1989: Hugo meets the Plumbers

     In 1989 I was in Moneta, Virginia with my first wife Valarie.  We had moved there with a mission team to help strengthen local churches.  While mission work had many obstacles and was fraught with tension and frustration the culinary events would again shape my life and propel me forward on my culinary journey.
    Valarie had grown up with a friend who had a hippie bus and she had always wanted one.  So I acting in good faith went around the Virginia countryside and lo and behold I came upon a half converted 1954 Thompson School bus that was used by Boy Scout Troop 141.  It had suicide rims and a blown head gasket but it was only $500.  SOLD!  I drove the bus back to the house we were living at in Moneta with Jason and Gala, part of our mission team.  We packed up our belongings and drove the bus to the back property of our boss who owned "The Cove"  A lakefront resort on Smith Mountain Lake.  Well he was in the process of developing it into a resort.  At the time it was a rundown and vacated trailer park, a bait shop and boat rental and the restaurant.  The restaurant was something special.  I had walked in looking for a job and was hired on the spot at put to work immediately.  In the kitchen there were four of us.  Fred, the French Chef and the three fry cooks of which I was one.  The kitchen was split. One side for the deck and bar.  Raucous music, baudy dancers, boats, booze and drugs galore were the mainstay of the deck.  The food was fried to a grand scale of the Captain's Platter.  A supreme meal of fried seafood, fries and rings over a foot high.  While the floating restaurant with it's covered holes and creaking roof was draped in finery with white lines and a French Menu of refined tastes with a wine list to match.

     The fry cooks would scramble to cook the platters of fried food, the burgers and BBQ's.  While Fred would drink Courvoisier, cuss in French and throw knives at the wall in a drunk homesick state of enoui.  Val had taken a job as the dishwasher-busser.  When the guests finally did arrive for the French cuisine Fred would go to work.  Pulling strange and magical ingredients out of "his" cooler and cooking them in sauteuse's and sautoir's.  He would pull out terrines and pates he had made and prepare beautiful plates.  Fred was always drunk in the kitchen as said it was part of a French chef's right.  But the owners, the "Jersey plumbers" had other words to say to Fred.  He would serve old and moldy food.  Let the food rot in the coolers instead of saving it.  But he still got paid $500 cash per week.  For a 23 year old this seemed like a million dollars.  I was impressed with his skills but dismayed by his lack of caring.  He was a sad lonesome mess and he did not finish the season there.  It was in late September I believe of that year the Hugo came in pounding the Eastern seaboard.  Shops were boarded up and many people fled the region.  Even as far inland as Smith Mountain Lake.  The tourists were gone, the money was gone, the "Jersey plumbers" were bankrupt and sat on their deck for one last hurrah.  We all sat on the enormous deck drinking what beer was left and the German manager was pouring hurricane's in homage to the massive black wall of doom that covered the entire southern horizon.  The air was still and quiet.  A mist hung in the air.  No music blared across the lake.  Just 14 of us drinking and watching as Hugo rolled inland.  It was quite a sight.

French Chef in a daze

     The next day the restaurant sat empty and quiet. We were woken in mid afternoon by the boss who gave us our last payroll in cash and asked us to vacate the premise in seven days.  I had to walk up the street to a local restaurant that was in no other terms a "dive"  They had heard of the closing of "The Cove" and when I applied for work they snapped me up. I was going to be paid cahs at the end of each shift.  My first shift was brakfast and I had to set by lighting the flame under the hot line, then prepping potatoes eggs, grits etc.. the standard fare of the south.  What took me off guard and made me glad that I would only be working here 4 days was the first order of the morning.  A brain omelet.   I said, "What!! you gotta be kidding!"  Nope there it was under the counter far in back.  Several small cans of potted brain.  Wow, I sure can't wait to become a chef.  So I opened the can, it smelled of rancid cat food.  Poured it into a pan to heat and made an omelet.  Poured the warm brains in the center of the omelet and shazaam!  It was the best one he had ever had. Four days went by quickly then we packed it in and started up the bus.  We rolled out heading northward to Canada.  We would eventually make it to my mom's but that is another story.  I had seen true cooking, I had seen what a semi-skilled drunk French chef could do with schooling, imagine what I could do!!  IT was there on that deck watching Hugo's wall of black roll by that I knew that my calling would not just be to wander aimlessly and cook.  But that I would become a Chef.

