Making food, part 2: Chef's Life

For those without an encyclopedic knowledge of Italian pasta geometry, anolini are tiny circular pasta stuffed with a thick mixture of breadcrumbs and parmesan cheese. They are usually served in a deep bath of stock, or in brodo. It is classic Italian comfort food, the type of dish you might crave when struck down by a winter cold and they are inordinately popular on osteria menus in the Parma region.

The task of making them is interesting enough for someone like me, who had come to Italy to learn about food. For the first ten minutes, that is. However, after after 16 hours, having fitted in a busy lunch and dinner service in between eight hours of anolini production, the task became a herculean effort. I survived this ordeal, and many others, during my month staging in a professional kitchen, through the amazing work ethic and great company of my chef and front of house colleagues.

I came to Italy in late 2018 to study food culture at the University of Gastronomic Sciences (UNISG), without having a particularly well thought out career plan. The UNISG website states that it “turns out gastronomes” who can “drive food production and consumption” to help create a more sustainable planet. All very impressive, but can they chop an onion?

Friends and family in the UK are always enquiring with genuine interest how I'm getting on at “cooking school”, or informing others by way of an introduction that im “going into the restaurant business.” I can confirm that neither practical cooking skills nor restaurant management feature in the gastronome syllabus.

This misunderstanding says a lot about people's perception of the food industry. The profession has been elevated beyond recognition by programme such as Masterchef the Professionals, The Final Table and Chef’s Table. It is impossible to turn on the TV without seeing attractive chefs in pristine whites, plating up to dramatic music.

It is, afterall, the sharp edge of food, where Michelin stars and global “top 50” rankings have created a celebrity culture. Those at the top have been turned into demi-gods, in the same league as top footballers and rockstars. If asked who the movers and shakers in the food world are, I am pretty sure almost all of us would rattle of a list of famous chefs. But how many could name an artisan producer? or a farmer?

Left to right, line chefs: Marco Cervi, Armir Kaja and Luca Zavaleni

I had never planned to work as a chef, but since I haven't had a specific plan since finishing my course in July - other than a foolhardy intention to “get some hands on experience'' - when I was thrust an apron and chef's jacket on my first morning at Antica Corte Pallavicina, a hotel, restaurant, and culatello producer, near Parma, I made no complaint. After all, what could be more hands on than experiencing life at the coal face of one of Italy’s most famous farm to table restaurants?

The restaurant at Antica Corte is ordained with a coveted Michelin star. These annual dongs, handed out as a marketing stunt by the French tyre maker, come with plenty of valid criticisms. But, most people begrudgingly recognise, it is the best internationally regarded stamp of excellence there is.

The beneficiaries and victims of this system however are not, as envisaged by Michelin, the hungry travellers of Europe’s A roads hoping not to suffer a mediocre lunch. It is the young, ambitious chefs, aspiring one day to enter the global premier league. A recent instagram post advertising for a Junior Sous Chef role at a two star restaurant in the UK says “Michelin Star background, essential.” I am told that such advertisements are commonplace, even for entry level positions. As a result, graduates from the world’s top catering schools give away months of hard work for next to no financial reward, in order to get a foot on the Michelin ladder.

At 32, I was bringing up the average age in the Antica Corte kitchen up quite considerably, whilst simultaneously plummeting the level of ability and experience. Before coming to UNISG I spent six years in the City of London, advising corporates on large transactions and lawsuits at a financial PR firm. The transferable skills with working in a kitchen are approximately, zero. However, when it comes to an attitude to hard work, the young chefs I worked with could rival any ambitious graduate in the corporate world for unwavering professionalism.

The Antica Corte business includes a one hundred acre farm that produces vegetables, pigs, cattle, and fowl, enabling the restaurant to be almost completely self sufficient. Unlike conventional restaurants, therefore, where ingredients are brought to order, the farm does the ordering for you. The entirety of my first day in the kitchen was spent down stairs in “the bunker,” washing and cutting the last of the season’s tomatoes, turning them into a passata that could then be frozen and used throughout the year. When a cow or pig is slaughtered, the whole animal gets brought to the restaurant to be processed by chefs into different dishes. Whilst this gives the restaurant plenty of brownie points with the Slow Food crowd, the pace of work in the kitchen is anything but slow.

The working day starts at 9am, although those keenest to impress are ready and dressed in the kitchen long before. Luca Zvaleni, a 20 year old line chef, started working at Antica Corte during his summer holidays whilst training at the nearby Istituto Alberghiero di Comacchio. The head chef spotted his ability and offered him a job upon graduation. As well as the never ending list of kitchen tasks, he and the other line chefs have to manage and train a revolving door of interns or “stagiaire,” ensuring that every task - from cooking to cleaning - meets the restaurant’s scrupulous standards.

It is thanks to him and his colleagues that I can now brunoise a carrot, make a silken pomme purée and a rich red wine reduction, as well as some more niche skills, like jointing frogs, making perfect tortelli d’erbetta, and of course anolini. The most important lesson that I will take from the experience however was how to organise yourself and team to work with maximum efficiency. In the kitchen, there is no trade-off between speed and diligence: every task must be done fast and perfect. This meant that large tasks, like the production of a month’s worth of anolini, would be broken down into many smaller and simpler (and more boring) tasks; and why I spent a straight six hours of my life rolling anolini filling into foot long, inch wide, sausages, so that the right size piece could be quickly broken off and placed on the pasta sheets.

Two cow’s legs arive in the meat fridge at Antica Corte

By 1.30am on “anolini day” delirium had set in which only increased the level of noise and laughter coming from “the bunker.” The team had grown throughout the evening as each line chef finished their section for dinner and came downstairs to join the production line. As we approached the end of the filling Kristian, the sous chef, came running downstairs with bottles of Franciacorta that were opened to raucous cheers, followed by a celebratory cigarette outside. As is often the case with monotonous tasks, knowing that you are part of a bigger collective effort can make rolling sausages extremely gratifying.

It is hard to think of an industry where so much hard work is put in by so many with so few at the top reaping the rewards. In this respect, actors, musicians and sports stars probably are the best comparators and role models for those entering the industry. I enjoyed my time in the kitchen and the steep learning curve it provided and have the deepest respect and admiration for those that day in, day out produce restaurant food at the highest level. The industry however is fraught with issues, from overworked and underpaid staff, to the huge amounts of food and plastic waste created trying to manage a varied menu and unpredictable demand. But, its glitz and glamour mean that it is brimming with talent. This talent, and the industry’s famously competitive nature, will ensure that it continues to adapt and thrive.