Neglect is a word often associated with parenting, although it seems to be the pervasive adjective that comes to mind as I begin this entry. I'd be willing to bet that most parents do not intend on neglecting their child. It might just happen in such a way that life engulfs the time available, perhaps even the energy as well, leaving the gap in between love and devotion. It's usually the child who fills that sense of neglect, instead of the parent, even though the child usually deserves none of the lack of attention that follows. I can only hope, dear readers, that you do not feel neglected, despite the fact that I feel as though I've left you hanging, to some extent.
Rest assured there are plenty of stories to tell. And whether or not it is more enjoyable for me to post, or for you to read, is left to each of us to decide. Thankfully for both of us the unveiling can begin! I'll start with where I am, in this very moment, and what I am up to. Tapping these keys in the office of the Restaurant, late Friday night, with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, (1989, Alexander Valley Vineyards, to be exact). If you know anything about wine (or even if you don't), this wine is far from shabby. The color of this well aged beauty is likely the color of love, if there is such a hue that exists. The age of the wine should indicate immediately the quality of what exists in the glass. I feel blessed and deserved at the same time to be sipping on such a luxurious and delightful wine. I guess I can revel in the marvels of being a Restaurant owner, who has access to gems like this, as well as the ability to save them for very special occasions. And this moment seems incredibly special, for these stories are yearning to be told- like this fermented grape juice I am tasting, that was stuck in a bottle for 22 years, just waiting for this very moment to be shared with all of you.
Each time my ring finger on my right hand touches the keys I'm reminded of how I received a precise cut, earlier tonight, that chose to bleed at a very inopportune moment. Last night my index finger received two sharp slices also, blood finding its way to the surface thanks to the fresh oxygen. Just wait till you hear the culprit of this peculiar wound. A knife? Nah, very fine chards of broken glass. My movement is particularly quick on the job; therefore, as my hand graced swiftly across surfaces, where these fine chards pierced my skin with a razor blade like swath, I became aware of what happened once I noticed red liquid showing tracks of what just happened. It took a brief sleuthing to discover the cause of the mysterious slicing. The staff admitted to breaking a glass in the areas where the damage occured. The doors of the Restaurant were just about to open, in both scenarios, so I am left with few options. Being an experienced line cook with a high tolerance for pain with my hands, I went for the warrior like maneuver. I took my finger and immediately seared it on the flattop, with extremely high heat, ideally calderizing the bleeding cut. In addition, a good smear of some freshly ground black pepper to help coagulate the bleeding, and about 15 minutes later I'm good to go. I do not recommend this technique for several reasons, most of which revolves around pain and discomfort. Sometimes, however, one must perservere by any means necessary. Its really hard to calderize your own finger, although its even harder to work a busy dinner service with a bleeding finger.
Ahh yes, of course, the depths and trenches of being a line cook, a position I remember quite well. Allow the introduction of the return of the burns which adorn my fingertips, my hands, and occasionally my wrists or arms. Lest I forget the smell of cinged arm hair each time I shower or wash my hands. The grueling series of tickets with no place to heat skillets, the shortcomings of the kitchen staff, and the mistakes that irk me to a very challenging place. Sometimes I feel like a professional wrestler on crack at a theme park, as I am so unbelievably pumped up with emotion, while at the same time, my mood swings can become like a roller coaster that twists, turns, and eventually goes upside down. I figure since I can recognize this, then I'm well on my way to modifying this extreme character that ultimately just wants to body slam moments instead of manage them with greater efficiency.
Naturally this is all what takes place behind the scenes in the daily life of the Restaurant. On the other hand, our guest experience is at an all time high, so life is good as a diner at Cafe Kandahar. And I am thrilled to be back on my feet in the kitchen once again! Not sure how I feel about being online six nights a week again, pushing 70 hours a week, forcing my pelvis and lower back to conform to the grind. I still get sore, sometimes to the point of limping, as I am definitely still in a stage of healing. Yet with virtually a new kitchen staff, and plenty of business to keep up with, it seems a necessity for this contribution. I trust that in due time this will change, as I have intended, in order for me to return to a place of balance. I mean the whole time I was away from the kitchen and laying lonely in a hospital bed, blessed with a completely different perspective about what is important, I figured the days of the kitchen life I just spoke of were both unnecessary and extreme. I'll agree now with the extreme aspect, although the unnecessary part is hard to accept. Thankfully you can join me in this journey of finding the balance my spirit so desperately craves between the two.
