Cuisine Couture Takes Kuwait: Camel Flu and Secret Gardens

“Like a secret garden as I shuffle through this broken town…” –Dave Matthews Band, Snow Outside

Yesterday- Tuesday- marked exactly two months for me in Kuwait. How did I celebrate this “anniversary?” Flat on my back, victim to what I’ve satirically dubbed the “camel flu.” I didn’t really understand the lost-in-translation explanation offered by the doctor nor have I ever experienced anything quite like it before, so I figure this label is as good as any. Without gifting you with all the gory details, I lost my voice, got a whopping cough in its place, ran a fever, had a blocked nose, and pretty much wanted to lie in bed exhausted all day.

The “camel flu” kept me confined to my house for four days, and those four days are the closest I’ve come to throwing in the proverbial towel. The illness probably did account for most of the downward spiral. Those of you who know me are aware that I have a pronounced fear- phobia, if you will, of doctors and hospitals. I won’t bother you with the how’s and the why’s of that, but pretty much any doctor’s visit devolves into a panic attack. Compound that reflex with a foreign health clinic and it’s a recipe for disaster. I’ve been told that public government clinics here can be quite pristine, but for whatever reason I experienced a noisy, chaotic building stuffed with people. I walked up to a reception window where a fragmented exchange that I half understood resulted in my forking over 5KD and receiving a paper with a number on it, akin to what you would get at a deli counter. There were a series of rooms with doctors in them, and over each door was a sign displaying which number they were now servicing. The sign blinked my number 15 minutes later. I took my seat outside one of the rooms attending to my series of number and waited for my turn. I took a seat at a desk in front of a female doctor and her assistant. She briefly asked me my symptoms, took my temperature, and looked in my throat. About 2 minutes later, she was dismissing me from the room with a paper filled with four prescriptions that I was supposed to bring to the pharmacy. The “pharmacy” was a series of windows- kind of like those you would see at a box office or movie theatre. Two were open and one pharmacist worked behind each. Once more I was given a number and the number of the person being helped was displayed over the window. A quick calculation left me feeling helpless- there were at least 80 people in front of me. The waiting area was rows of metal chairs, like an uncomfortable gate at the airport. Infants screamed, people coughed, and those unable to find a seat stood around or leaned against the walls. I waited for over an hour feeling claustrophobic, nauseous, and downright lost. When they did call me, I made sure to get clear instructions about the doses; I had the pharmacist write in English numerals how many times and when to take the prescriptions each day. I’m still not exactly sure what cocktail I’m on (I do recognize an antibiotic, augmentin), but I do know I’m diligently taking 3 sets of pills and one oral cough suppressant. Even when the clinic was behind me, the ensuing illness continued to test my resolve. Obviously I felt physically terrible. However, no job to go to left me with too much time alone with my thoughts as well. My confidence nose-dived and I longed for my home.

It wasn’t just the illness, though, that made me consider jumping a plane and never looking back. I know that “a series of unfortunate events” is already a copywritten book title, but it certainly would sum up some of the occurrences the past few weeks. For starters, someone I trusted- considered a friend even- took a significant amount of money from me. Dishonesty from a stranger is one thing, but being stolen from by a purported friend is betrayal. I understand retrospectively I could have exercised better judgment, but still. Moreover, I’d been having significant trouble with my visa. With my residency permit due to expire in three days, I found that all three of my contacts in the company were MIA. The two responsible for my visa turned out to be out of the country entirely and my recruiter was sick himself. I found myself growing increasingly frustrated and doubting the people I had to rely on for security in this foreign place. Finally, I have had some setbacks at work recently. Mistakes and errors and par for the course- and learning experiences. In and of themselves, they wouldn’t be enough to make me question my place here or consider walking away. But with everything else, it was like adding kindling to the fire.

All of these thoughts continued bouncing around in my head, even this afternoon as I roamed around my apartment myself. I felt so excited on some levels, but other things felt downright hopeless. Finally I changed into pants (as the shorts I was wearing wouldn’t have been acceptable), got my purse, and decided to go for a walk. Sick or not, fresh air (albeit dusty) would do me good. I left my front door, went in a direction I hadn’t gone before, and just started walking. At first, I recognized some of the stores as ones I’d seen from the car on the way home. I gradually made my way to the main traffic circle leading to my neighborhood. And then, just beyond it, nestled behind some buildings, I saw the greenery of trees protruding from behind a disheveled apartment building. Intrigued by the fauna in the dry milleiu, I walked closer for a better look
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Gardens! A Middle Eastern Central Park! Right there, in the heart of my neighborhood, was a perfectly maintained beautiful park filled with walkers, runners, and children playing. Despite the heat and dessert climate, there were grass, trees, and flowers. My eyes settled on gravel paths running through the gardens and benches for people to sit. I set out on one of the paths, passing exercisers and people just out for a stroll. There were people of all cultures, a microcosm of the neighborhood. “I can come walking here in the mornings or my day off!” I thought to myself. I had found a new little niche in my urban block.

