After getting over a bit of performance anxiety, I brought my butternut squash dish to work to be critiqued by the masters. I did my best to appear cool and calm and slid the plastic to-go container holding the contents of my labors to the chef.
“Here’s that butternut squash dish I’ve been obsessing over,” I said with studied nonchalance. “Heat it up whenever you think you have the time.”
I started to walk away. The chef stopped me as I turned to leave.
“Hold up. We’re gonna eat it now.”
I quickly gave him my re-heating instructions and disappeared around a corner. I was hoping to see if Nancy Silverton, my boss and my culinary hero, was somewhere nearby. I scanned the back kitchen and found only the dishwasher and some cooks prepping clams. For a moment I considered slicing off a portion of sizzling butternut squash and bubbling pecorino and bringing it to her, but then I changed my mind when I imagined how foolish I would look shuffling across the Osteria with a nugget of orange squash on a plate. With just minutes before service, surely someone in charge would kill me for distracting Nancy and getting in the way.
So instead, I busied myself with preparing a nice frothy cappuccino. Anything to keep my hands busy and my eyes off the mouths of the chefs that were most likely eating my dish by now. I downed my caffeinated drink and returned to the floor of the Pizzeria.
One of the chefs, Joe, stopped me as I passed by. “ Hey–it’s good,” he said.
I stopped in my tracks. I couldn’t stem the rising of octaves in my voice. I practically sang a high-soprano “Really?”
“It could use a little salt. But it’s good.” He smiled.
All my dish lacks is a little salt? Talk about a quick fix!
Suddenly bolstered by my critique, I stopped by the back prep counter to see what my other chef friend Carla thinks. She was slicing Brussel sprouts in half and sautéing them for the night’s antipasti. She reaches up to the shelf above her where the cookbooks and plastic containers of seasonings live, and grabs a silver-cooking dish. I see the familiar orange of my butternut squash and I blush. She’s hiding it so no one else can eat it. She’s savoring every gorgeous, caramelized bite!
That’s when Nancy steps out of the pastry department and starts heading my way. There is a god, I think to myself, as Nancy smiles at Carla and asks what she’s eating.
“It’s that pecorino dish I’ve been obsessing over.” I gush. “It’s that dish I’ve been telling you so much about!”
As if she remembers…I sputter out, all pretend laid-back. “Wanna try it?”
She nods, respectfully ignoring my rushing around the bussers polishing area in search for a clean dining utensil. Or any damn tool Nancy can use to taste my dish.
I find a teaspoon. Sweet, modest Nancy nods as I enthusiastically shove the warm spoon into her hand. She’s completely unflustered by my rush of nervous energy. She quietly takes in the visual elements of the dish, and then, takes a bite of the gooey Pecorino.
A lifetime ticks by in a moment of silence.
“Yum.” She says. “Where’d you find the cheese?”
I smile. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.
You see, dear reader, I have been mentally preparing for this moment for days. I knew that if I ever got the chance to talk about this dish with Nancy, I should better have all the answers ready. I was not going to give a repeat performance of the night I had one too many glasses of wine after work and told her I was really into this great “goats’ milk cheese from Pienza”. GOATS MILK CHEESE? FROM PIENZA? God. How stupid of me. Everyone knows that Pienza, Italy is known for SHEEPS MILK CHEESE!!! God…Why must I suffer from stage fright/food dyslexia (calling an important food stuff something that it’s not out of carelessness and or fear)!!!???? Nancy was just so nice and only nodded at me. “Really? Goat’s milk cheese?” she said. “From Pienza?” It wasn’t I until I tucked myself in later that night that I realized my mistake. I bolted upright in bed and nearly screamed. My husband had to pat my head and whisper “It’s alright, it’s alright” for several minutes before I could calm down.
Anyway, the point of my little side bar, is that ever since that late night gaff, I’ve been memorizing ingredients like my life depended on it.
Back to the story: Where did I get the cheese, you ask? I take a deep breath and say the follow words like a child that’s just learned how to say their first full sentence.
“From Joan’s on Third. It’s Pecorino Fresca. From La Tuccia.”
Nancy took another bite and smiled. “It could use a little salt.” I said confidently. I forced myself to walk away. Else turn into a complete babbling idiot.
When I knew I had taken everyone’s order and all of my guests had everything they needed, I snuck back into the prep area to talk to Carla. In private.
“What did Nancy think?” I asked. Carla smiled and spoke to me in almost whispers. “She liked it. She said it could use some herbs, maybe. Or some spice…Maybe some honey.”
And then my mind started reeling with the different variations that could be tried. Pecorino, butternut squash and mint. Pecorino, butternut squash, hot pepper flakes and honey…Pecorino, butternut squash and…
That’s when it hit me. Nancy was actually THINKING about MY DISH. A master tasted my food and had thoughts. Positive thoughts about what I had created. The master tasted my food and and had found something good. And in a moment, with her many years of experience and artistry, Nancy was able to see something even better.
{ 1 comment… read it below or add one }
That dish looks so good. I have heard that Nancy Silverton has a great palette so if she liked it it must be good. I will try it and add a little extra salt.
{ 1 trackback }