that says, Dr. Anthony J Lamb, because I know that he‟ll achieve that and more, as long as it remains his passion.
I‟ve cut lawns, delivered papers in sleet and rain, sold Thom McCann shoes, jeans, bussed tables, worked at a summer resort in Michigan every year I was in high school, worked in a steel mill and served in the Air Force.
No matter what I tried I ended up back in the restaurant business. Not because it was easy because anyone in the business will tell you it‟s akin to blood money, but because it has been my passion and I‟ve wanted to share it; with the guests and, especially, the guy or girl on each side of me because together, today, we can make a difference in someone‟s life.
Just because we‟re moved to share our passion.
I‟m a chef but I‟m also a teacher. I come from a strong line of teachers, each of us have chosen what we‟ll teach and to whom.
Genetic?
Evolutionary?
Who knows but I‟ll tell you this, and this is how I know that this is my right livelihood, I‟d be doing it, even if it never paid.
I think that‟s what my dad tried to teach me.
Just a short postscript: it took me years to figure it out but no matter how busted out my old man would make it sound he‟d wait till the night before Christmas then head out to the all night sales and go into hock for the entire next year building a pile under the tree just to see the look on our faces come the morning; I guess to him that one moment was worth whatever he had to do to make it happen.
Pretty cool, if you ask me.