walkway out of main kitchen
roasted chicken
kogi bbq truck
Anyway, we got to Colorado Wine Company around 6:30pm although the event was scheduled to start at 6:00pm. The truck had not arrived but as soon as we had checked in, the truck pulled up in front of the store. From 6-8pm, the lucky 100 who had scored a reservation to the event had exclusive access to Kogi BBQ as well as hand picked wines designed to pair with what was offered: a short rib taco, spicy BBQ chicken taco, spicy pork taco, and for dessert, brie cheese with pickled onions and strawberries.
We were hungry so we scarfed down the tacos in about 10 minutes. I'm not a huge wine aficionado because for some reason I can't bear the taste of alcohol but I was curious to see what the pairings were all about. They offered four that evening and I stopped after pairing #1. I only had one sip of pairing #2 cause it tasted like vodka. If any of you are curious, here's what they chose to pair with the food:
But after the tasting, we were still hungry. Our next stop? Hot dogs. Now these aren't your ordinary hot dogs. These are Lets Be Frank dogs. 100% grass-fed beef and pork. 100% organic hot dogs. Sounds like an oxymoron huh? But this place has been on my to-try list since the cart opened up last year in Culver City. The proprietor, Sue Moore, is as genuine as can be and gave us that "mother" treatment. She gave us recommendations and offered guidance in our selections. We went with one beef dog and one spicy pork dog. They came out freshly cooked on a soft and chewy bun. For acoutrements, they offered organic sauerkraut, relish, mustard, and ketchup. I went with the classic sauerkraut and deli mustard combo and subsequently, fell in love.
These dogs are heavenly. When I bit in, the casing snapped and the juices from within poured into my mouth; almost like a Din Tai Fung juicy pork dumpling. Paired with the sauerkraut and the spicy mustard, it was amazing. The spicy sausage had just enough kick and the beef dog was simple yet classic. We washed it down with one of these: Boylan's Birch Beer.
We had previously requested Boylan's Cream Soda (one of the best cream sodas on the market) but she only had diet. But Sue offered us Birch Beer and according to her, it was a combination of root beer and cream soda. She was on point! It literally tasted like cream soda with that root beer kick. After the good eats, I thought the night was over but to be honest, my stomach was wanting more. For some reason, the Kogi tacos just didn't hit the spot. I was yearning for some genuine tacos and luckily, on the way home, I stopped by here.
Classic. Simple. Understated. Now THIS is what a taco should taste like. THIS is street food at its best. Located off of Fletcher and Larga near Glassell Park and Atwater Village, this taco stand, in my opinion, is the epitome of street food. Add in some dirty dogs and I can call it a night. They were serving asada, buche, al pastor, and carnitas but I had to go with my favorite, al pastor, and buche. The pastor was flavorful and juicy and the tortillas were warm. The buche was a little chewy as I should have asked them to cook it a little longer to give it some more crunch. Eaten right after they were made, the tacos were nice and hot and it warmed my body on that rather chilly night. With a little lime and salsa, it was a perfect way to end the night.
Its good to know where your buche is coming from.
I love the honesty and authenticity of street food and that night was a fine example of what Los Angeles has to offer. Try finding these foods in San Francisco or New York City. Its just not the same and incomparable to the diverse array of cuisine LA has to offer. Street food is the heart and soul of Los Angeles cuisine and the people working behind these stands, carts, and trucks, continue to make me believe that Los Angeles is home to the best food in the nation.
a slab of pork ribs
oysters and pearls
definition of finesse, main kitchen exitThat morning, I strolled into the kitchen wearing my 100% cotton signature Kirkland t-shirt, some old khakis, and a dingy pair of shoes. I was ready to tackle whatever I was told to do. When I entered the kitchen, line cooks were already firing up the stoves and many were busy prepping their stations. Just to give you an idea of how a basic restaurant kitchen runs, here’s a quick breakdown:
After a customer orders their food, the server inputs everything into the system. The system feeds into two separate ticket machines, one on the ‘hot line’ and one at the dessert station. The ‘hot line’ is where all hot appetizers, entrees, and salads are made. The executive chef or chef de cuisine is usually at the end of the line where the orders come in. Moving down the line, you will find the sous chef and one or two additional line cooks, manning either the grills, stovetops, deep fryers, ovens, or sometimes all of the above. If one line cook is handling more than three of the previously mentioned, your staff is definitely ‘in the weeds’. That pretty much means you’re fucked. Orders are backed up, customers are not happy, and chances are you’ll be looking for another job soon. Anyway, the hardware (i.e. grills, stove, etc) is on one side of the hot line.
On the other side are the stations; each line cook’s ‘meez’, short for ‘mis en place’. This is essentially your home for the entire shift you are working. Within your ‘meez’, you have to be able to reach for anything you’re assigned to plate or make within a moment’s notice. Kosher salt, sauces, garnishes, accompaniments; basically everything you can think of has to be within arm’s distance. Cause if you do end up ‘in the weeds’ or even the least bit backed up, the last thing you want to do is look for that sauce you knew you prepped hours before. Chances are its still in the walk-in and you can’t serve cold sauce. You’ll have to run to the walk in, transfer that to a sixth hotel pan, and warm it up. During that time, two or three more orders probably came in and the chef will probably rip you a new one for stepping off the line.
When orders come in, it’s the chef’s responsibility to expedite them. He/she will yell out what needs to be prepped, dunked in a deep fryer, popped into the oven, or thrown onto the grill. Of course, the chef won’t be there to look over your shoulder to make sure you’re doing it right but once you hear, “One fry!”, then you know that you take the fries out of the freezer, put them in the frying basket, dunk them in, and set the timer. Once you see the entrée get plated, which should coincide with your timer going off, you pull the fries out, season them, and plate. Despite the cramped working space and people twisting and turning, bending down, hopping between stations, and leaning over each other, nobody gets in each others’ way. Believe you me, when everything is smooth, the hot line looks like a ballet performance; the epitome of grace and focus.
