Who’s the lucky girl?

In the late winter of 2011 I met Stephanie Izard the 4th Season Top Chef Champion and owner of Girl and the Goat and Little Goat, here in Chicago.  Her Girl in the Kitchen cookbook had recently  been published and she was book signing at Whole Foods Market in Lincoln Park.  I had remembered hearing about the signing on NPR and totally was into it. So much so that  I would make sure I was there.  Well as my life would represent once again, I was preoccupied, doing something.  I don’t recall what; another project no doubt. When already about an hour in I remembered that this was the night of the book signing.  I called MySam and asked, “Are you home?”,  “Yes”,  “Stephanie’s book signing is tonight and I completely forgot about it.  Can you come pick me up from work and take me to Whole Foods?” God bless MySam, he is so good to me.  Without hesitation he said yes and swooped me up in about 30 minutes.  I was so excited.  I actually didn’t expect to get to the store on time and if we did make it I didn’t expect there to be any books left for an autographed keepsake.  However, as luck would have it, there were a few books left and it looked as though most of the people had already come and gone. So, I was in.

I bought the book,  paid my respects to Stephanie, giving her the standard props – great job on Top Chef – I knew you were going to win – looking forward to making  some of your cookbook dishes, and then went back to a seat near the signing station and played it cool.  Now on the outside I was cool, feigning as if the book was enough and I was just taking my time to leave the store. However, inside I was mapping out my next move in a frenzy of calculated steps. Each move more perfect in its execution than the next;  success without fail. I had a plan.  I watched from my seat, paying attention to what she was doing and what those around her were doing.  It looked as though she had brought her posse.  These folks never ventured far from her perch, always there to fill up the empty spaces around the station when Stephanie might’ve found herself idle; small talk when no one was engaging her in fan talk.  I watched this for about 10 minutes very aware that I didn’t have much more time to make a move.  Things were winding down and time was running out.  It was now or never.  I grabbed mySam’s hand and said “I’m going in.” I rose from my chair slowly and quietly so as not to be noticed and began my approach.  Close enough to be seen, someone else stepped in and began speaking with her.  Awkward.  I moved to the side and waited what seemed like watching water boil.  Whoever she was talking with obviously was giving her their day by day, hour by hour memoire. Even more awkward cause it was  so obvious I was waiting for her.  Me, to others, the desperate fan who wants to just linger around with nothing more to say or do, just linger.  What to do? Own the desperate fan and wait.

I didn’t have to wait too long, but I was starting to wilt.  My pithy and engaging plan was about to evaporate when, omg, an opportunity.  I swooped in bringing a table-cloth and a few disposable coffee cups with me. Not to be embarassed, I pitched, “May I ask you a question Stephanie?” Kinda lame… ” I really love to cook and would like to make something of it, but have no real life experience other than in my own kitchen.” smooth… and not too anxiously,” Do you have any advice to share for someone like me?”  (really??? someone like me? all cool points down the drain…) “What should a person like me do if wanting to be a good chef?” – (self-depricating – good! Recovery, whew!)

And just like that there were fireworks, ” Why don’t you come on down to the restaurant and work in the kitchen” A pause not fit for a breath, then “really?” as if I had never touched a knife or cutting board in my life. “Really???” I repeated.  (One more like that and the invitation could  be rescinded) Again, recovery. “That would be great.  I would love it”  And just like that we exchanged contact info, she charged me to forward her an email and she would set it up.

Now, of course I’m expecting nothing, and everything. Standard when an offer of a lifetime comes along and you can’t believe it, not sure if its real and count every minute with nothing but “it” on your mind in extreme almost pathological anticipation. And of course like any very important and life changing event, it never happens as quickly as you would like or are able to endure. Then, just when you’re ready to believe it was all a hoax, a dirty trick, a dream deferred, “You’ve got Mail”

Imagine, loving to cook, wanting to cook and eating to live about it.  That would be me.  Imagine going to a book signing speaking to a Top Chef Champion and author, sharing my love for the culinary art and being invited to experience a day in the life of a cook.  That would be me too.  In February, I  helped fashion some of the sweet potatoes and green beans that became the side dishes of some very excited and enthused customers at Girl and the Goat Restaurant on Randolph Street. Perhaps not so glamorous, unless cooking is in your heart as it is in mine.  So I didn’t mind slicing potatoes, and picking beans, and opining on homemade bbq sauce and skinning a pig’s head.  It was the time of my life.

Forever changed because a generous and talented woman, Stephanie Izard  wrote a cookbook, agreed to a book signing at store that I like and intentionally visited that very evening, sold me her book, and in response to my inquiry – agreed to let me stage (volunteer line cook) at her restaurant. And well, there it is.  The kitchen, a bustle with human cooking machines, cutting and stirring and baking, skinning, tasting, pouring, rolling and filling and arranging, was my Garden of Eden. I had been dropped right into paradise. No special event, just lucky I suppose. My shift: 11am till dinner service, around 5pm.  I and my heart stayed ‘til 7:30.  Would’ve stayed ‘til closing if they’d have me.  I ate and tasted as sous chefs do. I was part of a dream team, that day, preparing meals for hundreds and living to tell about it. If I could do it again and again and again, I would I would I would!