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Who would have thought that the biggest nemesis in my life would turn out to be my door? A few months ago, it stopped closing softly and started slamming shut. Since it’s made of glass, I figured that this was a bad thing. My handyman, Tom, repaired it. Then it wouldn’t close at all. Tom came back and fixed it again. Then, it started slamming again. More Tom. Its next decision was to slam shut until the last inch, where it sticks without closing and has to be pulled closed.

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I have spent close to $2000 repairing this door, but now it’s finally working properly. Except for a strange clicking noise it’s been making all week that I don’t like the sound of. That door better watch its step because by now I am ready to tear it down and just staple up a sheet, dorm-room-style.

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Evil Door, I hate you.

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An epidemic is sweeping America and no one will do anything about it: grease thieves!

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“The suspect, 19, told police that he worked for a legitimate grease rendering company but had been stealing grease from businesses to make money on the side. In a separate case, two brothers were charged with misdemeanor theft after stealing grease from a Chinese restaurant in the St. Louis area. The pair also said they were from Springfield, Mo. The owners of Hong Kong Express said St. Louis police caught the two on surveillance cameras stealing grease on Nov. 2.”

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Yes, a disgusting, greasy bite.

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Read all about it and feel your hair turn gray and oily from fear!

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Not even Dirt Candy is immune. These days, restaurants either give or sell their grease to biofuel companies who come around and pick it up. I donate mine to RWA, a non-profit that converts it to biofuel. Dirt Candy produces about 15 gallons of waste grease each week, and RWA says that ours is the cleanest used grease that they get from any of their customers. Yay! Gold star for Dirt Candy!

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But a lot of companies aren’t RWA and they pay for old grease, and that has led to an epidemic of crime. Even the National Renderers Association is powerless in the face of this oily wave of criminality (I bet you didn’t know that grease has a lobbying group). In the current election season, it’s startling that no one is asking the candidates about grease thievery.

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Greasecrime, that is. Which is like thoughtcrime,
only doubleplus worse!

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Last month, I was working in Dirt Candy when I noticed three large men entering my basement. I went downstairs and saw that they were going through all my stuff. During the day, we leave the hatch to the basement open because we can see it from inside the restaurant and it makes sense not to have to unlock it every time we go downstairs. However, this is not to be misinterpreted as an open invitation to all and sundry to go have a rummage.

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“What are you guys up to?” I asked from the basement steps. My basement is tiny, and so these guys pretty much filled it. But now I had them trapped, as I was blocking the only exit. To get out, they’d have to go through me. Which may not have been a wise idea.

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“We’re here to pick up your oil,” one of them said.

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“You’re not my company,” I pointed out.

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“Who’s your company?” the leader said.

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“Not you guys,” I replied.

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“Well, we’re here to pick it up whether you like it or not,” he said.

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“Really?” I asked.

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“We’re going to take it,” he said. The other two guys started shifting around menacingly.

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“Can you please leave my basement,” I said. This sounds more threatening than it was. The Dirt Candy basement is famous for being hot and uncomfortable, so I was really just inviting them to do something they already wanted to do.

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“Fine,” the guy huffed as they edged past me on the stairs. At the top he turned around. “If you ever want your oil picked up, call me.”

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It was like I was being asked on a grease date! And I never saw them again.

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So to all of you who produce large amounts of used cooking oil on a regular basis: be alert! Grease thieves are on the prowl! And they might be coming for you!

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It’s not funny, Simpsons!

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The surest sign that the economy is improving is that the last time I was looking for someone to work at Dirt Candy I got close to 70 resumes. This time? More like 25. So either people are wising up and going into easier fields than working in a restaurant kitchen, or less people are looking because more of them have jobs. Either way, it’s a win for the economy!

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I’ve been hearing this from chefs all over town – less applications are showing up for more jobs. But that doesn’t change the fact that right now I’m looking for a line cook. Working at Dirt Candy isn’t for everyone. If you want a comparison, imagine working on a submarine: the work is intense, there are moments of excitement and stress followed by stretches of routine and boredom, and the quarters are close. I mean, you’re all up in everyone else’s stuff whether you like it or not. And, like working on a submarine, Dirt Candy has its own advantages and disadvantages.

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“Hush Puppies dead ahead!”

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The demands of my food are also hard on people. Every dish at Dirt Candy uses a ton of techniques. Something as simple as the Hush Puppies requires a chef to pay more time and attention to their deep-frying than they probably ever have before in their lives. The batter has to be exactly right or it’ll cook wrong, and there is a five-second window when the puppies are cooked perfectly, without being overdone, when you have to pull them out. It’s something that takes everyone a few weeks to develop a feel for and when you’re juggling a couple of dishes on the stove and something else in the other fryer, and orders coming in, it requires a lot of attention.

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That said, working here has its rewards. I remember being thrown on lines when I started out and either being ignored or screamed at. No one was teaching me, no one was showing me how to do anything, they just assumed I’d figure it out and they’d gleefully tear into me when I got it wrong. Ever since then I’ve realized that you have to teach if you’re going to be a chef. There’s not a day that goes by when I’m not showing someone how to do something for the first time, or pushing them further than they thought they’d go, or helping them figure out a new and easier way to make something. I remember how hard it was to be anonymous nugget #12 and I do my best to make sure it doesn’t happen here.

