My Start And Where I Am Today - Part 1

My Start and Where I am Today.

I am definitely wrapped up in my career as a chef and an entrepreneur, no doubt about it. My days now are mostly spent working on catering sales and running the business, not from within the kitchen, but from behind a desk or in the field. Ask anyone who knows me – chances are I will be talking, reading or writing about a food-related topic of some sort. It’s what I do, it’s what I love and it’s what I stand for…A very simple platform really.

The question is often asked, at what point in my life did I determine I wanted to be a chef? Since I can’t remember much before the age of four, my typical answer is “around the ripe age of five”…I vividly remember my first cookbook and a specific recipe I made over and over. At nine, during a sleepover at my buddy Andy’s house, I successfully executed a perfect chocolate soufflé and remember asking his mom to “please walk lightly through the kitchen” so it didn’t fall. Oddly, I can’t recall how it tasted, but I distinctly remember the feeling of satisfaction as I proudly (and gently) set it upon the table before them. More exceptional was the overwhelming sense of accomplishment and pride I received that day, particularly from their compliments, as they eagerly devoured it. That single moment in my young, impressionable mind may have been the motivation I needed to catapult a novice hobby into a chosen lifelong career.

I grew up in Washington, PA, home of Pony League baseball, and was a pretty damn good ballplayer in my younger years. Every summer after the season my parents would put me on a plane to visit my grandparents and extended family in New Jersey for three weeks or so. Just think how times have changed…On my first trip I was six years old, traveling from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia on a 747 by myself, chaperoned by the flight attendants, but solo nonetheless. Wandering through the hectic kitchen of their steakhouse was exciting and mentally stimulating to me. The aroma of fresh baked pies, the huge bubbling pots of stock…just thinking about it now, takes me right back there. The tall cooks clad in white barking orders to one another, waitresses darting everywhere and dodging one another eloquently, dishes and silverware clanging…it was exciting and fascinating to me. Collectively, the entire kitchen staff seemed like one large motion, a finely oiled machine, churning and producing and seemingly never slowing. I would come into the kitchen every day and check the soup, ask about it and ladle myself a cup. Chef Donald or Old Charles would describe the type of soup and how it was made and I would listen intently trying to absorb it all.

I recall peeling, slicing and dicing 500 pounds of onions one day in preparation for a large catering event. I was probably 11 or 12 at the time and it was my first real kitchen challenge. It was a beautiful summer day and the beach at Ocean City was only 45 minutes away, but I was committed to the task at hand. My uncle, a graduate of The Culinary Institute of America (class of 1962), asked me if I knew how to correctly peel and cut an onion. I assured him I did, but failed miserably, nearly taking off my left thumb. He patiently showed me the proper procedure, dropped the knife on the cutting board, turned on the fans and radio, and left me to this insurmountable challenge. The first few pounds made me cry (literally), but I put my head down and got to work. I progressively got faster and faster by trying slight variations and techniques, perfecting the process eventually. The last 250 pounds went quick! Again, that sense of accomplishment washed over me as I stood before huge bins of cut onions as my uncle patted me on the back for a job well done.

...part two coming soon!