Ok Folks this is my first blog so I thought I would start by giving you a sample of my new cook book I am trying to write. Although I still need a publisher to edit and arrange it here is a little sample.
Why on earth I got in to this trade is often a question I am asked. Was it because I spent summers picking berries in the fields in Scotland or shucking oysters in the south of France or vanilla picking in Madagascar on school holidays.
Not bloody likely. I went to Butlins for my holidays. Spent one summer in a caravan in Wales. Never even new what vanilla was let alone oysters or even where berries came from, and as it turns out our back garden was full of them I just had no interest and was to busy climbing trees, chasing girls and trying to be cool like all the other cool kids at school. Unlike a lot of chefs that tell you in there books that it was an early calling or they fell into it. It was never a decision I ever thought about until I was about 14 and it has been a decision I have never regretted and wouldn’t change even if I could.
I was 15 ½ years old when I started. Sitting in my bedroom telephone stretched in from the hall (there were no cordless or mobiles) picked up the yellow pages for my local area and started phoning local hotels and restaurants telling them my want to be a great chef and was willing to work for whatever they were willing to pay me, as luck would have it about the third or fourth call I made my luck was in. I spoke to a very nice chef called Alistair (never got to know his last name that was the only time I was allowed to call him Alistair, after that it was Chef) from the Cartland Bridge hotel just out side Lanark in Scotland, who told me a position had unexpectedly came up and would I be interested .I was to start in 3 days and to be there at 8am ready for my first day. I ran through to the living room shouting to my mum the good news. I was going to be a chef.
Elated is not a strong enough word about how I felt .My mum was so proud her little boy getting such a great job and ultimately a career in such a posh hotel. The next morning after a very sleepless night my mum and I jumped on a bus to go shopping for my first set of chef whites. After a very long and tiring day we managed to find some. The following day was a write off my mum was on the phone all day telling everyone about her boy and the big posh hotel and I was too busy trying on my chef whites a million times to do anything else.
I reported to the reception at the Cartland bridge hotel at seven thirty sharp (a whole half hour early wanting to make a good impression) I spoke to the girl behind the desk who pointed me downstairs to the kitchen. After speaking to the chef for half an hour I was told to get in to my uniform which I had bought two days earlier. I was sharply pointed to the pot sink to clean the breakfast dishes and stock pots that had been on the simmer all night .Perfectly normal I thought for my first day as apprentice. After finishing I was sent to the still room to wash up all plate’s cutlery and teapots, which took me about an hour after which I was swiftly sent back to the pot sink.This continued all day until 11.30 at night.
I managed to speak to chef before I finished and asked why I wasn’t cooking anything and only washing up .I was told the position that I was given was for KP which is what he told me. Of course I had no idea what a KP was and presumed it was another name for apprentice chef. How ridiculous I must have looked standing there all day with full chef whites on, tall white hat, long white apron and chefs jacket elbow deep in dishwater sweating like a pig washing dishes with the grand allusion of being a great chef. I told chef I wouldn’t be coming back unless it was to cook as I wanted to be a chef not a KP and he told me to come back the next day at 9am to start my apprenticeship.
Needless to say I got the Mickey taken out of me for months and have had full appreciation for KP’S ever since
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