Today I started a new job.
Don't fret, I'm still a passionate and enthusiastic Morimoto employee...after all, how could I leave the Iron Chef hanging? I am too huge a Food Network fan to let that job go any time soon. (Note: I have not, as of yet, met or even seen Masaharu Morimoto, although he's been in the restaurant several times in the past week. I was of course downstairs in the dungeon at the time taking reservations...and most likely obsessively updating my blog. Bummer.)
Times being tough, I've spent the last three months looking for secondary employment and this week, at long last, I was offered a serving job. Halleluiah! I'm now a server at Tabla's Bread Bar, owned by Danny Meyer's Union Square Hospitality Group. Hooray! Today I went in to fill out paperwork and do a kitchen trail, which meant gearing up in chef's jacket and baggy pants and hanging out behind the line sampling all the yummy food. Total bliss. And it's an Indian restaurant, which made the experience even more exciting, since my knowledge of Indian food is very limited. I enjoyed myself enormously, although the intense, exotic spices have been doing a number on my digestive system for the past few hours.
(By the way, there is totally a section in the employee handbook about blogging. I write this evening with this passage looming over my head: "It has become a common practice in our current society to use blogging as an outlet for our thoughts and experiences. Employees are to exercise caution when blogging about the restaurant and to always disclaim that the opinions expressed in one's blog are personal opinions that are in no way shared or endorsed by the company." To paraphrase. I shit you not. I'm a rebel without a cause!)
At some point in the evening, it dawned on me that the Bread Bar is no less than the eighth restaurant that has employeed me. Eight restaurants! As follows:
1. Cosi in Rittenhouse Sqaure, as a host and then server
2. Chili's Center City, by the convention center, as a host (for six weeks) and then server (for two very long years)
3. City Tavern (host...for three months. That's all I could handle.)
4. Jones (host, for 5 months)
5. Beacon (host...my first New York City restaurant job)
6. Lunetta (server, on and off for 10 months)
7. Morimoto (yay!)
8. Tabla's Bread Bar
Last night at Morimoto, one of the hosts who has been with the restaurant since it opened remarked to me that I've been doing a very good job on the floor. "We've definitely noticed. And the managers notice, too" says Aneesa sweetly. She's one of my favorites, this gorgeous girl who looks exactly like an Indian version of Keira Knightley. She's smart too, and very friendly, unlike some of the whiny divas (both male and female) I share the host podium with. "You remind me of me on the floor!" I laughed gaily and affably, then a moment later wanted to shout out: "Well, of course! I have more restaurant experience than all the hosts put together! Eight restaurants in five years!" Of course, I didn't say a word. Humility is a virtue, after all, and biting one's tounge is a necessary part of maintaining one's star status. I'm not actually bitter. Just overqualified. And I love this job, so I see nothing to gain from being sassy just because I can. Plus, again, I really like Aneesa. She's very genuine.
Anyway.
The restaurant biz is like a parasite in my life. It snuck in stealthily, without causing a commotion. Just a temporary fix to help me pay my college tuition. Then it nestled itself deep inside my stomach and waited for me to feed it. Every time I switched to a new job, or added a job, it fed on my withering soul, eating up all my creative impulses and all my physical energy. It grew bigger as it gorged itself on my life. I spent summers in the dark depths of Chili's serving enormous fatty burgers and Awesome Blossoms (which in and of itself is more calories than one should have in an entire day...2300 calories, people! I feel it's my duty to warn the masses...I cannot in good faith allow anyone I know personally to order such a gluttenous travesty) to fat, tan suburban families, visiting the city on their way to the shore for the weekend. The parasite inside me fed on french fries and the greasy dollar bills I pocketed each evening, eating and eating as I fed it more and more of my time, my energy, my youth, and never being satisfied, never fattening up my bank account, only processing my days in a never-ending black hole of desperate financial necessity. Look, I'm a smart and capable person. I know I could have had many other more fulfilling day jobs. But I chose to continue working in restaurants year after year specifically because I hated it with every fibre of my being. I knew I could never get stuck in a job that always seemed so disposable. I'd never feel guilty having to leave when lightening struck and I booked the big acting gig I'd been slaving away waiting for all those years.
Well, things have changed. And I'm not sure how I feel about it.
