Where’s my potato? WHERE’S. MY. POTATO?”
Day one in my new role as a school chef, and I’ve brought a small
child to tears. “Oh, er, look at all these other delicious things we
have today – there’s chicken, vegetarian korma, lovely salad and
vegetables …”
“But I have jacket potato every day.”
Day two in my new role as a school chef, the jacket potatoes are at the ready. But things don’t go well. On Monday, word had quickly got around that there was a new chef in the Gayhurst community school kitchen, whose previous job was at Yotam Ottolenghi’s restaurant Nopi, and we had about 60 extra mouths to feed, children and teachers. We ran out of food and had to spend the last hour of service cooking whatever we could find. I was trying to take this as a compliment, but couldn’t help going home with those disappointed faces etched on my mind.
On Wednesday, I burned my hand, so instead of getting in everyone’s way in the kitchen, I decided to help serve the children. In that moment, I realised it doesn’t matter whether you are in a restaurant, cooking for friends at home or serving children in a primary school: the direct contact between you and the people eating your food is the greatest buzz you get as a chef. And children will give you instant feedback just through the looks on their faces. I had coriander and parsley to scatter over the crushed potatoes, only to be told by the first boy in line: “No green stuff, please.” But then, a few minutes later, another child smiled up at me and said: “It’s like restaurant food.”
Many people thought I was mad to give up running the kitchen at Nopi. How could being a school chef offer anywhere near the same excitement or challenges? As it turns out, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever taken on as a chef.
Working at Nopi was a dream come true. I started as chef de partie on the fish section, and within two years I was given the opportunity to run the kitchen. I felt part of a family, but there is no getting around the fact that the hours in a professional, commercial kitchen are long and unsociable. I needed a break to get my energy back, so I took some time out. Then I heard that Gayhurst community school in Hackney was looking for a chef, and it got me thinking. There is something special about cooking for children, about having the chance to talk to them about food. A few weeks later, and here I am, trying to convince small children that fresh fish is tastier than fish fingers.
At the heart of any kitchen, be it in a high-profile restaurant or a school that serves lunch to 500 children daily, it is the team that makes the difference. I learned that at Nopi, and it’s my first priority at the school, too – to work with the staff and develop a team of skilled people who have passion and knowledge for what they do. With skills and energy, we don’t need a huge budget to cook really good food.
So far, we’ve introduced the children (gently, I hope) to a little za’atar on their beetroot; we are stir-frying all the vegetables separately, so they remain crunchy and taste of themselves. It’s been a steep learning curve, too – kids seem to really like couscous, and prefer their cucumber in ribbons. Last week, we put pots of pea shoots on the tables for the bigger kids to snip and scatter over their meals themselves. I can already tell that the children are interested in what they are eating, and I believe that’s a sign we can make a positive change.
“But I have jacket potato every day.”
Day two in my new role as a school chef, the jacket potatoes are at the ready. But things don’t go well. On Monday, word had quickly got around that there was a new chef in the Gayhurst community school kitchen, whose previous job was at Yotam Ottolenghi’s restaurant Nopi, and we had about 60 extra mouths to feed, children and teachers. We ran out of food and had to spend the last hour of service cooking whatever we could find. I was trying to take this as a compliment, but couldn’t help going home with those disappointed faces etched on my mind.
On Wednesday, I burned my hand, so instead of getting in everyone’s way in the kitchen, I decided to help serve the children. In that moment, I realised it doesn’t matter whether you are in a restaurant, cooking for friends at home or serving children in a primary school: the direct contact between you and the people eating your food is the greatest buzz you get as a chef. And children will give you instant feedback just through the looks on their faces. I had coriander and parsley to scatter over the crushed potatoes, only to be told by the first boy in line: “No green stuff, please.” But then, a few minutes later, another child smiled up at me and said: “It’s like restaurant food.”
Many people thought I was mad to give up running the kitchen at Nopi. How could being a school chef offer anywhere near the same excitement or challenges? As it turns out, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever taken on as a chef.
Working at Nopi was a dream come true. I started as chef de partie on the fish section, and within two years I was given the opportunity to run the kitchen. I felt part of a family, but there is no getting around the fact that the hours in a professional, commercial kitchen are long and unsociable. I needed a break to get my energy back, so I took some time out. Then I heard that Gayhurst community school in Hackney was looking for a chef, and it got me thinking. There is something special about cooking for children, about having the chance to talk to them about food. A few weeks later, and here I am, trying to convince small children that fresh fish is tastier than fish fingers.
At the heart of any kitchen, be it in a high-profile restaurant or a school that serves lunch to 500 children daily, it is the team that makes the difference. I learned that at Nopi, and it’s my first priority at the school, too – to work with the staff and develop a team of skilled people who have passion and knowledge for what they do. With skills and energy, we don’t need a huge budget to cook really good food.
So far, we’ve introduced the children (gently, I hope) to a little za’atar on their beetroot; we are stir-frying all the vegetables separately, so they remain crunchy and taste of themselves. It’s been a steep learning curve, too – kids seem to really like couscous, and prefer their cucumber in ribbons. Last week, we put pots of pea shoots on the tables for the bigger kids to snip and scatter over their meals themselves. I can already tell that the children are interested in what they are eating, and I believe that’s a sign we can make a positive change.
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