This, I realized, is why I can persevere- thrive, even- for the rest of my time in Kuwait. I had no idea that the garden was there. I had wandered up and down the dusty streets of my neighborhood numerous times without ever encountering the sanctuary before. It took me a full month to discover the gardens, but now that I had I felt as though a whole new world had opened to me. I had only walked down one of the paths- which one would I walk down tomorrow?

And so it goes with Kuwait. Sometimes it feels confined and limited. Overbearing and daunting. And then beauty emerged when- and where- I least expect it. I don’t know what beauty will emerge in the days ahead, but those gardens reminded me that there can be unknown wonders around each corner.

“You are like a secret garden as I shuffle through this broken town…” –Dave Matthews Band, Snow Outside

Cuisine Couture Kuwait: Food Photo Schoot

While reading a behind the scenes book on one of my favorite TV shows, Top Chef, I was shocked to learn that there is an entire production team devoted to “food styling.” A group of skilled individuals plate contestants’ submissions in a way that makes them aesthetically appealing and camera ready. This shouldn’t have surprised me; the show is filled with food close-ups that make audiences salivate. Of course there are people responsible for making that happen. I just had never really thought about it before.

I was recently reminded of how important food photography is last week at Figs. I have been working with our chef and technology supervisor to launch an application that will allows diners to place orders directly from an ipad. In Kuwait, photographs of the choices are crucial when a guest decides what to order. They commonly pull up instagram or look at the pictures already on the menu. As a result, the restaurant decided to have a corresponding photograph for each dish on the ipad. We had pictures of our regular menu items, but none of the chef’s specials that will be debuting in the weeks ahead. Thus, the restaurant coordinated a “food photo shoot” so that we could have professional images of these offerings.

Luckily for me, the timing of the photo shoot aligned with the beginning of my “training” in the kitchen. As you know from my past entry, I pretty much forced my way into the kitchen. I surreptitiously observe and memorize until someone entrusts me with a task or I feel comfortable (and courageous) enough to start working on something myself. Thus, I had a front row seat to the many preparations required for the shoot.

Work began weeks before the actual shoot took place. Once Chef Andy, our corporate chef, conceptualized his new specials, he had to introduce them to the rest of the chefs. He had to teach them how to cook them and assemble them. He would stop by the restaurant, call them together, and hold demos in the back of the kitchen where he prepared dishes in front of him. I saw that this was also an opportunity for Andy to solidify his ideas and troubleshoot potential problems. A dish would be one way in his mind, but actually preparing it resulted in alteration and improvement. For one thing, he could see what was actually possible in the Figs kitchen. He could get feedback and bounce ideas off of the other chefs as well.

In the days prior to the shoot, the chefs from Figs set to work prepping the ingredients that would be necessary to craft each dish on the day the photographs were to be taken. Garlic had to be cleaned, vegetables had to be meticulously diced, and meat had to be portioned. At least twenty plates were scheduled to be presented and each plate had several components including the main piece, such as a protein, sides, and garnishes. The task proved mighty, and work like dicing and chopping was something that I could help with.

Sunday, my first official full day of “training” fell the day before the shoot. This time proved especially exciting. On that day the chefs prepped as much as they could ahead of time. The meat was actually seasoned. Components that wouldn’t perish were prepared, labeled, and refrigerated. I shadowed a chef who worked his way down the list of plates, making sure all of the parts for each plate were accounted for so everything was readily available for the actual plating on the day of the shoot. For example, I got to make jalapeno pesto that would go along with a veal chop. When I finished, it we put saran over it, labeled it, put it with other items that would go on the plate, and put in the refrigerator. The next day we could simply take it out and plate it.

One thing I learned that a photo shoot depends on how the food looks, not necessarily how it tastes. The pesto, for instance, needed to look especially green for the pictures. Therefore, we added green peppers to the mix, something the recipe itself didn’t call for. Although the taste proved slightly different than what the guests will ultimately receive, the visual looked outstanding.

