In every relationship there is a trajectory. A path, if you would allow me. Think of all the people in your life currently.
Who has remained through all the shit hitting fans? Who has not? Who sends condolence and thank you cards and postcards?
Who do you know whose handwriting you've never even seen?
Whose house have you seen the inside of? Whose parents have you met?
How many last names do you know? Middle? Besides birthdays, do you know of any other important anniversaries in their lives?
Like when they got sober, when their first parent died, when they switched careers, when their cancer went into remission, when their first child died?
In the community I inhabit and create, friendships exist on the same plane as romantic relationships. My friends carry me, and if they be my lovers as well, better yet, but not necessary.
When I love, like almost everything I do, I do so fiercely and without constraint. My love is not for everyone. You can't put enough dairy to make it weak.
I ask of my friends. I call them when in crises. There are some I can call anytime of day or night their and my time, no matter what.
There are some (and have), and they for me.
Last year I was told flatly, You work to hard for people Shuna.
It's true.
I love giving. I love learning. I am voraciously in love with all things food and my industry.
it is at its most challenging. I am dedicated and have the power to commit to a place, a person, their learning, my own education.
It does not mean I turned every college paper in on time.
Or wasn't the best procrastinator in the world. Or have treated everyone with kindness, compassion, and said please and thank you before and after every request.
But, , I have a hard time making mistakes.
And receiving criticism.
What many people do not know, or understand, is that kitchens, the relationships we form in them, are like the friendships and romantic/sexual partnerships which we never forget. Our stories?
The outrageous and the mundane, they are our secret language. They are our history, our folklore. The scars our visual tracking.
Like the Maori full body tattoos, our arms, fingers, backsides, both external and visible, or internal and private, tell another cook, without words, we've been there. Chip on our shoulders? Maybe yes, but more than that.
It's not so simple.
My relationship with Mourad Lahlou began in Spring of 2003. I remember the ad on .
It was beautifully written, if not a little mysterious. There was no mention of location(Richmond District, SF. Translation: a neighborhood so far from my own I didn't know where it was or how long it would take me to get there), cuisine (Modern Moroccan), or any particulars about the chef.
When I called the number there was no outgoing human message. My call was returned by a woman with a name like a Persian Queen. Upon entering the cavernous Moroccan themed interior I was greeted by a woman so ravishingly beautiful I could barely speak.
I stumbled over, Um, I'm here to see the chef about the, uh, pastry chef position, yeah. She offered me tea from a face surrounded by shiny, shimmery jet black curly-wavy hair.
Mourad and I sat and spoke for over an hour.
Someone else came to interview and I think he waited at least 45 minutes for us to finish. We began hitting it off when I asked what restaurant served his favorite desserts, and why. He liked simple, straight-forward, fruit inspired desserts.
Chez Panisse was his favorite place for sweet endings. We talked about Moroccan food. I opened all my learning pores and reached my feelers into his words.
For the past many years I have been cutting out articles on Morocco. I am fascinated with the geography, indigo dyed cloth, architecture, spice markets, rose petal strewn internal courtyard pools, densely honeyed phyllo pastries, orange flower scented almonds, conical cooking vessels.
At the beginning of the interview Mourad said, Well I need someone who can make creme brulee Moroccan.
I'm not your man, then. Creme brulee is creme brulee, and in all honesty I hope to never have to make it again. It's boring unless it's the most absolute classic version.
Anyway my pot de creme is better, I said boldly.
Considering that there is so much sugar in your food I will make desserts I would want to eat if I was eating here. I'm a fruit-inspired pastry chef, so I will go to the farmer's market, where I have a lot of farm contacts, I finished with.
How many desserts do you think should be on the menu? He inquired.
When?
I asked. Well, in general. He said, puzzled.
Now? Late winter, early Spring 5-6. But in Summer when every thing's in season, 10-12.
It's my favorite time of year and the menu will change frequently. At Bouchon I was the only one in my department. We served food 11:30 am to 2 am, straight through, seven days a week.
I had 7 desserts which never changed. On top of that I could produce 3-5 seasonal specials.
{And you wonder why I've called myself Superman?
}
He gave me a tour of the kitchen. It was not the easiest space in the world. An L shaped line dead-ended in such a way that anyone having to leave to get anything walked past me, and barely got through.
The ice cream machine was small and would take close to 45 minutes to churn a batch of base. The surfaces weren't clean. I was going to be the only woman, the only American, the only queer Jew.
But I had this good feeling. We connected strongly in the interview. I stayed my course in the negotiations even though I really needed a job.
(I had practiced with my mom the night before. The first person to throw out a number loses, she said emphatically.)
There was this tea served to me once we toured the kitchen.
Sweet Moroccan mint tea. Thick, green, syrupy, vibrant. A faraway elixir.
Out in the suburbs of San Francisco...
Go figure.
In the sticky web was I.
Was the sweet mint tea 's pomegranate seeds?
Perhaps the lesson in all this will be revealed as you work your way through the blog-story. Sometimes writing helps us focus our thoughts and channel our desires.
You're doing a marvelous job navigating those intense personalities, as Eugena put it above.
Maybe this is meant to be a time of reflection to re-direct your energies elsewhere.
Not to worry. Lots of us will keep reading.
I have an excellent contact at the Westin St. Francis Hotel, if you're interested. Email me privately.
News RSS