
I would like to start by apologizing those of you who are in Pinterest mode. If you followed this link hoping for a quaint recipe that you could make to bring to an upcoming soup supper at your place of worship, this blog amounts to nothing more than a classic bait and switch. The subtitle of this blog easily could have been "Where's the glory, Chef?"
There is a lot of misinformation out there right now concerning what it means to be a chef. Culinary schools, movies, and TV series are selling a rock star version of this fabled figure. We see chefs slinging expensive truffles and foie gras. Or some delicate blonde woman gently seasoning a butterflied breast of chicken. In reality my chosen field is not half that glamorous.
Chef Charles Claringbold II was fond of telling an anecdote about a young man who worked for him: The fresh-scrubbed recruit had bought the culinary school line that they would turn him into the next Emeril Lagasse. Charles had set him to the task of filling squeeze bottles with ketchup from the bladder bag that hung in a plastic frame on the wall. Charles walked past him and the greenhorn looked at him with doe eyes and asked "Where's the glory, Chef?".
I would be the first to admit that everyone's experience is a little different. Part of my perspective is due to my having spent years servicing corporate accounts. I have spent 12 years in this industry, however. I have been to culinary school, spent 6 weeks interning at the Waverley Country Club, worked the line in an upscale Portland establishment, slung food on several multimillion dollar campuses, owned a catering company, and worked to fill the needs of a demanding group of foodies at my current job downtown.
No matter where I have been, or who I have worked with/under, the story has always been the same. Being a chef is hard work. It is dirty work. I have watched every one of my chefs roll up their sleeves and scrub greasy pans. More than once I have seen them serve as exterminators, referees, secretaries, plumbers, and window washers in their own establishments.
Truth is, anyone can buy-in expensive ingredients, ferry them to the front of the house and resell them at 300% markup. The great chefs know how to impart value onto ordinary ingredients. As a chef I often find myself scrapping together leftovers to try and salvage my food cost percentage. The surprising part? Some of my most satisfying moments as a chef are born from this process.
That brings us to the meatball soup.
I really love making soups. There were a few misguided weeks in school where I fully intended to become a saucier (or sauce cook) and my love of sauces carries over into a passion for soup making. The Epicurean delight in question was the culmination of a series of deft cost cutting measures commonly used in my kitchen. The meatballs were made from excess meatloaf mixture from last Friday's special. The filler in this mixture was fresh bread crumbs. I never buy bread crumbs. We run bread scraps and loaf ends through the food processor and keep the resulting crumbs in a bucket in the freezer. The tomato base was a Fresh Tomato Basil soup that I had made last week from blanching, peeling, and deseeding overripe and moldy tomatoes that may have otherwise been thrown away. Combine these with a handful of rotini pasta and some stock. VoilĂ ! It really was delicious.
I sold out both of my soups made from leftovers today. With an 8oz cup selling at $2.25, they sold at an effective rate of $36.00 a gallon, and my customers complimented me for a job well done.
I have seen this very poorly executed. There are some chefs who treat the soup station the way many would treat a garbage can. Attempting to peddle septic slop to unsuspecting customers. Shame on them. A pox be on their house. A chef should never take lightly the responsibility he has to the customer.
In the end I work in the service industry. It is not glorious. I am closer to being this guy-

Than I am to being this guy-

I do love it, though. Someday if I am referred to as a successful chef it will probably be due to the fact that I mastered the art of reworking leftovers, and my ability to unflinchingly wield a plunger in a public restroom.
"Where's the glory, Chef?".
- Posted from my iPhone