From a thread at Knife forums:

I'll tell you why I hate cutting carrots.

After 12 years of cooking professionally I decided to take a big pay cut and be a fireman. I was also putting my wife through college and just had a baby. I moonlighted cooking on my offs. Money was short so when I got a great part time gig at a cool little restaurant in the chic part of town, it relieved the pressure. On my first night I sliced off the top of my knuckle cutting carrots. It's still the worst I have ever cut myself. I was trying to impress the boys with my skills. Back then you didn't carry around your own knives from job to job. You used what was there. Needless to say it was a bad knife in the hands of a journeyman.

One thing was certain, I was going to finish that shift.

To this day every time I cut carrots I think of that night 20 years ago.

Creative Rut

Can't cook, can't write, can't paint, can't play.

Warren

Warren Cook, my first Chef. This was back in 74. My buddies John Horn and Tim Fabatz worked at Merrill Hills Country club.There was an opening in the "dish tank". I finally turned 16 and could get a real job making real money. John was a DW and Tim was a busser. I jumped at the chance. My first restaurant job. woohoo! We had a blast working there.

The Chef's name was Warren Cook,(Yep,"Cook"). He had to be pushing 70. He spent most of his time sitting in his chair at the end of the line nursing a beer and quietly keeping an eye on things. He would sip on that beer all night and when the head would die down he'd salt the beer to bring the head back up. (Don't ask me?) He spoke with a severe lisp he obtained from a stroke he had suffered previously. His nose looked like a battlefield, pocked, pitted, and stained red from years of heavy drinking. His age showed as he'd tire easily and spend more and more time in that chair. He ran a good kitchen there was no doubt about it and the members loved him. And when it was time to move the old dude could move. I would work the outdoor grill with him for "Steak Fries" and that sucker would dance around that huge grill and manage a hundred steaks at a pop. Slicing prime rib? It looked as though he could do it in his sleep. He wasn't big on endurance but that old son of a bitch could cook if he had to. He's also the man who taught me one of my most favorite phrases in this business. Like most young cooks and chefs full of piss and vinegar the sous chef and others would make fun of the elderly Chef and his old school ways and his chair sitting. One day I was assisting him with the steaks outside, (I did the heavy lifting) he was standing in front of the packed grill and out of the blue mumbled. "That fuckin Banning, I've forgotten more than he'll ever know." Banning was the young "hot shot" Sous Chef. I laughed and didn't give it much thought.

I think about that statement more and more these days. In this world of hot shot wannabe super star chefs who can't figure out why they aren't famous or rich and look upon the old timers with disdain and disrespect. It's amazing how much you can forget in 35 years. I also contend that for everything you forget a little seed remains dormant and can sprout when watered with a reminder or just be part of that little voice that tells good chefs what's right and what's wrong. No matter how many forgotten things flourished in the gardens of old chefs heads the remnants of those ideas remain and nourish the soil. There is no substitute for foundation.

At 70 Warren Cook was a badass Chef. I wish I knew him as a younger man. I would have liked to pick up some of that shit he forgot.

Claus

I first met him back in 85. I was working in a little Northern Italian place in Milwaukee. I was waiting tables while hoping for a spot in the kitchen to open up. I was to work a wine tasting at the restaurant that night but a blizzard cancelled the event. Never-the-less we opened for dinner and I was the lucky guy picked to watch the morgue. (It was the 80's, you didn't close because of snow) Not beeing in a very residential area the restaurant was dead. Everyone bundled up and headed to the cocoon. So I ended up shootin the shit with Jeff the cook until we finally got a customer. "A" customer. Great, I get a table and it's a one top. I greet the weary traveler and in a heavy European accent says he's here for the wine tasting. I think it's a German accent but I'm not sure, it's a little different. I apologized that the event had been cancelled due to the snow. He looked annoyed but said he would stay for something to eat and drink. He'd been "dliiving in dis sheet" for too long. He was average height and on the sleight side. A touch of gray in his casually styled short hair. His glasses looked "euro", stylish for these parts. He was dressed casually but expensively. He sat down in the desserted restaurant, ordered some wine, had a light dinner and changed my life.

