I’ve run into a diverse cross-section of chefs, and Mike Perez is one of the best I’ve known.  He’s more gringo than Mexican, but he’s still a great cook.  He’s got the humble pan pusher work-ethic, and the passionate drive to make the best food.  We’ve got an easy raport that sometimes speaks volumes in a look, the kind of in-the-trenches kind of friendship that only true kitchen lifers know.  Sometimes during service, deep in humping out food, he’ll just crack a sly smile.  “Ain’t nothin’ to a boss!” Sometimes, he’ll look at me like Murderface, and I’ll know what he means; you nasty, girl! As a faithful reader, our jokes got jokes, laughter comes easy.  I’m proud to rank him among the top people I’ve met in this business, and as a lifelong friend.  As all cooks know, you run into those people in your careers; the kind of peeps you say you’ll work with again, maybe even open up your own place, and with Chepe it’s no different.  With him I can almost see it actually happening.  We both were privileged to be mentored by Chef Jack Yoss, and as anyone who has worked with Jack knows, that’s something. I’ve learned a lot working with Perez, watching him cook, lead the cooks. I’ve jumped down, I’ve turned around, I’ve picked a bag of cotton.  I’ve been violated. I’ve enjoyed some long services, some outlandish circumstances. We’ve even spent some time together off the clock, riding the mountain, eating and drinking.  Drinking, eating, cooking, drinking.  The guy loves food. I recall once I was drinking creme anglaise out of the blender.  Perez walks up and laughs, then asks for a hit.   You really have to respect a guy that will drink creme anglaise out of a blender.  Well…I do anyway.

We lived in limbo for a few days, concerned about our kitchen. The broken water pipe had been connected to the restaurants heat system, which we really needed to open.  The weather had taken a turn for the worse, and would soon prove to be one of Portland history’s most devastating storms. On Thursday around noon, after a morning of nail biting and pacing, my buddy Nate called me; “Let’s go night riding at Ski Bowl!”  I had no excuse, he was offering me a free lift ticket. I called Perez to see if he wanted in, I knew he was going just as stir crazy as I was. The city of Portland had shut down; chain-slapping buses spun sporadicly in the falling fluff.  We knew the mountain had been dumped on.  We rallied around 4 pm to embark on a two and a half hour journey in Nate’s 78 VW Bus.  We chained up around Rhododendron; the roads were getting nastier the higer up we got.  Perez was periodically recieving phone calls from our bosses, keeping us posted about the restaurant.  After much back and forth, we learned that we’d be closed until next week.  Our concerns lifted, an icy updraft, when we saw the lights of Ski Bowl. Heavy snowfall blanketed the mountain, and we were soon strapped in and smiling. We drank PBRs as we ascended the lift, smiling and swinging.  We raged the gnar for three hours or so, carving powder and bally-hooing to each other as we mached by.  I missed the mountain life.  Everything makes sense when you can carve powder turns.  We finished our beers in the parking lot and headed home.  The weekend went by slowly.  The skies were gray the roads were gray and the snow that covered everything was gray.  I felt the walls closing in; I lost myself in the web.  I annoyed my dogs with guitar and no walks.  I happily braved Tri-met to meet Chef and Perez on Sunday at the restaurant. I was prepping Tabla desserts and they were cleaning out the walk-in.  We crammed all we could into our freezers, but a good amount of food was about to spoil.  Not surprisingly,  Perez and I immediately volunteered to cook and eat the food.  It would be a crime of the highest order not to.  A damn shame.  We packed up what we could, and grabbing beer near 4th, caught a bus to my place.  We hit the grocery to augment our booty.  We drank and cooked and cranked music. We thrashed my little kitchen and dirtied every pot, pan and dish.  We even fired up Old Blue. My fiancee was out of town so it seemed the thing to do. We cooked and ate, carrying on and finally enjoying a bit of this down time…by cooking.  It made life feel semi-normal.  Through all the bedlam, the food was there for us.  We got back into the restaurant early in the week and re-prepped everything we had lost. Teddy put our kitchen back together.  Christmas day came and went. The rains finally came and washed away the slush and snow, the city awoke.  People mingled in the streets, then filled the seats in the dining room.  Smiling servers ferried food to grinning guests.  A storm had come, and in it’s wake a sharper image, clarity. I felt as if the people around me were looking at each other a bit different, feeling a warmer glow. I felt an in-the-trenches level oneness, a communal happiness to be back at work. Sometimes shit happens, and all you can do is dive in and swim.

 Nothing gives me greater comfort than a big stack of clean side towels.