I thought I had a pretty good idea of how a kitchen ran (thanks to Anthony Bourdain) but seeing it for the first time in person was just short of life-altering. Words really do not do it any justice. I put on a chef’s jacket, an apron, and walked onto the hot line with the sous chef. At first, she had me doing basic prep work; hulling strawberries, washing vegetables, chopping salad ingredients, the basics. To say the least, my first day was a day of learning. I essentially got schooled on every aspect of kitchen work including how to hold a knife properly, the importance of speed and quality in the kitchen, kitchen lingo, how to get out of the way; Cooking in a Restaurant 101. That whole day was an observation and test of my abilities. I got called out by the executive chef numerous times about how things should be done and line cooks probably began wondering why I was so incompetent. Apparently, chopping romaine lettuce and frisee should not take more than five minutes and ‘taking your time’ was unheard of at the back of the house. It was overwhelming but I learned so much. I probably learned more that day than the rest of the year I worked in that kitchen. After trailing other line cooks, helping out where I could, and getting re-educated on how it’s done, the brunch shift finally ended.
I was soaked in sweat and I was dead tired. I had probably run up and down the stairs to the dry room at least twenty times. I had never been so scared in a walk-in looking for ingredients I had never heard of. Oh, you want some arugula? And frisee? I didn’t even know what they looked like. A loaf of pan de mie? Sure, no problem. Just give me five minutes while I ask around. I came out of that walk-in many times with more than what was asked for, just so I covered all my bases. When asked for brioche, I would walk out with six different loaves of bread and offer them to the sous chef. When asked for mesclun, I came out with enough greens to make my own salad. I was an epic FAIL that day. But I walked out of that kitchen, on my feet. After saying thank you to all the line cooks for not murdering me, the chef wanted to talk to me. I prepared myself for rejection.
The chef asked me how my day went. I told him it was an amazing experience and I was hooked. There was so much more that I could see myself learning and the adrenaline rush was incomparable. (In my experience, nothing has given me more of an adrenaline rush that juggling multiple orders, running around the kitchen, scrambling for hot plates, and perfectly timing different foods in the oven, fryer, and freezer to create a beautifully crafted dish) He summarized his thoughts and observations of my performance in the kitchen. Apparently, it’s not safe to run around a kitchen, holding a knife horizontally, through a maze of people holding hot sheet pans and carrying loads of deli containers. He said he’d be willing to work with me. The ball was in my court and his offer was plain and simple.
If you want to learn to cook, you can come in anytime you’d like. My kitchen is open to you and I will teach you as much as I can. But I cannot pay you. This will be an externship of sorts, just like in culinary school, but instead of course credit, you get to learn to cook. Once it looks like you’re getting the hang of things, we can talk about compensation.
My ego took a small hit but an offer like this was something I could not pass up. I told him I’d be back for more.
outdoor dining roomIt was the day of our meeting. I had dressed up in a fancy dress shirt, slacks, and black dress shoes, hoping to impress the chef with my intentionality and serious approach to the opportunity. The hostess had me wait at one of the tables while he and his team wrapped up lunch service. My mind scrambled through hypothetical questions that he could ask me: Why do you want to cook at a restaurant? What can you bring to the table? Do you plan to pursue a career in the industry? At the most, I could half-ass my way through one of the questions. Finally, the chef walked out from the kitchen. He was unbuttoning his chef’s jacket as he briskly walked to my table. His undershirt and jacket were smeared with sauces and assorted food particles that had stained his clothing during service. He sat down across from me and quickly read over the application I had been filling out while I had been waiting. He looked up at me and asked me the million dollar question.
Why do you want to work at a restaurant?
Before I could reply, he added, “You know, this profession is not glamorous. Its long hours and low pay.” I quickly assessed how I could best impress him after his attempt to dissuade me. I told him about my passion for food and the market-driven approach that he brought to the kitchen. I told him that one day I wanted to be able to cook more than just hot dogs and spaghetti for my kids. I told him that the culinary knowledge and experience I would gain from this opportunity would help me grow as a person. He seemed to buy it. He was nodding his head as if he understood where I was coming from. After what seemed like an hour of silence, he said, “Well, let me show you around the restaurant.” He took me through my first time in a restaurant kitchen, introduced me to his line cooks and the sous chef, the different stations, and a brief summary of how the food gets from the hot line to the customer’s table. I was in love. The hot and muggy atmosphere of the kitchen coupled with the smells that emanated from the kitchen confirmed what I had read and heard so much about.
We sat back down after the tour and he looked over my application again. I could see him reading over my educational and work experience probably questioning why the hell I was applying for this job. He asked me questions about UCLA and what I did in my free time. Finally, he looked at me and said, “We could probably rotate you through salad, pastry, and desserts. You have to work really fast. Orders come in, one after another, and you really have to be on top of your game.” After that first sentence, I stopped listening. My mind had wandered off to fantasy land imagining myself in a pristine white chef’s jacket, plating exquisite sauces, ordering fresh culinary grads to wash spinach, and chuckling with 3-star Michelin chefs while Mozart played in the background. My mind finally came to and he asked if I was available that weekend for a test run. He said, “Be here by 7:30am. Service starts at 11:00am.” I told him I’d be there. We got up and I thanked him for the opportunity.
We parted ways but before I walked out, he called back to me, looked me over, smiled, and said, “By the way, you might not want to wear something that nice.”
