All or Nothing by Jesse Schenker Read Free Book Online Page B

responsibility. But for some strange reason I loved it. It was a simple task to conquer, and a direct use of all my excess energy. It helped that I saw it as a sort of competition with Jim, who’d had the job before me. I wanted to do it faster and better than Jim ever did. It was only after I’d dragged all the dirty mats out to the back alley, cleaned each dish, mopped every inch of the floor, and thrown out every bit of trash that I finally allowed myself to breathe. My fingers were stained black, my apron was filthy, and my pants were caked thick with grease. My clothes, hair, and even skin reeked of fryer oil and the dirty grill. But I fucking loved it.
    In a short time I became the best dishwasher and calamari fryer that Savannah had ever seen. But all along my addiction to marijuana and prescription pain pills was growing. I could feel the pull in two directions, between the serenity of the kitchen and the euphoria of the drugs. I was headed for the inevitable clash between them.
    After “Safety and Sanitation” we moved on to the “Hot Foods” course taught by Chef Ball, a tall black guy in his fifties who Jim and I loved. When we were learning to flambé with brandy, he kept telling us to add more. We thought this was hilarious. Later that day Jim and I were in the back with some other guys, doing shots of brandy behind the #10 cans, when Chef Ball walked in and caught us. “Come here, guys,” he said, bringing us into the kitchen. We thought we were in trouble, but then he said, “Let me teach you a trick.” He pulled out some parsley and handed us each a sprig. “If you’re ever out drinking and get pulled over driving home, chew on some of this. It gets rid of the smell.” From that day on, Jim and I always had a sprig of parsley sticking out of our mouths. It was our way of tipping our hats to Chef Ball.
    â€œHot Foods” was where I learned the skills that took my creativity in the kitchen to a whole new level. I found learning about the five mother sauces—béchamel, velouté, espagnole or brown sauce, hollandaise, and tomato sauce—fascinating, but the velouté we learned to make, with its traditional roux, felt so old-fashioned to me. I started to play around with it, substituting oil and later chicken fat for the butter. It was around this time that I started obsessively collecting cookbooks. When I read about modern-day veloutés that were basically reductions without any flour, I realized that chefs really do have the license to take things in any direction they want. This was a lightbulb moment for me.
    Now my creations at home were becoming more mature. I made pistachio nut–crusted salmon by grinding up pistachios, adding a bunch of butter, thyme, and garlic, and spreading this paste all over a cutting board. Then I put the salmon facedown in the paste, picked the whole thing up, and baked it in the oven. This might not have been groundbreaking in the culinary world, but it rocked my sixteen-year-old world. Despite my heavy level of partying, I never lost interest in experimenting in the kitchen. After parties, I always cooked gourmet meals for my friends and their families. Wherever I was when the keg was tapped, I went into the kitchen and made something with whatever ingredients I could find. One time the kitchen was bare except for a few basics, so I rolled out slices of Wonder Bread with a rolling pin, fried them in butter, and then made the ultimate tuna melt with tuna and cheddar cheese.
    Jim eventually left Savannah to work at another hot local restaurant I’ll call Graffiti, and I could feel my own time at Savannah coming to an end. I needed more. Before long I met Pete Etter, the executive chef at a happening restaurant in Boca that I’ll call The Seawater Grill. Pete was an imposing guy, six-three or six-four and cue-ball bald except for two awkward patches of hair on each side of his head. He walked with a