As I begin the begin for this blog entry, I do so in a solemn and sad state of mind. I came home Tuesday night to a painful blow of news from New Orleans. A good friend, a fellow chef, a compassionate and kind human being, James Leeming, passed away Sunday night at the age of 50. He leaves behind his 8 year old son named Kobe (named after the prized Japanese Beef) and his wife Heather. His career spanned a lifetime and included a remarkable spectrum of high end Restaurants. I enjoyed, with great pleasure, working under him at Brigtsen's in 1998. From then on I always made a point to spend time with James whenever I was in NOLA, whether stopping by to see him at Palace Cafe, Dickie Brennan's Steakhouse, or having dinner with him at Dick and Jenny's. It was refreshing to see him in all of these places where he served as Executive Chef. His last Restaurant, Coulis, was his one and only place that he owned. I never saw him happier than when I visited him at Coulis, a breakfast and lunch restaurant, him trading the stress of dinner service with a large staff for a more modest and manageable approach to a game that he knew how to play quite well.
James began as a food runner at Commanders Palace back when Emeril Lagasse was the executive chef. He was a young Nicaraguan who was invited by Emeril himself to join the "other side of the line." It was then his cooking career began and his passion bloomed. James had already cemented his place in the ranks of New Orleans' cooks when I began my tutelage under Frank Brigtsen, with James as Frank's sous chef. I had yet to come across a more caring, thoughtful, and humorous individual. To this day- the words, the phrases, and even the demeanor of James, shines through my memory of him like splintered rays of sunlight into a thick forest of the past; illuminating the moments of laughter, amazement, and encouragement that he was so adept at sharing.
James used an ancient technique of "sabotage" while in the kitchen, particularly if he felt you were not somebody who worked very hard or did not give enough effort on a daily basis. So he would do things like change the oven temperature while you were baking something, or perhaps turn your cream sauce on high, all the while with a chesire like grin. He would even say to me "Watch this, that piece of shit over there never works hard enough, always cutting corners, I can't stand that dude." He would then crank the heat up on this person's sauce, wait a minute or two, and appropriately question the individual by saying "Hey, dude, what is up with your sauce?" Meanwhile the sauce would be burning, the person would be furious, and James would simply say "You need to watch your sauce better. We don't pay you to keep messing up." This was just one instance in a long line of "sabotage" moves that I witnessed, a classic and candid approach to motivating slackers in an otherwise hard working environment. And being from Nicaragua, he would have this thick accent with whatever he said, usually causing humor to anyone who was listening, considering he was almost always having fun with what he was doing. Of course I never got sabotaged, for I was what James might call a "roller" or somebody who "had it". In fact my greatest compliment, to this day, came from James as I was working at Brigtsen's. We went out for a beer after a busy night of work one night and he looked me in the eye and said "Dude, you got it. There are very few people in this industry that have it. You are an all-star, and you will go really far in this business. Frank said it too, he sees it in you also, you have the gift."
He received his name as "the Doc", from what I understand, as someone who could always fix something. If a sauce needed healing, or a soup needed fixing, he was the guy to make it happen. I loved how as we were beginning to run out of a sauce, in the heat of the moment, deep in service, he'd get this look on his face and he'd simply say "I got it." The next thing I would know, he'd hand me the sauce back and say "Dude, I just stretched that shit. You gotta stretch it, bro. That's the way you do it. You never run out, you always just stretch it and make it work." His favorite word to use, especially in an intense moment, was "phenomenal". This term could be used to describe everything from a dish, to an order, a move, a plate, or even a smile. He would often put something down, such as a 1/6th pan of sauce, then look at you with this incredibly serious look and say "Whatever you do, don't spill this, its like gold. Actually, it is gold!" Or another favorite phrase might be "Your gonna send us down the pipes with that shit. Please don't send us down the pipes, just get it together, stretch it if you have to, and make it happen."
For those unfamiliar with this industry, "stretching it" refers to prolonging the use of a sauce by adding more liquid, or ingredients to the sauce, just to make it "appear" as it should be. Despite the fact that one may be diluting the flavor of the sauce, it was done to "keep things rolling" and to keep the head chef from getting pissed at you for not having enough prep. It was a bit of a gamble, in a certain sense, for now it could be the guest who called you out on the sauce. But, somehow, the guest never did. For the record, I only employ this technique when it is absolutely critical and there is no other option, probably once or twice a year. There are line cooks all over the world who do this nightly, and its our jobs as chefs to prevent cooks from doing so. James encouraged it at times, however, and was a master at stretching it. "Sending us down the pipes" referred to an instance where something might happen, such as the unforgivable mistake of knocking a full pan of sauce over, thereby changing the entire course of the evening and effectively flushing the kitchen staff down the toilet- hence the term "sending us down the pipes." Sometimes this would refer to a weak link in the kitchen, somebody that could not hold their own and would inevitably fall behind, bringing the whole flow of the kitchen down.
James may have not been the most talented of cooks there ever was, nor was he the most creative. What he was though, was rare, unique, and special, truly one of a kind. A bright, warm, compelling, and soulful person, he could light up a room instantly just by opening his mouth. His laughter was as contagious as a yawn in a library; one could not help but join in on the fun whenever "the Doc" was around. From the music of Jazzfest, or the parades during Mardi Gras, the countless nights in the kitchen, no matter what he was always so much fun to be around. I bid farewell to another legend, one who taught me so much, RIP dear brother.
In closing, yet another culinary mentor has moved on in this journey. Jamie Shannon, former Executive Chef at Commanders Palace, one of the most influential teachers in my life. Then Ethan, a Sous Chef at Commanders, who was as cool as a cucumber and as sharp as a razor blade. And now James.. Not to mention the handful of cooks, dishwashers, or others who I have sweated and bled with over the years, all who are no longer alive. I guess its all a part of life, specifically getting older, those that you love will all die too. I mean I know its a given and all, but it seems to come so unexpectedly. I can think of better ways for the spiritual alarm clock to ring in a reminder that life is short and precious, to be grateful for what you have, and to appreciate the moments as they are.
And I certainly can appreciate what other people mean in my life, while they are still with us. I'm thankful for all the cherished moments, etched in memory, that I have of James. That is something that will never die, at least as long as I'm here. Long live James Leeming.
Article from NOLA.com
Brigtsen's benefit for James