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But it’s not easy. Working in a kitchen is one of the toughest jobs in the world that you can get without going to medical school. It takes all your focus, all your strength, and all your attention. Which is probably why so many chefs guzzle booze when their shift is over: you need help to wind down after service sometimes because running a good service is like going to war. Or, as I put it in the cookbook:

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So if you know anyone who wants a place on the toughest line in town, drop me an email: info@dirtcandynyc.com!

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No part of being a chef feels more unique to me than the kitchen ballet. Other jobs may have something like it, but to me it’s one of the most gratifying parts of my job. The kitchen ballet is the timing of service when the entire restaurant is in full swing and the whole crew are in telepathic communication with each other and you reach for something and your sous chef already has it ready for you and you put an order out into the waiting hands of your server and the second you need glasses your dishwasher is just taking them out of the machine. For me, it’s one of the most beautiful parts of working in a restaurant. This video, shot over an entire day’s service at Amber in the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, Hong Kong, is the closest I’ve seen someone come to capturing the kitchen ballet on film.

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(courtesy of Cha Xiu Bao)

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I don’t know about you, but the end of my 2011 was rough. And by “rough” I mean that it felt like I was being beaten soundly by a gang of trolls with brand new sledgehammers. Getting a new sous chef, waiter and dishwasher up to speed with no interns around to help out with prep pretty much took everything I had to give and then some. By the time I closed for the holidays I was walking around in a daze punching myself in the side of the head with a vacant grin on my face.

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My feelings about 2011, pretty much.

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But 2012 is starting out alright. Everyone at Team Dirt Candy has come back to work with good hair and clear skin, and it’s going a lot smoother than I thought. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but so far so good (cue the other shoe dropping). And good things keep happening. Dirt Candy just got voted “Best Vegetarian Restaurant in New York” by Citysearch which means I owe a big “thank you” to all of you who voted. Then, I got an email from a regular customer who had sent in a story about Diana, my server, to Foodspotting when they had a competition for “Best Server” during their Restaurant Staff Appreciation Week. It read, in part:

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“Diana – the only server at the tiny restaurant – elevates the experience every time. She remembers little things we’ve told her months ago (that sometimes even *I’ve* forgotten) and treats us like old friends every time we’re there.”

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Foodspotting thought it was the nicest email they’d gotten about service at a restaurant and so they gave her a $100 gift certificate. I know Dirt Candy is tiny, but I do my best to make sure that service here is as good as humanly possible so it was really nice to see that it’s working, at least a little bit.

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And good things come in threes it seems, just like trouble, because last week, Travis, my new sous chef, had his first interaction on the floor with a customer. Dirt Candy has an open kitchen, but my sous chef should be so busy all night he or she never gets out on the floor and goes free range. But it was Wednesday night and a customer who’d been in earlier suddenly came charging back in. “I’ve lost my ring!” she cried. Justyna, my current server, and I started looking everywhere as best we could: the floor, under the cushion of the banquette, the bathroom. Nothing. I told her I’d call her if we found it. “But you don’t understand,” she said. “It’s my engagement ring.”

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Oh, no…how we all felt…

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She had gone to a bar after Dirt Candy, so she and her partner rushed off to search it to, and so it began. For the next hour, she would call us, we wouldn’t have found the ring, she’d come by, go through the garbage, fish around in the drain of the bathroom sink, then go back to search the bar. Then she’d call us and ask if we’d found it. This went on for most of the night, when Travis said, “Maybe it got caught in her napkin?” He dragged out the big, filthy bin of dirty napkins and began to dig. And suddenly, there it was, gleaming in his hand. He handed it to her and she went through the roof. I don’t think I’ve ever been hugged quite so much. It was such a nice moment that I didn’t even beat Travis very hard for talking directly to a customer.

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But then we were all like…

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Later this week, I’ll probably be pecked to death by a flock of angry pigeons, or Dirt Candy will explode, or all my hush puppies will taste like ash and failure, but for right now, even though the world is supposed to end in a few months, I’m feeling okay about 2012.

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Maybe it won’t end like this, after all?

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It’s always sad when people leave Dirt Candy. This past Saturday night was the last service for two people: Emily, who’s been my sous chef for the past 6 months, and Diana who’s been my server for close to 2 years. Emily came on board from Northern Spy Co. after Jesus left and she dealt well with having to replace my sous chef of many years. She’s decided it’s time to move on and do something else, and I’m grateful she’s stuck around this long to help train my new sous chef (more on him in a minute).

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How we say goodbye at Dirt Candy: 5 mini-bottles and 1 tiny cup
(a gift from our intern, Nin).

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I’m really sad to see Diana go. It’s weird to meet someone who is a server prodigy, but she was born with a strange superpower that gives her complete control of dining rooms. I’ve only seen her mess up someone’s order 3 times in the over 18 months she’s been here, and I’ve never seen someone who can keep the service craziness so neatly compartmentalized in her mind without getting stressed out. If I could keep her here forever, maybe chained up in the basement, and not get arrested, I would do it.

