As faithful readers know, I’ve cooked my whole working life.  In my seventeen years of kitchen work, I’ve only had one job that wasn’t food related; driving a horse carriage in Vail. I still hesitate to call myself a Chef, as it is a moniker for which I hold much respect. Even though I’ve had the word in my title as pastry chef for a few years now, Chef with a capital “c” is something else altogether.  Jack Yoss is a Chef. Compared to him I will always be a cook. Semantics aside, the gods have somehow seen fit to land me in a Chef role of sorts, and I couldn’t be happier. As Chef jobs go, this one is breezy. It’s an invite only pop up restaurant for ten people, hence the name. The counter at Kitchen Cru was just begging for this model, and why shouldn’t it be me who answers the call.  I was able to convince Michael, the owner of KitchenCru and my employer to try. Him being far from a slouch in the kitchen, a very experienced home cook, in fact, he came on board as co-chef. TenTop was born.  We had very keen ideas from the beginning about what this would be; very small; very exclusive, the two of us having fun with food and friends. The idea to implement a Twitter/Facebook update blackout came to us very early, my friend and mentor Adam Berger having suggested it. Make this a true experience, one that didn’t need validation from the internet. Any blogging, tweeting or Facebooking that took place would happen on our end, before and after the event.
Our first dinner was Satan’s Feast, a heavy metal themed dinner. I wanted to make it fun and have an element of another driving force in my life: music. The menu descriptions were cryptic, as I tried to make them sound as metal as possible. I played some Instrametal like Pelican and Animals as Leaders during the dinner which at a lower volume seemed quite nice to eat to. Our first course was a freshly shucked oyster, because what is more metal than eating something that was alive only moments before? Second was my favorite dish of the evening, poached leeks with and Arrabbiata vinaigrette and duchess potato garnished with fried pepperoni. A last minute course we put together before the entree turned out to be the most metal of all, chicken heart dipped in agro dulce served on a duplex nail with a shot of grappa. Our entree was a fra diavolo surf & turf sandwich with some chioggia beet chips. Served on a house made pullman loaf, this sando was something to behold. It didn’t eat as well as I hoped, it ended up being a little cumbersome. The flavors were spot on though, hell of decadent. For dessert, I looked to make pastry metal by using the most brutal ingredient of all, blood. A pig’s blood custard with lemon sherbet, smoked pickled cherries, and blood caramel. This was a successful dish, the flavor of pig’s blood goes quite well with cocoa, the panna cotta’s other main flavoring ingredient. A subtle coppery earthiness and a slightly viscous texture created a nice complexity.

All in all, our first dinner was a huge success. In the near future I’m going to be bringing in some buddies of mine, fellow cooks and sous Chef’s who want to unleash their own food on the public, but don’t have a venue because they work in another chef’s kitchen. Also, you’ll see plenty of these dinners blogged about here with pictures and recipes, a la mrjeffmccarthy.com. For now you can download the recipes here. Check out all the photos for this event on my Flickr page. Follow TenTop on twitter @tentopcru, or check out the facebook page.

When Ten-01 closed, I knew I was at a crossroads.  Being a pastry chef at a fancy restaurant was fun and exciting for a lot of reasons, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized: being a Chef sucks. Sure you’ve heard it all before; the hours are long, the work monotonous and sometimes dangerous and almost never glorious. The part of it that I find fun is the creative element, the incubation of idea to fully realized dish.  After that, it all was kind of annoying to me. The repetition of production and plating, and in spite of myself, always having to come up with a new dessert.  I knew I needed a change, I just wasn’t sure what that change would be.  Over the past few months I’d been picking up shifts at my favorite restaurant in town, Tabla. Producing desserts as needed and working the line a few nights a week was a blast. I worked just enough hours to keep me sane and just few enough to continue receiving unemployment. I came up with the idea for Your Mom’s and that has filled me with an excitement I haven’t felt in a long time.  If I could get Your Mom’s off the ground (heh) I’d really have something.  A few weeks later, I heard through the Ten-01 grape vine about a new commissary kitchen opening up in the park blocks.  The proprietor had purchased a bunch of the used equipment from Ten-01 when it closed, and the industrious Teddy Rupert had delivered it. He brought back tales of endless stainless steel in a cavernous kitchen, steam jacketed kettles, combi-ovens, the list went on and on, his eyes glazed over in a recollection that was no doubt bordering the pornographic. He asked me if I knew anyone that might be interested in managing the place, as the owner was searching. Know anyone, I thought; hell I’m interested.

