- Le Pigeon’s Up Front Kitchen
It seems Portland restaurateurs can’t resist moving their kitchens towards the front of the house. In some cases, this means a simple window opened upon the frenetic staff slaving away for your dinner. In other cases it means a front row seat at a kitchen bar or chef’s table, face to face with the folks firing dishes.
I have to say I’m impressed with those operating beneath the curious gaze of diners. From my brief experience as a line cook, I understand what it’s like to be hit with the stress of a dinner rush and what a relief it is to swear, yell, and/or go crazy in the privacy of the kitchen. Chefs in open kitchens don’t have this luxury, and I have yet to be seated at a kitchen bar where I’ve witnessed someone lose it. Which makes me think maybe all Gordon Ramsay’s paroxysms of profanity are a bit of a put on. (Of course they are.)
As an eater often seated alone at kitchen seats, however, I’ve been faced with a certain dilemma more than once: Do I, or do I not, chat with the prep cooks and chefs working sometimes just two feet away from me?
Occasionally the decision is easy: The chef says “Hello” and the doors of communication are open. In other circumstances, it can feel like you’re on an awkward date. This is tempered when you’re dining with a companion, but alone there is no escape.
I’m curious (as ever), Blogtownies. How do you feel about the art of conversation at an open kitchen? Do you talk to the chef or shy away? Awkward or hot?
Back when Le Pigeon’s space was still Colleen’s, it was pretty enjoyable to chat with Colleen while she made dinner. Just her and one server. Now, Le Pigeon’s a lot busier than Colleen’s ever was, but they’re still pretty friendly.
My own kitchen experiences? Oh yeah people routinely lose their shit. I’ve not seen it in an open kitchen yet, but frankly why shouldn’t it? It’s their workplace; they’re entitled to their emotions.
I have trouble believing that PAC ever got his hands dirty doing anything involving manual labour.
My dad owned a restaurant for a while, and it had an open kitchen. I used to love sitting at the counter and watching people cook. And the chef/cooks seemed to enjoy it, too. They would casually chat with patrons as they cooked. It probably made them feel less sequestered, and they were able to receive praise firsthand.
@Graham
Line cook, bartender, barista, fish processor, fish monger, CNA, housekeeper, landscaper… Need I continue?
@ROM
The “praise firsthand” thing is a great point. Aside from the occasional compliments to the chef relayed (maybe) through waitstaff, and the amount of tip-outs received from waitstaff, it’s tough for kitchen staff to get that immediate positive reinforcement.
@PAC: Fishmonger? In the Shakespearian sense? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fishmonger#Fi…
@PAC: From what I hear, those tip-outs to the chef are rarely much positive reinforcement anyhow. I think this is a cool idea, though; I’m no professional, but I like to hang out with people while I cook.
Original Hotcake House on Powell wouldn’t exist without it, I imagine.
Is it insensitive to offer your hand to the chef for a handshake?
@Matthew Stadler
Insensitive? I’m not sure. But I do wonder if there are any health and safety issues? Trying to shake a chefs hand at a kitchen bar would definitely cross the awkward line for me, unless they instigated it.
I think it’s a neat idea. As an incredibly awkward person, I like having something to look at as I fumble through a shared dining experience. If the window seats are all taken (and the go-go dancers are off for the night), an open kitchen is the next best thing.
If I were a chef, I wouldn’t enjoy the fishbowl aspect of being “on display” as part of a restaurant’s ambiance, so I prefer to not have to worry about their feelings while I’m eating.
Also, I want my food to more or less magically appear before me.
@rich bachelor:
I once witnessed a bunch of kitchen turmoil at a place in Sacramento. A few of us were sitting at the bar next to the kitchen. Something had happened and the chef stormed out..only to come back for a second and stick a piece of paper under the ticket rail. The zoom on my camera helped me make out that it was a cartoon drawing of a guy in a chefs hat…with both hands flipping the bird. Eventually it got thrown away after we kept giggling about it.
@humanclock: beautiful.
I worked for a couple years at a place with an open kitchen. One day, our cook came in after a night-long cocaine binge. She was combative, and didn’t really feel like cooking food. This turned out to be an incredibly busy day, too.
So I actually dispatched someone to go get some vodka for her. Hell; we all had some. She was howling about how all these worthless fucks (who were mere feet from where she stood) weren’t getting any fucking food out of her, and…Nonetheless she kept cooking until the lunch rush was almost over.
Ultimately, I finally suggested meekly that perhaps she could be just…maybe…a little quieter. She responded by taking down her pants and showing me her ass for a good long while before she left, never to return.
And for any of you at Cafe Lena that particular day, I hope you enjoyed the show.
Ah! Here it is…
http://www.humanclock.com/etc/ticketrail.j…
One of the cooks turned it over not long after I took the photo. We finally got another cook to turn the piece of paper back around…to which he saw it for the first time and then threw it away in disgust.
I’m really glad the Red Robin kitchen I worked at in ’89-’93 wasn’t an open kitchen. Sheesh.
Le Pigeon? Totally Awkward.
The best/worst “open kitchen experience” I’ve ever had was when I found a Kleenex in my salad at Le Pigeon. Wadded up amongst the greens.
First, for the record, I’ve been to Le Pigeon at least 20 times. Love fois gras. (sorry) Love interesting meats. (TWSS)
But Kleenex? Not so interesting. And here’s where the open kitchen experience comes in.
I asked our server to come over where I discretely directed her to the Kleenex. She immediately apologized, grabbed the plate, explained they use tissues to dry the lettuce, and comped my meal.
All good. No big. Still hungry since no replacement was brought. I guess we can get a whiffies instead.
But about 60 seconds later, I saw Gabriel Rucker and the other chefs looking over at my wife and me. With sour looks on their faces. They just kinda stared. All gap-jawed yokel-like.
Then they whispered amongst themselves while looking right at us. I raised my eyebrows in a friendly manner to say, “Hi. Hey. How are you? Yeah, it’s an open kitchen. We’re right here. We can see you. All’s good, dude.”
And instead of saying sorry or even, “Hey, how’d you enjoy my snot rag?” They whispered/stared.
Awkward…
Maybe they thought we were trying to scam a meal? Or perhaps they were overcome with joy that I found Le Pigeon’s missing Hep-C Kleenex? Dunno.
So my wife and I went back to chatting, paid for her meal, and left.
Got a killer wiffies that night. Haven’t been back to Le Pigeon since.
Idle chit-chat? No.
Offer thanks? Yes.
Ask a brief technical question? Yes.
Shake hands? Gross. No.
I’ve cooked and served and many, many who cook are severely anti-social, happy to be removed from the public. Just leave them alone. They’ve got a lot of things to keep straight and a lot of snouts, anuses and pubic hair to hide in your food.
My Le Pigeon experience was walking in one day to a nearly empty restaurant and asking for a table. They said we needed a reservation, the earliest being 2 hours from then. That was my Le Pigeon experience. Haven’t been back, probably won’t.
I find it strange that they would use tissues, which will clot up on wet surfaces and leave behind residue.