Monday, the day of the shoot, was a full production that took the entire day. A professional photography team arrived in the morning to set up a screen and lights. They sanctioned off part of the restaurant and allocated a carefully lit table for photographing the food. The best chefs from all of the company restaurants were on hand to help in whatever way they could. Each one was armed with a chronologically ordered list of the plates. The corporate chef, Andy, led the charge, announcing which plate they would work on. Ingredients were removed from the refrigerator and ready for use. Andy had an ipad with his own pictures of each plate so that everyone could see how it should be assembled. He and a team patiently perfected plate after plate before sending it out to the photographers. It went on like this for hours: plate after plate being captured in all its glory.

At 4:00, all of the servers and waitstaff, even those on their day off, arrived. Figs ensures that each server knows all about every dish so they can explain it to the guests. When every plate was photographed, it was set aside on one long table. When 20 or so plates had been completed, the head chef from Figs, Samir, would explain each and every dish to the servers. They stood around taking notes and asking questions. I stood with them. Even though I had observed all of the dishes, I wanted as much education as possible. Once we got through a group of dishes came the truly amazing part- tasting!!! For “educational” purposes, we dug into each plate. We did three sets of dishes in total.

Around 7:30, the shoot came to a close with the presentation of desserts. I watched with pride as my red velvet soufflé was explained to the servers; as you recall, that was a dish I envisioned on a whim and wound up making it to the actual list of specials! As an extra treat, Andy let me plate a serving of it myself and take photographs of it. They took professional photographs as well, but he thought that was a way I could be a part of the shoot and celebrate something I’d played a role in creating. (And I got to eat that serving!!)

I came to Kuwait to learn, and I certainly learned a great deal throughout the process. I saw a whole behind-the-scenes aspect of the food industry that I had not really considered before. So often we focus on taste and eating, but food is, in fact, an industry. A restaurant transcends the dining experience; there is marketing, costs, sales, and yes… even photo shoots! !”

Cousine Couture Kuwait: All Things Sweet

My favorite New York City bakery embraces the motto “life is uncertain- eat dessert first.” I subscribe to this theory whole-heartedly and consider dessert of the highest priority. It therefore seems appropriate- perhaps even destiny- that my kitchen time at Figs began with desserts.

When I considered making the move to Kuwait, one enticing benefit was the opportunity to get time in an actual restaurant kitchen. Although I accepted a position as “guest relations manager,” I made it clear that I desired exposure to the line, whether during work hours or on my own free time. As I settled in here though, I realized that might be harder than I thought. For starters, I had to learn my own job first. In addition, our own restaurant is still new. The chefs are still mastering the recipes and it seemed selfish to get underfoot and ask for them to turn around and help me. Finally, there is the company beaurocracy. Permission must be obtained for a non-chef to have time in the kitchen.

However, I did not lose sight of my dreams and objectives. Last week I started broaching the subject of kitchen time again. My manager OKed my presence in the kitchen, so long as it didn’t interfere with busy times for front of the house and the chefs graciously told me I could start spending time there observing as long as I understood they couldn’t take time to instruct me specifically. On Sunday, a relatively quiet day in the restaurant, I donned a hairnet and spent two hours in the kitchen quietly standing in the corner, out of the way, watching the chefs work. As the minutes elapsed, I gravitated toward the corner where the pastry chef was at work. I stumbled upon him making the bases for the chocolate tarts, one of my favorite desserts, so that immediately caught my attention. When he showed me the list of projects he had ahead, I knew I had to stick around and see how it all unfolded.

For at least a half an hour, I stood just behind him and watched every move he made, trying to memorize the techniques. As I started feeling more comfortable, I tentatively approached and motioned to the bases that he was filling with chocolate by hand, as if asking if I could mimic what he was doing on other bases. He nodded and before I knew it I was slipping on gloves and swirling chocolate into the tarts. When all the tarts were filled, he pointed to the list and said, “Now we do Nutella swirl.” I didn’t question him- if I was now included, I was going to stand right by his side, do what he said, and memorize every detail. The next hour and a half elapsed like that: working from one dessert component to the next. I mostly watched him work, but occasionally I would do things like measure out dry ingredients, mix melting butter, or pass him something he needed. In total I wound up watching/assisting with: chocolate tart bases, tart fillings, s’mores mousse cake, red velvet pancake mix, and nutella garnish.