I am in a relative position to complain about my situation, however, since I've just returned from an epic excursion to the east coast. I'll get to that soon enough, first I'm going to return back in time to the place where my previous blog entry left off. Cue the days of early May and my first few steps without crutches again. I was still using crutches as a good part of my daily experience to assist with the lack of strength and mobility.
And then there was the food and wine festival in Billings. Billings is about a 8 plus hour drive from Whitefish. That should give some of you a good idea of how big Montana is, especially for those of you who haven't driven across this state before. So me, my sous chef, and dining room manager/sommelier departed on Monday morning, arrived in Billings that evening, with a car full of ingredients for the Iron Chef competition as well as the cooking class. The Iron Chef competition took place on Tuesday evening in a student ballroom located below a dormitory on the campus of MSU-Billings (Montana State University). We had Tuesday morning and afternoon to prep for both the Iron Chef contest and a cooking class. I spent most of the day sitting down, prepping what I could, saving energy for the big event that night. There were two teams competing- a team from Billings and a team from Whitefish. Funny thing was, the Billings team consisted of three seperate chefs from different Restaurants, whereas the Whitefish team was my questionably assembled crew. My sous chef had worked with me for several years, but only as a line cook and was just recently promoted to the role of sous. Even though my dining room manager had owned a restaurant and is a decent cook taboot, its not like I had a competent team to show up with to compete against three other chefs. Not to mention I was still on crutches for most of the day, able to walk for brief periods only. Both teams knew the secret ingredient, which was honey, prior to the competition. I had my three dishes fairly well thought out and constructed, mentally at least, the only thing needing to be done was the execution. My crew was briefed the night before and the day of the competition, other than that they were only following directions.
Meanwhile, the other team of three chefs decided that each one of them would execute a course. Smart playing on their part, so given the circumstances I'd say our crew was the clear underdog. As well their crew knew the ropes with the competition and what to expect from the execution angle. Our crew hand no clue what to expect, nor what we could or could not do in advance. Nevermind all of that though, we came to win and losing is not an option. We had to comprise three courses using honey and we were judged on presentation, taste, and originality. Both teams had one hour to complete the challenge and this was in full view of about 150 people. All the while these people in attendance were asking questions, in addition to a mic'd announcer who constantly wanted an explanation about you, your food, or adjectives to describe both. Needless to say when it was all and said and done we won the competition handily, scoring higher in each of the three categories for a clean sweep.
Before the competition ended, however, it was a hilarious sequence of events. First our crew was clearly pressed for time. Thinking that I wanted my food to be hot, freshly seared, perfectly cooked, etc.., I waited until the last possible moment to sear my main proteins. My app was Seared Foie Gras, Huckleberry Gastrique (with Honey), a Butternut Squash Puree, Microgreens, and a Honey Garnish.. My entree was Yellowfin Tuna, Almond Crust, Lemongrass Creme, Tomato-Ginger Compote (with Honey), Arugula, and Saffron Oil. Dessert was a Caramelized Pear and Honey Tart, with a Honey Anglaise and Caramel Honey.
Anyway with five minutes left in the competition, our dessert was the only thing done. Most of the other accompaniments were complete, except for cooking the foie and tuna followed by plating the items. We needed to prepare four dishes of each course. Well, at precisely four minutes to go, with the audience and announcers freaking out that I haven't even started cooking yet, I dropped the tuna and foie, respectively, into smoking hot skillets. This created quite an exciting moment, the crowd gasping in awe while I watched over the searing proteins with a relative calmness- knowing full well we had just enough time to bring it all together. Only problem was my crew was not on the same page. They seemed to be identifying with the audience and freaking out that time was about to run out, so they began frantically attempting to finish dishes- in the wrong order, as well as sloppily and hastily assembling plates. When I turned around with cooked proteins, with less than a minute to go, our plates were in complete disarray. With a dizzying like speed I quickly tried to replate our items so that they might flourish, knowing full well that we could lose this competition, barking orders at my crew to no productive avail. And just then, something magical happened. The fire alarm went off! The noise was an awfully loud sound, incredibly obtrusive and distracting, clearly this was not part of the event. My crew immediately thought this was the sound of the end of the competition and actually proceeded to freak out even more. I was able to gain control of the moment, replate all of our dishes amidst the complete chaos, and put us back on track with our initial intentions of what our plates were supposed to look like.
The smoke from the foie gras and tuna had not only set off the fire alarm, but it bought us enough time, as well as a distraction, to finish in style despite having run over the time limit! A really funny part about this whole situation is the alarm going off actually cleared out the dorms above us and invited the fire department to come and have a look around. Keep in mind we were in a large ballroom so the amount of smoke that was created by the foie and tuna was fairly thick, creating a hazy like setting.