It was different when I was carrying enormous bowls of coffee at Cosi for $2.83 an hour and barely making enough in tips to pay my cell phone bill every month and buy new black work clothes when the old ones fell apart on my back. Of course I hated Chili's where even the salads tasted greasy, and people sitting in the lounge blew cigarette smoke in my face when I brought them that third ramekin of ranch dressing, and obese families racked up a $150 bill each ordering their own appetizer, full rack of ribs and their own friggin' Molten Chocolate Cake and then left me $2 in change. Or City Tavern, the three-star restaurant I hosted at one summer, where all the employees dressed up as colonial servants and served the type of fare our founding fathers once ate and the general manager was a coke addict who took shots of tequila out of the host stand throughout the shift and whose met his dealer out back with cash he borrowed from the register. I mean, come on. The people who get stuck working in those places are alcoholic bottom-dwellers, money-hungry lowlifes who got stuck in their adolescence and are too fucking depressed to see a way out, and too lazy to even look. Of course I'd never be one of those people. I think I always prided myself, on some level, on being better than my coworkers. I had passion and determination and spirit that was never going to be killed. I had self-esteem, for crying out loud, not to mention talent and intelligence self-control. I was more responsible at 19 than my mangers were in their forties.
When I started working for Stephen Starr's company in Philadelphia, the Starr Restaurant Organization, my view of the restaurant biz started to change. Here was a company that pretty much ruled the restaurant scene in Philadelphia, with 10 restaurants around the scene, each more beautifully designed and trendier than the last. This was my introduction to concept dining, from the inside. It's a cosmopolitan dream in a most accessible way...Philadelphia is nothing if not an accessible city. Creative cocktails, exquisitely flattering lighting, beautiful and delicious food, and an equally beautiful staff at every restaurant. I'd never worked more tragially hip people. Everyone had an interesting story to tell. And I'd never met people who cared so passionately about hospitality. Now, Jones is an extremely casual atmosphere (it's upscale comfort food, after all...you couldn't ask people to eat fried chicken and waffles in a suit and tie) so the transition from family dining was easy for me. It was nothing compared to the kind of service I'd learn about when I got to New York.
Beacon was the second easiest job I've ever gotten. (Morimoto was the first...I walked in, filled out an application, was hired on the spot and started training that evening.) I found Beacon on craigslist, emailed a resume, got a phone call forty-five minutes later, had an interview the following week, and started the day after the interview. Melissa, the GM, used to work for SRO in New York, and I'm convinced that made her favor me. After all, there were thousands of actresses and models in NYC that were way more beautiful than me who she could have hired--one of their hostesses was a Miss New York 2007 and another was a model who appeared on the first season of Project Runway. But I'm pretty damn smart and charming, so I guess that sealed the deal for me. Once hired, I was expected to look "sexy and chic" every day, always in heels. I was incredibly insecure about my wardrobe for months, especially since I was just starting to transition to the impeccably chic street-style that is the norm in New York. But I learned a lot quickly about fine dining hospitality--most importantly, how to handle rich old ladies from family money who wore chinchilla furs and had the most inflated sense of entitlement I'd ever witnessed. I knew people like that must exist, but I'd never met them in person before. Although $13.00 and hour was far more than I'd ever made hosting before, I was flat broke and in tons of debt (funny how little changes in a year) and so I took on the second restaurant job, at Lunetta.
The Saga of Lunetta is really a story for another day, it's so long and rich with incredibly outrageous stories of all kinds. For now, I'll simply say that for a while it was a God-send of a job (well, an Elyse-send...my most charming friend Elyse Ault hooked me up with the gig by talking me up to the entire staff and telling them the most likeable anecdotes about me she had from college), but when I left for Philly, I wasn't the least bit sad to go. It was time. I knew it in my gut. Three months later, back in New York and more broke than ever, I went back for a short time, until I almost got fired (see "When It's Time to Change, You've Got to Rearrange", August) and quit instead.
I'm certain that it's no coincidence I ended up at Morimoto. As previously mentioned, I'm obsessed with Iron Chef America and I can't really explain why. I don't know much about cooking, I have no culinary aspirations whatsoever. I have, however, always admired the creative nature of cooking. What they do on Iron Chef America is art. Coupled with brilliantly devised entertainment. Kitchen Stadium? Come on, that's golden. Let's combine competitive sports with food! It's that combination that America was built on, after all! No wonder people love the Food Network. My friend Jamison once told me that he has a theory that the Food Network is like porn for the pallate. There are a wide variety of fetishes to choose from: the Girl Next Door (Rachael Ray), the Foreign Sex Goddess (Giada De Laurentiis), the Big Deep-Fried Southern Momma (Paula Dean), the Italian Stallion (Emeril Lagasse... and Mario Batali, for that matter), the Big Man on Campus (Bobby Flay), the Sugar Daddy (Marc Summers) and so on and so forth.
