Well, the piece on restaurant Thanksgivings that ran in the Chronicle the other day was . . . hmm. I’m glad it appeared, because it showed that there’s not a lot of glamour to what we do in this industry. Maybe .01% of cooks get to enjoy the glamour of cooking, and then, probably only 1-5% of their time, making for a massive .0001% of our long hours that are celebrated. The rest is a GRIND, and sometimes it’s best not to ask oneself why one does it . . . but anyway:
What I want to get across is what a pleasure–once the personal resignation has fully set in–it is to welcome our guests into solbar and cook for them on Thanksgiving. On New Year’s Eve we complement champagne with caviar. On New Year’s Day we cure hangovers with fried chicken and waffles. But on Thanksgiving, we cook with our restaurant family, for other families. It’s gratifying in a vicarious way, and delicious, and just right.
(And don’t you, at times, wish you could hire and fire members of your own family? I’m just saying.)