When I met Michael Madigan, he wasn’t what I expected.  I’m not sure what I expected, but he wasn’t it. The more we talked, the more we both were aware of a certain simpatico.  The KitchenCru project excited me.  It was hard not to get excited, Michael had an infectious enthusiasm that almost immediately swept me up.  Here was an amazingly beautiful, brand new, state of the art kitchen. The guy who built it a lover of all things food and kitchen, a true patron of the culinary arts. The job he was looking to fill played to all my strengths: kitchen logistics to describe it simply.  If only I could convince him to let me continue doing the Tabla desserts and to pursue Your Mom’s (heh,) this would be the perfect job.  He didn’t need much convincing.  He had factored in that kitchen use would be a perk of the position.  He wanted his kitchen manager to be cooking, to be using all of the brand new equipment.  Everything seemed to fit right in there, like a complex puzzle putting itself together.  On top of all this, the type of clients this beautiful kitchen was attracting, there was a huge opportunity for me to learn from a diverse mix of cooks and Chefs, as well as impart my 15 plus years experience to others.  It all makes sense to me, I thought, so I signed on.

About a month later, things have changed yet again. Working at KitchenCru has dared me to dream. Dared me determine what it is exactly that i want to do with my life. Doing the Tabla dessert menu and delivering it a few times a week turned out to be a huge pain in the ass, and spread me a litter thinner than I wanted. When it comes down to it, I want to experiment with food, and write about it.  I started to dream up an idea of how to use the Kitchen Cru space to achieve this…Enter TenTop.  A ten seat pop up restaurant at the KitchenCru counter.  But that’s another blog post isn’t it?

Two and some odd years later the restaurant is closed, doors locked and shades drawn.  No one who survived those salad days was suprised.  At least no one who took a second to look around and think: how does this place stay open night after night while doing only sixty or seventy covers?  A place that size, in that location, serving the world class cuisine paired with an award winning wine list, killer cocktails by people who actually cared about what they were doing, that shit all costs money, folks.  Money that Portlanders weren’t willing to spend.  The two Chefs who followed Jack tried desperately to give Portland “Fine Diners” what they wanted, wondering why P.F. Chang’s up the street is packed for lunch and dinner day after day.  Wondering why mediocre burger joints have a line around the block as their cooks slave to brunoise veg that may never get eaten.  A Michelin trained chef making corn dogs and basket after basket of truffle fries.  The details of the closure are unimportant, at least in my eyes.  The best explanation I got was read not on the web, twitter, facebook, eaterPdx or Food Dude.  It was read it in the eyes of the hardworking owner.  A profound sense of loss and shame, a sorrow too deep for words.  His eyes groped for words that would not come, could not, but they searched the now empty, dusty corners of the place anyway, searching among piles of boxes amidst dejected looking cooks trying to find their pairing knife or quenelle spoon in the carnage.  It would be so easy to rage at the higher-ups, to point and shout “WHY?!”  But when I really ask why, I have to ask: Why was my paycheck paid every time?  Why did the powers that be dump money onto a project that was clearly flailing? Why did they see fit to keep the doors open in these impossible economic times?  Presented with those questions I can only look inside, as any staff member of Ten-01 should.  Why did we stay open?  Why did our investors keep paying us, month after month?  Because they believed.  The had faith in a solid, happy, loyal crew.  Ten-01 was a prodigy child raised by a mother that did not want it, a fine dining experience in a city overrun by food carts and happy hours.  You can’t get world class at a Busch league price, folks.  Most of you will never try Chef Michael’s sous vide tempura egg, or his fucking perfect charcuterie.  Wine that may never grace anyone’s lips collects dust in an unmarked warehouse.  One of the most beautiful rooms in the state now stands empty, a cavernous tomb being carved up for scrap.

