Our first step was to find, and hire, the chef. I really didn't have much of an idea what this would entail. I knew it would involve cleaning the house; any time you hire help you want to look as if you somehow can afford it. I know people who do their most intensive and detailed cleaning one day before their maid shows up. That way she can do the light dusting and scrubbing of a house that's obviously immaculate. What can I say? People are goofy.
During my time at the hotel, I've known culinary people. Chefs, sous chefs, food and beverage managers, front line, line cooks one, two and three, patissieres, and people whose whole job was fish. I expected the woman at the front door to be built like a tank, as every hard-core line cook I ever met was fast, mean, and armed with a gigantic set of knives.
I found Chef Jodi Sabal through the hireachef.com website, and had gotten a look at her plans and menus. She had a couple icons next to her name-"family oriented" and "weight management." Score. I went to her own website and everything looked great. I knew that most of what we'd be getting wouldn't look like this; this was more her dinner-party food, and I don't think her weight-loss program and the entire glazed ham they showed were compatible.
I got a call back asking for an appointment this evening at 6. Most people would shudder as this would be the dinner hour. Not us. This is normally when we're trying to decide the merits of Chili's versus Applebee's versus Taco Bell. No wonder I weigh three bills.
Working alongside culinary people, you realize that this is a mirror alternate of the life that I led. It's a little like deciding to be a piano player. You'll go to school, but it's culinary school, typically not a university. There are meccas for your work in Italy and France, but really all over Europe. It involves slaving away in a kitchen in clogs on rubber mats for years. Dicing onions. Cooking demi-glace. Computers were for other people.
Ultimately, I got along with "F&B types" because I came to realize that their work was a commonplace but misunderstood art, and they were artists. They had a very specialized skill set that everyone claimed to understand. It was a lot like my work, in a parallel universe. Things like the word "Chef." Don't think of it as just a job title; it's a form of address. Like "Doctor" or "Professor." I've known my doctor for six years and the one before him for twenty; I wouldn't call them "Johnathan" or "Bill." They earned that title. Same with "Chef."
Second, I don't even pretend to know enough about what they do to make judgments. I stand back. I have a general idea; I know about stock and how to shop for citrus and marbling on steaks and what's so special about Beaujolais, and I could grill something for you to within an inch of its life, or a couple inches beyond if that's what the recipe calls for, but that's like you thinking you could do my job because you know Microsoft Word.
So when Chef Jodi showed up, after we'd deftly sorted the toys in the playroom, cleaned up the living room, and generally did our damndest to look like successful human beings, we were ready.
Chef Jodi was not built like a tank. She looked exactly like she sounded; peppy and professional. Anyone who talks as fast as I do is at home in our kitchen.
We told her what we were looking to accomplish. We explained that we wanted low-fat cooking that tasted good.
She asked, "How do you define low fat?"
I'm thinking of the nights at White Castle, the chicken wings at Hooters, the char-cheddar dogs from Gold Coast, every meal I've ever eaten at Giordano's, the lunches at Five and Diner, the chicken tequila fettucine at CPK, hell, even the cannolis over at Bootlegger, and trying to find a way to say, "Not that."
We explained we were big fans of taste, we were just looking to eat better. We explained we were looking to eliminate eating out. She understood what we were trying to say. Fewer fried foods. Limits on excessive cheese. That sort of thing.
We went through an exhaustive questionnaire. What did we like in terms of meats, poultry, vegetables, spices, beverages, desserts, greens, salad dressings, types of cuisine, favorite restaurants, and the like.
I had a hard time with the question, "What's your favorite restaurant?" I shot back, "Depends on the occasion." I mean, I can give you favorite places by cuisine, by neighborhood, whatever. And the answer can change. I have a favorite place for traditional Italian, contemporary Italian, barbecue, casual Mexican, entree Mexican, bistro French, upper-end French, middle-of-the-road French, et cetera. Remember Bubba in Forrest Gump? I can do that with restaurants. These, and not a good swim stroke or a fondness for the Universal machine, are the types of things that land you at three hundred pounds.
We also explained that we weren't looking for giant steel rings of potatoes propping up steaks with lemongrass poking out of them. I don't need showmanship; I need a meal where I don't have to yell it into a speaker. She said that the day-to-day stuff isn't very fancy. I nod and agree.
Here's how it works: A week or so before she shows up, she E-mails us a menu. We go, "Sounds good," "How about this?" or "Naah, let's do this instead." Chef Jodi will then show up at our house around 9 AM. She will bring everything she needs, including groceries, knives, bowls, mixing tools, the works. All she needs from us are the oven, the sink, the fridge, and the freezer. She makes five entrees with four servings apiece, with side dishes, and the servings are, apparently, pretty big. These go into containers. Three of the meals go into the freezer. Two of them go into the fridge. One of them may consist of prepare-tonight stuff that we mix in a wok and serve. So we get 20 meals. On the table from us is a check. On the table from her is next session's menu and reheating instructions for all the food she made us.
When asked what we wanted her to make, we said, "Surprise us." She already had a list of things we liked and things we couldn't stand. That's more than any restaurant knows about me. What could go wrong?
HOW THIS MIMICS THE RICH AND FAMOUS APPROACH
"Dude, I've hired a personal chef." Use that quote a couple of times and you'll feel like you're worth at least seven figures.
HOW YOU'RE DOING IT ON THE CHEAP
This isn't, "Could you whip me up some pancakes?" on the bedside speaker upon waking. I'll only be seeing Chef Jodi every two-three weeks. During the days, I'm still in charge of eating right; I just have the right foods to do it.
NEXT: Finding a trainer.
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