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Diana with our equally amazing dishwasher, William.

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But Diana has fallen in love with New Orleans and decided to move there for a bit. She’ll come back to the city eventually and there’ll always be a place at Dirt Candy for her. (Evidence in support of the “She’ll come back eventually” theory: Kristen, my first and much-loved server recently started working in the kitchen, training on prep and hopefully one day working on the line when needed. She’s also going to be waiting on tables in the upcoming months.)

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Diana’s goodbye dinner was at Del Posto where the amazing
Brooks Headley made her this farewell cake.

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It’s not all people leaving and me crying, however. Last Saturday night was also the first service for my new sous chef, Travis. He worked at a bunch of teppanyaki restaurants in Atlanta before moving here but has sworn not to juggle spatulas, toss shrimp into anyone’s mouth or build an onion ring volcano unless I start paying him a lot more money.

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Travis, pointedly not catching an egg in his hat.

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So two people leave, one person arrives, and the Circle of Life continues.

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I’m actually kind of worried that I might be paying William, my dishwasher, too much.

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He says he only bought it
because it gets great gas mileage.

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Getting a B from the Health Department was a huge bummer for me. Partly because I was a good student who has a Pavlovian drive to score high on any test and partly because the new letter grades are a deeply subjective process that seems designed to increase revenue to the city. I was too naive to hire a lawyer right off the bat (which is what smart restaurants do) to fight my B and so it hung around my neck like a Hester Prynne’s scarlet A (which was sewn on her dress, but you get the picture…). Then, last week, at 9pm, right smack dab in the middle of a busy service a Health Department Inspector came barreling into Dirt Candy catching me totally off guard. I was ready to get physical and drive her away with my tiny fists, but she was relentless and conducted an inspection of Dirt Candy against my will, bringing the dining room to a screeching halt. And the result was…an A!?! It was a really nice surprise for me since I fully expected to get a B again.

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Photographic proof!

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So the next time you eat at Dirt Candy realize that I’ve been studying hard and brought up my grades. You’re dining in an A + establishment now! I’m sure everything already tastes better!

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I know that everyone loves a deal, and I’ve spent my fair share of time watching in awe as eXtreme Couponers get $640 of groceries for $5.41 on TV, but I am really, really getting tired of being cold called almost every single day by phone bullies from sites like Groupon, Living Social and Blackboard Eats. The calls always go exactly the same way. They recite some rote boilerplate about all the amazing things they’re going to do for my business, I tell them I only have 18 tables and don’t want to use their services but thanks for calling. Then, inevitably, they get angry and confrontational and say, “Why? That’s not very smart. We can make you a lot of money.” I tell them that business is great, and I don’t want to use their services, but thanks for calling. They say, “Then you’ll probably fail,” or “Everyone uses us and you should too,” or “You’re just throwing away money,” or some variation thereof. Again, I thank them for their concern and ask them not to call me anymore. They hang up (or I hang up on them at this point) and, inevitably, I get a call from them one week later, trying to shake me down again.

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I have nothing against these companies, and I bet they work like a dream for a lot of businesses, but mine’s not one of them. And yet every day they wear me down and wear me down and as much as I try not to hate them I think that if I met someone who worked for one of them at this point I probably could not resist smacking them in the face with a hot pan. I could just hang up on them, I suppose, but I guess I don’t have it in me to be rude like that on the phone. Seriously, if you work for one of these companies and you happen to read this, please let your people know that the more they call me the greater the chance is that I will eventually seek out an old witch to put a curse on them so that their tongues grow thick, furry mold so they can never talk on the telephone again.

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“Ooo…50% off full body waxes? I am so there!”

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It was so hot that walk-in refrigerators at restaurants across the city were failing, one after the other. It was so hot that almost every chef I know was keeping one nervous eye on their walk-ins which were struggling and straining and making alarming noises. It was so hot that even when Dirt Candy was closed I left the A/C on in order to ease the burden on my fridges. I was going to sleep with my fingers crossed that none of them seized up, overheated or failed. But, oddly enough, despite the heat outside, business was great. Last year at this time, Dirt Candy was averaging between 35 – 42 people a night. I was happy with that because I don’t have a garden, which attracts customers like candy in the hotter months, and the city is pretty dead in the summer and most restaurants see business drop off some, especially on the weekends when a lot of people are out of town. But for the past month Dirt Candy has been doing between 50 and 57 people per night. Every night. That’s in a dining room with only 18 seats. My jaw has been on the floor that business is this good. It’s like a non-stop party in here and we’re having some of our best weeks ever, which completely and totally defies traditional business sense.

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And so while I’m hating this summer because it feels like my face is melting every time I go outside, I’m loving it because every night has been like a vegetable fiesta at Dirt Candy and business is booming. It’s taken me completely and totally by surprise, but it’s a happy surprise and a wave of goodwill and fun that I’m happy to surf as long as it lasts. So to all of you who’ve been making the trek through the inferno to get here, thank you!

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