To all the great people I worked with at Ten-01, I will truly miss you.  More of a family style work environment I will probably never find.  I wish you all the best in the days to come.  Let’s all pool our unemployment checks and throw a ripper of party.  Let us celebrate the closing of one of life’s chapters as we turn to the next.  I for one will look back on the past three years with a smile; I had it good in the Pearl and so did ya’ll.

Why do you lose, ladies; you might be asking?  Well that’s because my skinny ass is officially off the market.  The love of my life said “I do, ” and I said it back in a dream-like setting.  We danced our asses off with friends and family, there were over a million pictures taken and I was in some of them.  All kidding aside; my wedding day was surreal, like a fantasy.  My Dad officiated, making it both special and intimate.  I also knew any promise I made in front of him, I’d better mean it.  I can’t recall all the best things that were said this once-in-a-life-time day, all the special moments that transpired.  I did walk away with a beautiful wife, and I did fart on the wedding cake.  My best men gave heart-warming speeches to which I could only reply with silly tears, my friends and family showed such generosity in the giving of gifts that I can hardly stand it.  At one point during the night, I looked around at all the faces, the people.  Suddenly the air rushed out of my lungs, my vision blurred at the edges (more tears,) and I was amazed.  Simply amazed at the gathering of awesomeness that had rallied to celebrate the union of me and my best good friend.  After all the build up and anticipation and nervousness, it was a no-brainer.  When I saw my long time girlfriend then fiancee almost wife walking down the isle with her dad, I knew I was set for life.  From here on out, it was all just details.

It’s been difficult to write lately; I’ve been too picky.  I’ve been to selective.  I have no time to be picky.  I’ve been trying too hard to come up with something emotionally sweeping, something simply fraught with import.  Fuck all that.  Writing for me should spout, flow from the fingers in a furious foray, shout out.  With words.  Fuck all that, too.  I need to throw a turd at the wall and hope it sticks, and doesn’t smell.  Everybody and his brother has a silly blog.  I think one that people read should be compelling and personal and raw and funny.  Sometimes offensive, yes.  Like humans.  Should it give information?  Sure.  Why not?  But what’s to prevent you, faithful reader of the blogosphere, from getting that information somewhere else?  The net is vast and boundless.  Information is truly everywhere, input available at any time and any place.  30 second clips and jpegs and words so many words swirl in a whirlwind none of these words will wind up heard.  Somewhere between Twitter and WordPress lies the perfect blog.  Random yet poingant, thoughtful or not.  Unique and engaging but quickly, please, I’ve got four tabs open.

In August of 2007 I hiked Mt of The Holy Holy Cross with my two dogs Jelly and Jam. Holy Cross and Notch Mountain create sort of a crown in the Holy Cross Wilderness, which I lived near the edge of for 5 years.  This peak is visible for miles around in the central Rocky Mountains.  One of the most incredible views is seen when exiting the gondola on Vail Mountain, at Eagle’s Nest.  I often gazed at it, strapping into my snowboard, imagining what it would be like to stand on top of it.  Dominating the horizon  and towering at 14,000 feet it frightened and enticed me.  Jelly and Jam were up for it, both seasoned hikers.  The afternoon walk up into the saddle of Half Moon Pass was breezy, except for the 60 pound pack.  Dogs roamed freely, Jam tearing through the woods chasing every marmot, and Jelly  trailed, watching my feet from behind.  The first vista spins 360. West, Mt. Jackson and the first close view of Holy Cross, East, The Back Bowls of Vail and the Gore Range. To the right, the north saddle of Notch Mountain, and the the south, the shoulder of Notch Itself. I sat here for a while, catching my breath and preparing for the downward spiral into the next valley, the base of Holy Cross.  Here I would camp, near a water fall and babbling creek.  I made a camp meal I can’t remember, I was in an excited daze thinking about the following day.  The dogs were nervous too, and looking lethargic, blowing their load in the first leg.  I slept restlessly.  The morning took forever, I fried eggs and loaded my day pack.  Jelly maued her food, Jam was indifferent, as usual, but ate nonetheless.  A gentle push up from the campsite quickly opened up into a steep rock field, cairns dotting its slope to show the way.  At some point in the climb, these two dudes burned me.  They were wearing casual jogging gear and trucking the side of this mountain.  I didn’t see anyone else until the summit.  As I claimed the first ridge of the ascent,  I saw a view that will stay with me forever; the west facing slope of Notch Mountain. I felt like it was watching me for the rest of the hike, looming in my periphery.  On Holy Cross’s shoulder I kept losing the trail.  I would be looking down, choosing my steps rhythmically, listening to Pelican on myPod and when I looked up…no trail.  Wandering around aimlessly for a bit, I would always find Jelly, sitting silently and peacefully on the trail, watching me.  Her look would say “What are you doing dipshit?”  Ahh the pleasures of a too-smart dog.  On the final push to the summit, the vistas became increasingly incredible.  Looking down into the Bowl of Tears below, marveling at the perfect day around me, feeling light headed.  Finally on the summit after 3 plus hours, I met some people.  Jam was more than happy to make friends, while Jelly and I just wanted to try and take it all in.  The panorama was staggering. As often happens to me on high peaks, I couldn’t stay long.  For me the journey is the main source of enjoyment, and sitting still at the pinnacle of a rocky apex always proves a struggle for me.  I took a few pictures, packed some snow into my camelback’s bladder, and started to slowly pick my way down.  A keen sense of accomplishment and silly over-tired slap-happiness had me smiling all the way back to my campsite.  At some point I slipped and fell and smashed myPod, but it still worked for another two hours.  I regained the campsite in silence around 4 in the afternoon.  Eating and packing up I filtered some water from the nearby stream, then slowly made my way up and out of the valley and toward the car.  Driving home felt strange and beautiful, I was a different man, now.  My relationship with nature had deepened, and with my dogs as well.  Atop that mountain, I felt something best described by William Gibson in Virtual Light.