I began surreptiously returning to the kitchen each day during lulls in service. I found myself returning to the pastry corner; I felt strangely at home there after Sunday. The chef was quiet, humble, and patient and the corner offered a few square feet of refuge in a tight, loud kitchen. I did thinks like help create a “raspberry caviar.” Tuesday was especially thrilling. I had an idea for a dessert and the pastry chefs were excited by the notion as well. They helped craft a batter that would fit my vision and within 20 minutes a red velvet soufflé was emerging from the oven. I enjoyed that immensely because I felt that they valued my ideas. More importantly, though, I felt like I was a part of a team. It had taken all of us to execute it and we had all played a role in what turned out to be a cool product.

Today (Friday), I slipped into the kitchen once more. (This time they even handed me a chef’s coat!) I assisted the pastry chefs in his list of prep tasks: making the outside bread for the fried apple pie, stuffing the pie, chocolate garnish, and toasted graham cracker crumbles. However, the turning point came when the two guests actually dining in the restaurant during that lull time ordered desserts. I watched him actually assemble the desserts to order and memorized his every move. A few minutes later, another order came out of the blue. I looked at him and he gave me the small, almost undetectable nod. With his help, I actually started assembling my favorite dessert of all: campfire s’mores. And before I knew it, a plate that I’d put together myself was on its way out to a table.

Usually Friday dinner service is overwhelmingly chaotic, but for some reason today was much slower than usual. I found myself taking an order for campfire s’mores from a table and I thought, “Hey, I know how to make this!” As soon as I punched the order, I put on my hairnet and ran into the kitchen so I could be there by the chef’s side when the order receipt came out of the machine. When it did, I looked at him, he nodded, and I started assembling the plate all by myself. It has many steps from heating a mousse cake, to decorative icing pipings, to sprinkling and layering graham cracker crumbs, and my favorite: caramelizing a pillow of marshmallows with one of those pastry torches! But I succeeded, picked up the plate, carried it to the front of the house, and presented it to the table. I felt proud as they oohed and ahhed, took pictures on their phone, and devoured it: all with no idea I’d created it.

To my surprise, the rest of dinner service unfolded like that! The front of the house remained slow, so I overheard, or was almost always the one taking, the dessert orders. As soon as I had one, I would punch it, run to the back, don a hairnet, enter the kitchen, and be there with the chef to pick up the receipt. At first he stood right by my side making corrections here and there. But by the third or fourth dessert, he was standing back or working on something else entirely. I was on the line doing dessert dinner service!

The highlight of the evening came when a table of four received dessert menus. I went scurrying over because I legitimately love recommending desserts; I genuinely love them and enjoy sharing my enthusiasm with the diners. They asked me which I preferred and I didn’t hesitate to them all about why I’m obsessed with the campfire s’mores. They ordered it on my recommendation, I punched it, and ran back into the kitchen. The chef watched from afar, but I made the entire plate by myself. I then presented it to them. They were in awe of the design, taking pictures. But the father and daughter especially went CRAZY for it. A few minutes later, when standing near another table, I heard them calling me. “Excuse me, this was sooo incredible. This might sound strange, but can we have another one?” “OF COURSE!!” I said with a huge smile on my face. I punched another order, went back to the kitchen, and executed what was probably my best plate of the evening. Even the chef took note, saying, “Whoa! A perfect campfire s’mores!” Sometimes the marshmallows have a tendency to slide off the top, but this one was perfectly layered. I brought it back out to the table, they squealed in delight, and relished every last bite of a second order of dessert.

So it’s been just over 5 weeks here and I’ve achieved one of my major goals: be on the line for dinner service! And for DESSERTS!! Don’t worry, I’m not slowing down… this has just given me more motivation to keep chasing my dreams. Special thanks to everyone who taught me, accepted me, and trusted me with a blow torch.

Life is uncertain, eat dessert first. Heck, even go for seconds.

Cuisine Couture Kuwait: Social Networking

From the second a child enters the world, adults start to teach them one cardinal rule: Don’t talk to strangers. Well, when you uproot the life that you know and journey by yourself to a foreign country, you pretty much have to throw that adage out the window. By default, everyone is a “stranger” and if you want human interaction you have to talk to them.

