David Deshaies is as French as they come. Short shocks of brown hair, cropped close to the scalp gave him an almost militant demeanor. With his eyes spaced close together, and a nose as straight as an arrow, he seemed to be interrogating with every word. In the thickest accent I have heard outside of France, he explained to me about a recent stage they had, who had cut his hand on the meat slicer. He had no insurance and workman's compensation refused to cover his medical bills. The restaurant was forced to pony up the cash or face a lawsuit. This, he made very clear to me, was why Citronelle no longer accepts stages unless they are trying out for an open position in the kitchen, of which there were none. Fuck.
As I tried to weasel my way into a stage anyway, asking if I could just observe the kitchen, he shut me down at every pass. Citronelle has been on of the restaurants on my list that I have been looking forward to the entire trip, and now my hopes to work in the kitchen were gone.
As I cursed my luck and shuffled out through the back door my thoughts came to the only consolation I could think of. Michel Richard's wildly inventive cookbook, Happy in the Kitchen. To anyone reading this, if you want an amazing cookbook this is the one to get. It is a coffee table cookbook, heavy, hard-backed, and chalk full of glossy food porn. Fork over the $50 for it and you will not be disappointed I promise.
Happy cooking...
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