Monday, July 21, 2008

A few words from my executive chef

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From where I sit, I get a full view of this entire kitchen. While it's much smaller than what I'm used to working with, I mean let's face it I started out in restaurant kitchens in Baltimore City, it will have to do. See, these people that live in my house, think they rescued me from the "mean streets" of Baltimore. Little do they know before I was mercilessly plucked off the streets and titled a "stray", I was simply roaming town popping in and out of kitchens and dumpsters looking for my next culinary inspiration. You'd be surprised what kinds of food combinations you'll find in your traditional city trash heap. Half-eaten hotdogs with smashed jelly donut glaze, perfectly good beef burritos with old yogurt dressing, and partially grilled chicken cutlets soaked in flat Colt 45 - yes, that's right, you won't see THAT on Bobby Flay. So here I am, bringing my culinary expertise and know-how to the likes of this woman living in my house.
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I'm a subtle influence, in fact the more subtle the better. For example, when the lady turns her back, I lick the chicken cutlets. Hey! Quality control people! I'm willing to take the risks. My favorite is when they are having shrimp. In this case, I'm able to steal, I mean test, an entire shrimp for flavor. Hey, you don't develop my level of standards by pussy-footing around, no pun intended.
Once in a while my intensity and passion for cooking intimidates the lady. For instance, the times when I insist on jumping on the counter to show her exactly how to stir the ground beef. Or when I just have to get in there and make sure that piece of juicy fish is searing just right. She doesn't get it. She's all, "Sawyer get down! Bad kitty. We'll have hair in our food." I say, "What's a little fur compared to burnt or overseasoned food?" She doesn't understand the kind of dedication it takes to make good food. I mean I didn't get to be 18 pounds for nothing! If only she'd listen to me once in a while.
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All I can say is thank goodness that Morris fellow at 9 Lives knows what he's talking about - that stuff is goooo-od. Did I ever mention that people say I look just like him? I personally think I'm a bit handsomer but enough about me. I know in retrospect she will appreciate my presence on the counter instead of shooing me away like a common beggar. It's not begging, it's all part of the discipline needed to be one with food, which is my goal. And that includes pressing on after she has doused me with her horrid spray bottle. Ugh - I hate a wet coat! So unprofessional in the kitchen. Meanwhile, I'll thanklessly hold my position as executive chef of my kitchen and let this lady use it for her pleasure. Hopefully some of you can get something out of it.

1 comment:

thefrenchkitchen said...

I was just browsing through some of your old posts and came across your executive chef. What an adorable cat! He *does* look like my Reggie. Your story is cute too.