We did well enough to garner victory and we were pleased with the results. Like the good competitors we are, we enjoyed a few beers with our competition afterwards at a local Restaurant. We then learned of how much they planned for this event, prepped that day, and had a distinct advantage going into the competition. Of course, that made the three of us feel even better about what we were able to accomplish. Did I mention I was limping throughout the contest? Part of our prize that we receieved was a bottle of wine, with a message that is written on the bottle- Congrats Iron Chief Competition 2011. Either somebody mispelled Chef, or they were making a deserved pun at us, calling us Chiefs. No matter what, we smoked the place out!
The next day was a cooking class for 40 people, four courses, from 11am-2pm. There is something about getting in front of a group of people and sharing a passion with them, I feel so natural when I have the opportunity to do so. It was a great event and well received. Looks like I'll be heading back next year, perhaps as judge for the Iron Chef competition since I feel that given the circumstances there is no need to compete again- especially if I am healthy with a fully talented crew in tow.
Aside from Billings and some fantastic fly fishing on the infamous Madison River, my adventures, being upright and on my feet again, included a trip to the east coast to immerse in the land of Phish tour. So me and a friend drove from Whitefish, Montana, all the way out to New York City in a matter of days to embark on a legendary journey. I absolutely love NYC and I was able to attend another lovely yoga class at my favorite studio, Virayoga in Soho. Everytime I visit NYC I am blown away by the energy of the city. I could have spent the entire month there, but we came to see Phish instead.
Beginning with a three day kickoff, memorial day weekend, in Bethel, NY, the site of the original woodstock, the tour started in glorious fashion. My little brother and I enjoyed the opening weekend together. As well, I was able to connect with lots of great friends whom I had not seen for quite some time. The rest of the tour went something like this: two nights in Holmdel, NJ, then Detroit>Cleveland>Cincinnati, followed by Boston>Darien, NY, and Camden, NJ>two nights in Baltimore, then two nights in Atlanta, Charlotte, Raleigh, and finally Portsmouth. We saw 18 shows in 24 days. We traveled about 15,000 miles total, including the trip to and from the east coast and Montana. We sold Gumbo to help cover costs along the way, as well as water and gatorade. It was a good amount of work, although we stayed mostly in hotels, hanging with friends, meeting new phanners, and loving life on the road. I adore the adventures I shared with people I love, my favorite band, and the travels to new places. I danced like I was the funkiest person there, most of the time I was, with my silver sequined disco ball pants that I wore every night, I was killing it! We had great seats every show, acquired from a good amount of time spent purchasing good tickets as soon as they went on-sale and scoring epic re-releases a week or two before the shows began.
I felt like a kid again, only this time with a touch of maturity and knowledge. It was a time to remember, a joyous journey full of life, love, and happiness. I think back to all of the wonderful people I met, all of the fabulous shows I saw, and the memories which accompany both. I relish the time spent with a darling young lady, from Jersey, who helped re-instill a groove within me that dances with abundance. She ascends to the fondest of memories from the trip, in part to her unique and spontaneous nature. I treasure the moments from this remarkable adventure, truly one of a kind, a unforgettable trip to a place most people barely visit, let alone conceive of.
And here I sit, late at night, contemplating the vast differences between then and now. Without one, I could not experience the other. I am grateful for the opportunity to live both as Andy Blanton. The challenge now is to balance the love and devotion. I mean, the love I have for the food I create is so great that I am willing to sacrifice my physical and mental well being- all for the enjoyment of others. Of course there is a sense of enjoyment within me also, yet it really boils down to other people paying for what I conceive and create. At the same time: how important is this to me now, specifically after the accident, given the fact that I have seen a spectrum of what life can be like when the reality of being is questioned inside the context of a traumatic realm? There is a large part of me that is devoted to my practice of yoga and meditation, something my accident help awaken, the importance of which can not be denied for me at this stage. All of that said, I'm still struggling with love and devotion of each passion and how to integrate the pursuit of the two.
I like that this is where I am, trying to balance what I love with what I love to be devoted to. What a blessed place to be! There is little mystery as to what I want to happen. The mystery lies in the execution. The figuring out has been figured, its a matter of solving an equation now. The laws of the universe are flexible enough to accommodate my minor dilemna. I hope that you may find balance, peace, and harmony with whatever may seem troubling to you in your life. Until next time,
andino