The Smells and Tastes of Childhood

     Certain smells and tastes linger in my head from childhood.  All of them influenced me on my journey.
My earliest positive memories of food are visiting my grandma in Connecticut and waking up to cinnamon French toast.  She would make as much as I wanted.  The warm syrup, butter and cinnamon smells mixed with the searing of the egg batter and is one of the moments I reflect on to soothe my inner soul.
     My mom on the other hand had a knack for burning the tuna noodle casserole. Whether this happened a lot or just once it has stuck in my head as one of the main reason that I learned to cook for myself. To this day I detest the smell and taste of this classical American casserole.

     As a child of divorce I grew up the proverbial "latchkey" child.  One of the simplest tastes that I acquired was cereal and milk.  It was fast and easy.  Being a hyperactive child my cereals were sugar-free or low sugar in type so I came to love the natural nutty grain flavors.  "Uncle Sam", "Cheerios", "Shredded Wheat" were just a few.  If I was lucky I had "Raisin Bran" or "Granola".
     Although this is neither taste or smell I remember as a child living on Oaklawn in Bryan, Texas.  We had a round kitchen table.  On this table we had painted plates, knife, fork and spoon for each setting along with glass rings.  This was my initial education to setting a proper table.  The more I reflect the more I can see that cooking, restaurants, hospitality are in my blood and a deep seated part of my life.

The Journey Begins.

     Even before I knew I loved cooking and before I became a chef, I was cooking.  At the early age of ten I had  purchased a used "Easy Bake Oven" from a garage sale down the block.  It was the dull green variety and came equipped with the recipe book and three mini cake pans.  Once I got it home I plugged it in in my room and began to create.  Mixing the water, oil, flour and eggs.  Adding leaveners and vinegar to the mix and pushing it into the little slot.  I was amazed that a light bulb could cook anything. Who knew?  Most of the cakes were ok, except for the "vinegar cake" it was horrible I remember.
     I vividly remember the time I had a math assignment in fifth grade.  Mrs, Chow was my teacher and I had to come up with some sort of math project to take to class.  I convinced my mom to let me make egg rolls.  This of course would show my teacher that I could count the number of students in the class and that I had an appreciation for her culture.   I prepared all of the ingredients for the fabulous delicacies and even went as far to clean the oven with the "old school" oven cleaner to ensure a perfect feast.  I worked all weekend to make sure that they would be fantastic.  I cooked them the night before because getting up at 5am to deep fry egg rolls just did not compute to my young elementary school mind.  I arranged them beautifully on a platter and wrapped them for the trip to school.  When my turn arrived I showed the egg rolls and everyone was excited.  I talked about the recipe and the measurements of the ingredients.  Then I passed them out.  Everyone loved there authentic flavors.  I however knew what my secret ingredient was.  I had not cleaned out the oven thoroughly enough and the oven cleaner residue had influenced the flavor of the  egg rolls.  While I knew I must improve next time and not repeat that horrible mistake, my teacher and class were so happy.  I got an A on the assignment.

     10th grade Honors Biology, Dulles High School, I think 1983.  I had to come up with a project that reflected molecular biology on one of the subjects we had been covering for the first quarter of the year.  Hmm Krebs cycle, mitosis, I think not!  I decided since I had been researching my ancestry to make a trifle.  I had been reading about it in Encyclopedia Britannica and they sounded scrumptious.  So I picked up some cake mix, heavy cream, fruit and my mom lent me the rum (although she did not know it at the time).  It was for cooking not drinking and for school.  I needed to get a good grade in the class for college.  I baked the cakes made the whipped cream filling and soaked the fruit in rum.  I soaked the cakes in rum and spiked the whipped cream with rum.  I layered them in my mom's biggest Tupperware cake transporter, only I built it upside down.  It worked fantastically well.  It marinated as it were, overnight and survived the first four classes of the day.  Finally I broke it out in class and talked about food and how it is processed by our bodies for fuel and energy.  I talked about Scottish and English heritage and how wonderful they are.  I passed out the trifle and the room was permeated with the smell of rum.  My teacher commented on how the rum was a bit strong although that was on the second piece.  The trifle was a success.  Several other science teachers were asked to come and experience this assignment and they agreed that it was indeed a good one, trifle that is.  I think I only got a B for that assignment as we had not yet covered how the body uses fuel to make energy for the body so I had missed the mark.  Oh well, I can still remember everyone excited and slightly buzzed laughter.