Up to this point in my career I had worked in "corporate kitchens" where you follow the company mantra. Don't get me wrong, I loved every minute of it. I thought of "cooking" more of the actual physical act of cooking, like a sport,cooking in a busy restaurant and pushing yourself to the extreme to produce well prepared food at a very high volume. The food itself was second. I loved cooking. Not food but cooking. I was a bad ass cook.

Four months later I'm having dinner with my gorgeous girlfriend Patrice at the fanciest, chicest, slickest restaurant in town. It was callled "Claus on Juneau", a small little 50 seat restaurant. I was blown away. It was an experience. I was introduced to the world of haute cuisine. As we finnished our dinners the Chef and owner came out to say hello. It was the same gentleman that I shared many of glasses of wine with four months earlier. Claus P.W. Bienek. A whirlwind of a man. He came by and thanked me for the great service and company on that snowy evening and made some hints about looking for a sous chef. My girl friend began to kick me in the shins under the table. I think it was her first wise decision that I benefitted from and probably the most significant. I took the job and I was born again. Claus grew an incredible herb garden in a small little plot outside the backdoor of his urban postage stamp restaurant. This is 1985. No one in Milwaukee is doing this. Every Tuesday and Saturday we would go to the local farmers markets and shop for produce. This is 1985. No one in Milwaukee is doing this. We'd go down the street and clip the very tips of new pine needles and use them with mushrooms. Vileroy and Bosche (sp?) china, chrystal, silver domes, etc. Yet in a very subdued atmosphere. Smooth, trendy, slick, Euro? Anyways, every entree was served with a silver dome covering it.(real silver) We'd always garnish the entrees with fresh herbs from the garden and it wasn't until later that I realized one of the main reasons for the herbs was for the sense of smell as well as sight. The plates were already a thing of beauty but when they were all unveiled at the same time the aroma of the herb garnishes would be released and you'd get a nose full of fresh herbs mixed with the the savory scents of truly world class cuisine.

Claus wasn't only a phenomanal chef he was the entire package. He could charm a socialite like a prince, hunt elk with the bank president and charm the pants of most any woman he chose. Did I mention he is also incredibly smart. A shrewed business man but you'd never know it. Although he always seemed to come out on top. He was what I wanted to be. He was what every man wanted to be. Smart, successful, wonderfull wife, kids, dog, etc. Chef and owner. Perfect. I've worked with Claus in one form or another since that first day back in 85. I haven't seen or heard from him lately but I know one day my cell will ring and it will be Claus with a snoot full calling from Norway. He's retired now no doubt enjoying himself like no one else can. For over 20 years he taught me about this business. First about the food. An eye opening revelation that seemed so obvious that I felt embarrassed for calling myself a cook. Secondly about the business. You have to get paid. To get paid you have to have high standards. The most important thing he taught me will most likely be the most misunderstood. I thought of a dozen ways to say it but the best way to describe it is "don't take it too seriously". He had the most relaxed attitude toward food of any chef I've known. I call it it Zen cooking. Just letting it happen, very little thought is wasted on the process, it comes natural. It's as if we are here for no other reason.

I wrote this draft about two weeks ago after finding an old video from 1995. Claus, as predicted called my cell the other day to touch base. He had a snoot full as well. He is retired and living comfortably in the hills outside Oslo, Norway. He enjoys his summers at his cabin on the lake. Life is good. He told me he got a little bored and decided to get a job working in the cold kitchen of a large corporation. I laughed, someone who's worked with Bocuse and Chapelle doing salads. I told him I've always wanted a dishwashing job after I retire. He asked me if I was crazy? "That's too much like work".

We talk twice a year and he still manages to teach me something..... There's no heavy lifting in the salad department.

I'd love to be a fly on the wall listening to the fresh faced culinary grad teaching the mature new guy how to make salad dressing.