Of shoemakers and chefs
shoe·mak·er (shū'mā'ker) n.1. One that makes or repairs shoes.
2. A cook who doesn't use recipes and always does everything half-assed. Shoemakers are typically dirty workers, waste a lot of product, and are more focused on speed and getting things done rather than doing things right.
I hate shoemakers.
Well, most of the time. Sometimes you come across a shoemaker that's an idiot savant, that produces great food without even having to think about it. But then again they're also about as rare as an idiot savant.
The hallmark of a well run kitchen is consistency. There is one way to do things, the chef's way. The chef has drilled that consistency into all of his charges, so that anybody can be called on to make any dish and it will be made in the exact same way. A friend of mine has a favorite story about a French chef who was asked how he was able to ensure consistency across his many restaurants. After all, he couldn't possibly be everywhere. "Ahh, but I am in every one of my kitchens," he replied, which in a sense, is true. Some chefs do this through force of personality. Others, like Thomas Keller, who runs the French Laundry (Napa Valley) and Per Se (New York), use real time video connections and plasma screen displays to see what's going on in their other locations. However they do it, it doesn't matter. The result is the same: in a well run kitchen, there is only one way to do things. The right way. The chef's way.
For shoemakers, there is no right way. Instead, it's a little bit of this, some of that, throw it on the fire, and volia! You've got ... well, something. Maybe it's not the same as the last time they made it, but it looks close enough to what's on the menu and so they sell it. A shoemaker isn't there because of the love of the food. A shoemaker is there because cooking is a relatively easy way to earn a decent amount of money. So they continue to sling food out the window day after day after day.
Yes, a good cook can do things by eye, and yes, a good cook doesn't need recipes, but it's not the same. A shoemaker is a loose cannon in the kitchen. You'll never know what you'll get. When a chef is trying to execute their vision in the kitchen, a shoemaker's lack of consistency will be a constant source of annoyance. Eventually the shoemaker will need to shape up or they're out.
One shoemaker in a kitchen is an aberration. More than one is a sign to start worrying. It means that the chef isn't looking out for the kitchen. The chef isn't spot checking the final dishes. That means that when you go out to eat, there's no guarantee that the person cooking your duck on Thursday is the same person that cooked it last Tuesday. Different cooks, different duck (surprise, the guy whose name is on the menu isn't cooking your meal ... in some places it's even doubtful that he's on the premises).
When the chef tolerates shoemakers in the kitchen, you know on some level the chef has given up on the food, and that's a depressing thing. When I was job hunting in Seattle I met professional chefs that have given up. One even confessed to me that all they ever ate at home any more was hard boiled eggs, toast, and the occasional peanut butter sandwich. Although they tried to laugh it off, you could see the resignation, the hollowness. You could see that they have no more passion for the business, yet it's something they've been doing their entire professional lives and they knew nothing else. How do you give up something that you've lost your passion for when it's the only way you know to earn a living?
Simple. Let the shoemakers cobble something together.
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