When I trailed at Gramercy Tavern last month, I knew who Chef Michael Anthony was, I knew the reputation of the place, I knew what to expect of the food. Earlier this week I did an impromptu trail at Chanterelle, a French fusion place in SoHo. I had heard great things in terms of how they treat their employees, but—since they would not be able to take me on as an extern in September, due to renovations scheduled during that month—I didn’t bother to read up on the chef/owner, David Waltuck.
Laziness can make for some interesting introductions. I entered the restaurant via the service entrance during what would normally be the lunch rush (Chanterelle shuts down for lunch during the dog days of summer). Introduced myself, changed quickly into my chef whites and checks, and brought my knives into the kitchen, expecting plenty of prep work.
The genial, frumpy looking gent working next to my station immediately assigned me some very basic duties: lightly peeling asparagus, shelling fava beans and chick peas, mincing garlic and shallots. Possessing passive-aggressive social skills, I remained silent for twenty minutes and prepped like a robot. Then began to make chit-chat with the Chef Nice Guy.
“So, how long have you been a chef?” I asked.
“Oh gosh, about 30 years or so,” Nice Guy replied.
“Wow, you must have worked at a slew of amazing places, right?”
“A few, but I’ve been here a while.”
“Really, how long?”
“Uh….about 30 years or so. I own the place,” said Chef NG, slightly embarrassed.
In a business where head chefs usually have the crispest aprons, the loudest mouths, and seek out the most glamorous jobs, Chef Waltuk was a breath of fresh air in the typically stench-ridden kitchen. This guy has won a number of James Beard Awards, opened Chanterelle in the late 1970s to a glowing four-star review by The New York Times, and here he’s working at a small wooden table, doing menial tasks.
Despite the lack of glam, he still puts out one hell of a menu. The assortment of Japanese fish looked great, his sous chef’s preparation of duck smelled wonderful, and I loved the taste of his potato risotto with foie gras (they mince up the potato to resemble rice). Some of the presentations could have been touched up, perhaps, but I was still fairly impressed. Too bad I won’t be able to extern there, but I wouldn’t mind having my first culinary job in that kitchen, especially since all the cooks were easily the nicest bunch I’ve encountered since embarking down this road.
The stand-out for me—granted, I didn’t taste very many dishes, unfortunately—was the Steamed Zucchini blossom filled with a mouse of chicken, Madeira and black truffles. It looked bizarre, like some kind of exotic sea fruit, but the taste was pure French decadence.
The lesson learned: you don’t have to be a show-off, media-hungry goon like David Chang to put out amazing food in the restaurant food.
I hope you served those fava beans with liver and a nice chianti!
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