New NOSOC

 

PO BOY Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

Monday Magnate

Or

Flagrant Vagrant

        “I have squandered my resistance for a pocket full of mumbles such are promises, all lies and jest…” The Boxer: Paul Simon

I had been out of work for two weeks now; everybody knew why I had to resign my post. The usual excuses can be made: work load; hours and/or money; none of that really applied so much as my happiness with my life in opposition to my life as an employee. I was not unhappy; I just was not happy. It was work that I was overqualified to perform; it was professional frustration; it was culinary restlessness. And I was at the point where I was willing to leave without idea one as to what I was going to do next; I left.

I am above the age when most men retire, except that I’m passionate about my work; I love what I do. I am also insecure. Should I go back to being culinary grist for the mill? I have/had been that for half a century, but for who, and who, would want me? Am I over the hill? Have advances in my field passed me by while I insisted on ‘being happy’ where I worked? Happy and foolish? Foolish and not attentive? By not being serious enough, grasshopper?

I started as a youngster and into my early adulthood, taking odd jobs and leaving after learning enough to where the job I had was not seemingly as adventurous as that nebulous one over the rainbow. I rushed into adulthood like a kid running into a carnival fun house. I have traveled. I have lived. I have cooked, loved, have tasted and been tested. I was a somebody. I’ve been a nobody. All without trying. An escapade. A life of serendipitous incidents. A failure, Phoenix, pawn, poet and King. A culinary slut. I’ve had my fun.

And now look at me. Unemployed. Unemployed and uncertain. I write letters to places that I want to work. No responses. One chef I wrote four times with not the courtesy of a rejection, just silence. Lesson learned.

        Then, one day, one answered. It started with “Dear, we were delighted to find the letter you wrote…” and ended with “we would love the chance to meet with you” and gave me times and days to respond and respond I did. The meeting, scheduled and met, lasted over an hour and was like a conversation with friends; a small cooking school bursting at the seams with ambition, drive and passion; bright eyed enthusiasm and with a trunk load of experience and history behind them.

The director gave me a tour of three floors of class and event space as well as a peek into ‘The Lab’ where recipes are tested; very impressive. The small space that I had seen before, a gift shop, a room with dining tables and a stage for an instructor was the tip of the iceberg. Big spaces with big ambitions; just up my alley. I sent them a thank you note the next day, as I waited for the next step.

Now, this school like other businesses in New Orleans has a slow and a busy season; the busy season can be terrifyingly full and tiring, while slow season is like someone shutting a light switch off: excruciatingly sluggish. We agreed that I would not start full time until September and that I would, until then slide in softly like syrup into the stream. Which was fine by me as I had been working for seven months like my pants were on fire and my ass was catching; and non-stop four years before.

So, the next step came with me attending a hands-on class with Chef Austin which was a grand experience; three hours of making gumbo (including roux) barbecued shrimp with cheese grits and bananas Foster on crepes with vanilla ice cream. Next would be me as an assistant instructor in the nearer future. Everyone that I met in the organization was welcoming, hospitable and utterly dear; and I thought “you know, I believe that I’m gonna love this place; I think that I could be happy here”.

In between time I had a staycation of sorts; shopping; haircuts; a manicure; movies; little chores around the house; making homemade pizza, bread and biscuits. Lazy breakfasts; sleeping late, reading the newspaper daily; feeding outdoor cats; thrifting; connecting with my house, home and love ones. Getting good nights sleep and waking refreshed ready for another day’s adventures. Dipping into the savings that I accrued by making money that I didn’t have time to spend. Swimming at NORD and water aerobics… life.

Back at the school I was offered an assignment to work up curriculum, study material and syllabus for a class on Creole Sicilian; writing the recipes and testing them in the test kitchen. Cool. It’s something I could do, have done before and was happy to do it again; exercising my brain instead of what brawn I have left. I made out a list of over a dozen dishes to work with and we narrowed them down to six, plus their accoutrements. Ten recipes, each tailored to two students, class time three hours including time to sit and enjoy the fruits of their labor.

Wish me luck. I went in today to familiarize myself with equipment and supplies, a ‘shopping list’ was made out, so that I would have what I need to test and with luck, by the time you read this, you’ll be able to take a class of Creole Sicilian food at The New Orleans School of Cooking taught by Chef Philipe LaMancusa. Ciao!