I was watching Food Network Unwrapped the other night, where Marc Summers was going behind the scenes of the Food Network's hottest shows. Watching him behind the scenes on Iron Chef America was the most titillating TV I'd seen all week, and suddenly a strange, foreign thought popped into my head: I think I'd love working for the Food Network. Not even as a personality ('cause God knows, I'm nothing special in the kitchen), but, like, in production or something. I mean, seriously. And the thought didn't seem far-fetched. After all, I currently work in Chelsea Market, in the same building where the Food Network shoots. Iron Chef America shoots upstairs. I could be a PA or something. And it would combine both of my careers: food service, and entertainment.
Wait, what am I thinking??? I'm an artist, not an entertainer! Granted, the two cross paths very frequently, but I've always thought as a performer the minute you lose sight of art you become merely an audience whore, exploiting your talents to pay the bills. I sure as hell want to pay the bills, but I want to move and inspire people as well! I also want to write, direct, teach, paint, sculpt...I want to make a difference in the world, contribute to society in a way that improves everyone's quality of living, help people. I don't have time for a second career! I can't be developing an interest in service!
I think the root of this little thought started last Thursday when I met Joe, my old manager from Beacon for a drink after he got off work. Joe was always my favorite--he's a 24 year old restaurant prodigy, a former captain who got promoted to sommelier and then to manager. He also happens to be absolutely adorable. He's this petite little Italian-Irish New York native with a boyish grin who darts around the restaurant with a seemingly endless amount of energy in these dapper little three-piece suits, charming the pants off of everyone he meets (including me...pants are still on so far, but here's hoping.) We used to open the restaurant on Sunday mornings together, and he's been promising to take me out for a drink since January. When we finally did, we had a fantastic time, and I learned all kinds of interesting things about him, like that he went to culinary school in Paris and is planning on opening his own restaurant...and soon. "I have an interested investor already" he says. I swooned--and started to understand that for some people, hospitality and food are a passion, not so different from my passion for art and theater. Both fields are about bringing people together, celebrating the amazing phenomenon of human existence, the joy of life and family and community. This was an idea I'd never been able to understand before I really started to climb the ladder of the restaurant industry, which in New York is truly one of the most celebrated, high-profile industries one can conquer. No wonder the star-fucker trust-fund baby owner of Lunetta decided to pour his inheritance into a restaurant--opening a new restaurant is the quickest way to get New York to notice and (hopefully) revere you.
Never in my life did I ever think I'd be actually considering a career in the food service industry. But here I am, my imagination wandering...I'm a damn good employee at Morimoto. The managers love me. There's definitely possibility of advancement within the company...I could be promoted to Maitre 'D, Manager, maybe a nice job in the corporate office...it would be so much easier, so much more straightfoward than achieving success as an actor...
Of course I'm not actually suggesting that I might give up my theatrical ambitions. My heart and soul is in the theater, and it always will be. Sometimes I have to consicously stay away from it all because it hurts too much to go see an amazing play and wonder when my chance to be involved in such a feat will come. I feel the same way about watching fantastic film performances now, too. Deep down, I know I'm on the right path to wherever it is I'm supposed to go and that all the opportunities I want and need will come when it's time. In the meantime, I'm starting to find inspiration in my day job, my second unlikely and unwitting career, and that leads me to believe, again, that I didn't stumble into the world of hospitality by accident. There are things for me to learn here, too. Maybe it's the confidence I feel in my ability to charm the guests I greet on the phone or at the door and the higher-ups I work for, my confidence in my ability to climb the ladder...does this not sound like a kind of confidence I could apply to my artistic pursuits? Or maybe it's cultivating a love for the uniting power of food and wine, the way a good meal can bring people together over all kinds of circumstances. Maybe still it's developing a respect for the different passions and ambitions people can have, and understanding that one of the cornerstones of a good relationship is respecting and admiring each other's passions.
Who knows? At the very least, I'm getting lots of free food.
And certainly, there's nothing wrong with that.
No comments:
Post a Comment