“…a fleeting awareness of something very high, very pure, and quite clinically empty; the doing of the thing, the not-thinking; that weird adrenal exultation and the losing of every more troublesome aspect of self.”

On Saturday I rolled into work and found out I’d be doing an off-site catering event. I scrambled to get my prep done so I could be off to the Portland Indie Wine Festival. We were serving Chef’s delicious Cauliflower Panna Cotta with Dungeness Crab Salad and Trout Roe. We got there a little late and by the time we set up our table, throngs of people surrounded us. The panna cotta was flying off our display at such a rate at first we were totally going down, even though we had brought about six hundred of them. It was all we could do to keep up. After the initial rush, we noticed people were setting our little appetizer cups into their wine glasses so they could walk, talk, and eat. There was some cool stuff at this event, but the general consensus was that we had the best food. Some folks came back three or four times. We sold every single one we brought, and after cleaning up, we took a quick cab back to the restaurant to help with a busy night of service. Kate and her friend showed up for happy hour, and I knew Jaybill and Keri were coming in for his birthday dinner. With 80 something on the books we were in for a fun night. While the boys cooked their assess off, put up a multi-course (eight?) tasting dinner for my brother and his wife, I played gopher-boy for the line and plated desserts. I brought Kate a dessert sampler platter, and my brothers table had three dessert courses. They were gushing with satisfaction at thier meal. The following day, Chef threw a party at his house for Cinco de Mayo. I got up early and made empanadas with sausage and cheese. I started drinking PBR early and by 4:00, I was completely shnaukered. The sun was out, Salty Dogs were poured, and I made a dipping sauce from all the available items on the buffet. Guac, , sour cream, ceviche, bean dip, and who knows what all went in there. I got hella sick and stunk out the bathroom. It was a nightmare of clogged sinks, overflowing toilets, no paper, and people were pounding on the door!! I was embarrassed, but party kept on, and among friends all was well. We’ll remember this party. I fell of early, and Kate picked me up and we hit up Kennedy School for burgers and cheesecake.

Faithful readers, I am number TWO on the first page of Google search : Jeff McCarthy. I’ve finally made it onto the first page and that theatrical performer Jeff McCarthy better watch his ass. Seriously folks, I’m blowin’ up!! The Olive Oil Beignets were mentioned in Bon Appetit, and Pastry and Baking North America is doing a regional showcase on me this month. Jaybill also uninstalled Windows Vista from my laptop, and with XP, I’m blogging extreme!! Actually, I’m busy as shit and haven’t had much time to sit in front this machine. I’ve got a couple things in the works however so stay tuned!!