Private Cheffing, Day 3

When I first decided to give the whole private cheffing thing a try, I asked my favorite culinary teacher/mentor/gay boyfriend Elliott for advice.

Me: What if I suck?

Elliott: I sucked when I started out. I got fired from like three jobs. You'll be fine.

That comforted me, but it didn't prepare me for the anxiety I felt before donning that chef jacket for the first time in someone else's kitchen. On day 1, I mismanaged my time, broke a dish, and drizzled too much olive oil on the roasted acorn squash. On day 2, lunch went off without a hitch, but her dinner looked like something you'd feed your dog. If he pooped in your shoes.

My clients are an older couple who live on the Upper East Side. I make them lunch and dinner Monday-Friday. I serve lunch, leave dinner out for them and go home. They're mostly vegan, but they eat salmon once a week. They don't often eat the same thing, so I have to make two different dishes. They have separate refrigerators, and as I always make enough for more than one serving, I make it a point to check and see what got eaten when I come in.

I was full of apprehension today as I imagined her looking at her dog-food dinner and exclaiming, "I will not eat that!" It was a white bean and broccoli stew, by the way. His dinner was a pasta primavera. I tasted both before I left, and was wholly satisfied with the look and taste of the pasta, and with the taste, but not the look, of the stew.

Imagine my surprise when I checked the fridges and the stew was nearly gone, but the pasta had barely been touched.

"The stew was delicious," she exclaimed when she came into the kitchen for some tea. "It was perfect!"

I was happy that she'd enjoyed it, and even happier that I wasn't going to get fired for feeding her dog food. In my defense, I tasted it and it did actually taste really good. The ugliness came solely from the pot-to-serving-plate transfer, which didn't go nearly as seamlessly as I'd hoped. Still, I was bummed by the lack of interest in the pasta primavera. Until he made his kitchen stop.

"I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by leftovers," he said. "Let me look at the menu for the week." He then informed me to skip dinner tomorrow so he could finish the pasta primavera. I was elated.

After that, I calmed down a little. I am only a rookie after all, and rookie mistakes are to be expected. I couldn't have been happier today with my lunch of tomato soup and roasted root vegetables. And my dinner of tandoori vegetables and roasted vegetable stacks with tomato dressing looked appetizing enough to be served in a restaurant. The latter looked like cheeseburgers. You could say, I hit my stride. As it turns out, I don't suck nearly as much as I expected to at first.

Now, if I could only solve that problem of coming home after cooking all day and ordering takeout or making nachos, I'd be golden.