Set Daydreams Aside and Take Seriously Tasks at Hand

I moved to San Francisco at age 21 in the mid ’90s thinking I was going to take the world by storm – that I was going to be the Pat Benatar of the grunge movement. With just a few boxes and a few hundred dollars, I was easily and quickly able to finagle housing and a job. I quickly learned that one job would not be enough, though. I didn’t know it at the time, but one choice I made would squash my dreams of rockstardom: I could either live comfortably in my own studio in the posh neighborhood of the Marina; I lived on famous Lombard Street, known as the “crookedest street in the world.” That meant I would have to work multiple jobs in order to maintain that lifestyle. Or, I could choose to live the life of a beggar, in squalor, camping out on someone’s living room floor in Haight Ashbury while I pursued my singing aspirations. I chose to have my own place.

Serving jobs were easy to come by simply because of the cornucopia of restaurants in every direction. There was lots of competition for employment at the upper-echelon spots; interviews, usually performed by entire management staffs, felt like auditions. “How would you describe quail to your patrons and what wine might best be served with it?” Coming from a southeastern Ohio meat-and-potatoes town like Zanesville, I wasn’t exactly sure. I could have shared with them my experiences while employed at Shoney’s or Western Sizzlin, and even spieled a passionate description of the baked potato bar and what flavor of “pop” paired best with it. I always seemed to successfully muster through these interviews, though – I think it was merely because of my youth; I would look good twirling out on the restaurant floor. And I was fine with that.

This arrogant attitude went with me into the restaurants that were foolish enough to take me in, like Zuni Cafe, a quintessentially uber-trendy spot flanking where the Mission and South of Market districts converge, a bustling locale.

Zuni Café’s menu epitomized what is referred to as California cuisine: a style of fusion cooking with a strong emphasis on using fresh, locally grown and produced foods. As such, menus at Zuni changed daily, transforming the kitchen into a culinary school for the servers at the commencement of every shift. You would think one might embrace the opportunity to be presented with such knowledge, but I didn’t. I was usually daydreaming about something else.

And it showed once I was out on the frontline facing patrons. “What can you tell us about the radicchio salad?” I very clearly remember a young couple asking me once. “It’s bitter,” was my eloquent reply.

I always looked at homosexual men as being the superstars of these haute eateries, with their fanciful movements and five-star know-how; they really had their act together, and I always wanted to please and be liked by them, but often fell quite short. “It’s called ‘poe-day crim’ one of them told me once, rolling his eyes, referring to “pots de crème” when I mangled the pronunciation with “pots day cream.”

Judy Rodgers, the owner of Zuni, was a culinary leader in San Francisco, revered because of her ability to transform the way people think about using seasonal ingredients. Her published cookbook: “The Zuni Café Cookbook,” showcasing her flair for creating “simultaneously rustic and urbane” French and Italian dishes, was lauded by some of the most respectable publications across the country. She is well known, even amongst some of Columbus’ finest chefs. I recall standing before her one afternoon as she was pulling a pan out of the oven with what looked like slices of lemon wedges sprinkled with brown sugar. When I asked if it was, in fact, lemons, she looked at me and simply said “They’re figs,” before turning away.

At the end of my shift, I was called into the management office and told that I was fired because Chef Judy was “horrified” by my lack of food knowledge.

I distinctively remember walking home that afternoon and feeling truly scared for the first time in my life. There were other jobs I had at the time; it wasn’t about money, but fear in the knowledge that I was going to have to straighten up, take things seriously. Being thousands of miles away from home, there was no one around to hold my hand, walk me through. My ego was so battered and it was very humbling to realize I wasn’t really the center of the universe. I can truly pinpoint the transformational experience as the moment I became an adult. I’ve always strived to be my very best since that time, in all things … and to be sure, I especially try to know all about food.

Thanks Chef Judy … and rest in peace.