Duck Liver Pate, Lemon Zest Ricotta, Parsley Salad, Bruleed Figs  & Crostinis

Sundays are the best, because you’ve just come down from a high off of working 2 crazy back to back nights (200+ covers). Sunday is literally, the day of rest. My weekend is usually Monday and Tuesday, so having only about 50 covers, plus an opportunity to play around with food and make something of my own, is kind of the perfect way to cap off my week.

I don’t know if I actually explained what Sunday Supper is, but it’s essentially a 5 course tasting menu offered alongside the regular menu on Sundays only. Whoever wants to participate (granted it’s approved), gets to create 1 of the 5 courses (5 being dessert). On Sundays, most of the staff comes in at 3:00 pm to prep for service that begins at 6:00 pm. Your dish needs to be ready by 5:30 pm, but planned out by 3:00 pm (so the menu can be typed up). You can imagine what kind of harried predicament that leaves those a little less seasoned in the art of improvisation. If you’ve decided that you’ll be contributing a course in the upcoming Sunday, you’ll want to start thinking of your ingredients probably around Thursday or Friday. But considering you have regular service to be concerned about (and the 200+ people per night), you really don’t have that much time/concern for what’s going to happen 3 days from then. And, when you come home at 1 in the morning, brainstorming about MORE food, is kind of the last thing you want to do. Sooooooo… basically I’m all kinds of flustered, but somehow every Sunday, 5 great dishes come together and people seemed to be happy with what they’re getting. We’ve toyed with the idea of trying to coordinate all five dishes into one theme. And hopefully we can find a balance of time and energy to do so at some point. But when everyone’s schedules change weekly, and ingredients seem to be missing or overly abundant at the end of the week, you just kind of have to bang it out.

My favorite part is the collaboration and group critique, and the personalities that shine through each of the dishes. When you know and understand the people you cook with, it’s a great thing to see what they can create and the creative energy they send through the preparation and execution of their food. It’s finally the time during the week when your cooking is art, not your job, not a craft, not technical, not mindless. There are the risk-takers and the play-it-safers, there are those that take upon past experiences and those that look towards current trends. It’s all solidified into a product that is edible. And I might be biased, but I think that’s the best kind of fuckin art.

It’s happening. Work is starting to penetrate every facet of my life.

For example, I had a dream the other night I went to a Chinese restaurant with a couple of friends for dinner. There was a pre-fixed menu and for our 3rd course, the waiter swooped in from behind and presented me with my plate. The plate consisted of two bright red, gigantic lobster claws perfectly placed to face each other on each side of the plate and a mountainous pile of lobster meat in the center. I was horrified.

Another example was when I walked into a shoe store to pick up some socks before work. I was on Broadway so it was undoubtedly swarmed with tourists. I noticed the socks were all the way in the back of the store, but my path was blocked by Europeans jibber-jabbering about who back at home needs a new pair of shoes. Already late for work, I rushed in head first and without thinking, started saying, “behind” every time I tried to squeeze behind someone. “Behind” is kitchen jargon for “excuse me.” It probably comes from when a cook had to walk behind the other line cooks during service and had to warn them they were walking behind them because the hot stoves were on the other side of them. Anyways, they probably thought I was being quite the rude American yelling strange words inside of a discount shoe store.

The last example was when I had to go to the bathroom during work and right before I opened the door to go back to work, I knocked on the door 3 times.  I really did catch myself by surprise with this one. You see, our walk-in fridge is right next to the pantry so in order to not slam the door on someone when walking out, you’re supposed to knock on the door to warn anyone perusing the pantry that you’re coming out. With all the trips to the walk-in throughout a shift, you can imagine, knocking on a door becomes quite the common practice. Sometimes I have the energy to shell out 3 distinct knocks. Other times I just throw my palm at the door hoping any indistinguishable sound is sufficient.

Aside from the body aches and sore muscles I get every morning, these instances are revealing just how much my life will change in the coming months/years (?!). No more jokes about Excel or stories about the time So & So forgot to put himself on mute during the company conference call. Now we joke about the difference between jam and jelly (trust me, the answer isn’t sweet at all) or my artistic ineptitude when it comes to plating.

Work Work Work Work Work Work Work Work.

I went to a bar the other night after work to meet up with a few friends. I had a knife in my purse because I had brought one from my own kitchen to sharpen it on a stone at work. This turned out to be a very dangerous idea. After about an hour of bumping into people in the crowded bar, I realized about an inch of my knife’s point was sticking out of the corner of my purse. The knife had come out of its sheath and pierced the fabric.

I could have stabbed someone in the stomach on the crowded dance floor. I can just imagine the front page news. “Korean American Female Stabs 5 Strangers in a Local Night Club. Reasons are unknown, but friends of the mass murderer describe her as quiet and amicable. One unidentified friend tells us the accused’s sudden jerky dance moves have been known to cause quiet an disturbance among friends, but never have they caused this much hurt. All victims are expected to survive.”