So yesterday it was official, I quit both my jobs at Carlyle and Roux. I’m taking my knives, and I’m going home.   That’s right, in two weeks, I’ll be the new pastry chef at Ten-01. The brevity of my stay at Carlyle is new and weird, I’m not sure exactly how I feel about it yet.  I’ve certainly learned things there, I learn from everything, but ultimately I’ve just never felt at home there.  Leaving Roux is bitter-sweet, I gave my notice the same day I got my first paycheck and christmas present.  I’ve had fun there these past few weeks line-cookin’, but sadly its not what I really wanna be doing.  Working saute has taught me a new respect for the job.  Timing and temperature control, baby.  When you’re on, that shit is fun.  But seriously, anyone actually reading this…did you hear what I said?  I’m the new pastry chef at Ten-o1!!  FucK YEAH!!  I’ve finally made it.  I’ve  been waiting my whole life for a position like this to come along, and now that it has, I’m still trying to get my mind around it.  The restaurant is at a hoppin’ locale right across the street from one of my favorite spots in the city, Powell’s Bookstore.  The pastry station looks right out onto 10th avenue.  Everyone that works there is cool.  The Chef wants to teach me.  They’re buying me Gelatoo-D2.  They’re busy enough that I can use bigger recipes.  Every image has fit into every panel on every page of the comic book that is my life.  Finally.

 Friday the Oregonian published a review for Carlyle. Overall we got a “B,” and  Reviewer David Sarasohn had this to say about my desserts:

“Then, in the final course, the party din becomes overpowering. Desserts have multiple elements but seem deconstructed, in the fashion of a couple years ago. A dessert called Irish Car Bomb presents a Guinness-laced brownie, ice cream and caramel sauce flavored with Jameson’s whiskey and Bailey’s Irish Cream, plus crushed pretzel.

Pretzel?

In overkill, it ranks with Velvet Elvis, featuring peanut butter creme brulee, caramelized banana and bacon. Actually, the bacon is separate, on a wafer, but peanut butter is a curious flavor for creme brulee, and getting the three elements in your mouth all at once does not convince you that Elvis Presley was an underrated culinary thinker. On the other hand, it might make your sideburns grow.

The same problems beset deep-fried apple bread pudding (with brown butter ice cream and a curiously uninviting crust) and poached pear with chocolate sauce and cream cheese ice cream — which, once you calm down and get used to the idea, could have worked, except for the large doughnut-like item in the middle.

The problem isn’t lack of skill; a less vociferous dessert of cheesecake three ways was admirable. But the general dessert theme does suggest that the party has gotten out of hand.”

Wow.  I’ve been reveiwed.  THIS IS AMAZING!! Somebdody is eating and bustin’ on desserts that I made up!!! HAHAHAHAHHA!!!!! I MADE IT!!! HAHAHAHAA!!!!! AND THEY’RE SCARED!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAA. I love food.  It’s visceral nature incites the use of words like “vociferous“, and quotes like “it might make your sideburns grow.”  I guess according to this reveiwer, my desserts are a little outside the comfort zone, and a little over the top. Well fuck YEAH!!  Here’s another interesting quote from a user named Altas of the much read Portland Food & Drink.com: 

“The O lacks credibilty … why is David Sarasohn even going to restaurants on the O’s dime with his palate??? ” 

And another quote by a user named Diner in the same forum:

“Friends and fellow diners please ignore The Oregonian food critics as incompetent, mean spirited people with self-serving interests. Sample all the food of Portland and decide for yourselves where to return for excellence.”

I plan to write David Sarasohn and thank him for his honest impressions of my food, and for eating at Carlyle.  I just got off the phone with Patrick, and he told me I need to come in tommorow, and prep desserts.  We sold over 30.  A busy night!!Almost sold out on Bread Puddings!!  I guess any publicity is good publicity.  Thats food and beverage.  I’m guessin I’ll have to put cobbler on the menu now.  And maybe cupcakes.

I’ve been think about Vail alot lately. I lived there for seven years before moving to Stumptown.  I had some really great experiences in the Vail Valley, hell I met Kate there.   The first five years that I was there I worked as a server, innkeeper, carriage driver, barbeque cook, server and meat cutter, and kitchen manager. The last two years, I worked as an assistant to the pastry chef at Vail Cascade.  Chef Tony was a true mentor, and I worked with a lot of great cooks.  I really learned a lot working there, and I also got to snowboard pretty much every day.  The hotel has its own ski lift, and I could be geared up and riding up it within ten minutes of leaving the bench.  I miss the cool projects and the good friends from the Vail Cascade.   I also miss Minturn, the little town where I lived with my brother, good buddy, and all the dogs.  *Sniff*