I’ve been slowly acclimating to daily life in Kuwait: moving into an apartment, having a daily schedule at work, identifying major roads, and learning where things are. However, what has stood out as missing is a social life. If you’re reading this blog, you’re probably a friend of mine. So you know how deeply I cherish our friendship, how blessed I feel by your presence in my life, and how important the people in my life are to me. I miss you all. At the same time, if I am going to be here for a long time, I need to develop a comradery over here. In addition to offering a new culture and terrain, Kuwait has numerous people just waiting to be met. I just need to find them .

Before the American chef left three weeks ago, he graciously permitted me one epic freak out. We used to go for daily walks around the mall as a break, and on the day of his departure he sensed my high levels of anxiety. He gave me the entire hour to voice all of my concerns to him so that we could hash them out together and have him leave me in a place of confidence. My major concern came down to the social aspect of my existence here. I felt like I had left behind such amazing people at home and I knew that just a job here wouldn’t be enough for me. I needed friends; I needed Kuwait to be a place where I belonged. His advice proved interesting. He admitted that as he was only here for a short period of time, he hadn’t expended energy into meeting people. At the same time, he had observed Americans working at American chains such as Texas Roadhouse and Shake Shack. He told me to just start going around the mall, observing who was where and introducing myself. Sometimes human nature gets a bad rap, but he told me to have faith in the people around me and to know that most people here are in similar situations.

While lurking in restaurant doorways and approaching strangers might sound creepy, I set to work on his suggestion the very next day. I paid visits to Texas Roadhouse and Cheescake Factory and surprisingly found a wonderful assortment of characters. I suddenly had contacts in my phone and people who would wave to me when they saw me pass by in the mall.

Those contacts then seemed to give birth to a multitude. One man from the Roadhouse put me in touch with a woman from the American embassy, and before I knew it I had scored a somewhat exclusive invite to an embassy gathering. That was a week ago. While the event was exciting because American soil offers certain pleasures from home not readily available in a traditional country I loved it because of the people I met. It felt like home: families playing, American colloquialisms, people who knew cities I did. My social circle grew in three small hours and over the next week I met up with two people I’d met there. I even got to return this past Thursday. And when I walked in, I had people to meet up and laugh with.

I’ve also started using Figs as a place to meet people. While it might seem forward for a host to ask people where they are from or what brings them to Kuwait, I have been met with nothing but hospitality. One such encounter yesterday brought me in contact with a couple from California. They gave me information on their running group- mostly Americans- who meet Saturday mornings to run along the seaside. They invited me to start joining them. This morning I found myself lacing up my sneakers and going to meet up with 20 people for a 5k along the marina. Ironically, the couple I met couldn’t make it, but there were 20 other kind people ready to embrace me in their stead. I had a wonderful time and now have another weekly activity to look forward to.

And of course, there’s Jumanah, my friend from the airport. When my flight to Kuwait was cancelled and another one wasn’t scheduled until the following night, I noticed a girl at the counter, about my age, looking calm, cool, and collected. I gradually approached and listened to the conversation; in straightforward syllables she was calmly changing her ticket to one on Qatari airlines. She explained to me that this had happened to her before, there was another flight to Kuwait on Qatari, and United could switch our tickets complimentarily. Before I knew it, I was sitting on a flight to Kuwait chatting away with her. Not only had she gotten us on the other plane, but some sweet talk had gotten us seats together with an extra one in between us for our stuff! She told me all about Kuwait, herself, and what to expect when I landed. We disembarked together, exchanging contact information in the process. We’ve seen each other regularly since then. She took me to the market one day and we’ll do brunch tomorrow.

She also came to see me at Figs which afforded me the opportunity to meet one of her close friends- Bibi. Bibi works at Cos, a clothing store below Figs, so I started visiting her daily. Bibi took me to the local aquarium one evening as well as a Lebanese restaurant on the beachside for dinner. She, too, broadened my circle of friends, introducing me to Anfal. On the day we went to the aquarium, Bibi had to work until 6pm. She knew Anfal went to a local pool and texted me her number so that I could be in touch with her. Writing this now, it seems strange that I called someone I didn’t know on a whim. And a day later she was on her way to my apartment and I was climbing into a car with someone I’d never seen or met before to go to a pool. But Anfal was awesome and we had a day of sun, tanning, and girl talk. She brought along her friend, Mimi, so I ended my day with two new friends that are truly awesome, fun people.

And, ironically, I still feel connected to all of you at home. In many ways, I feel as if the distance has brought us closer. I feel closer to you and more honest with you when I sit down to write these blog entries. I have learned not to take communication for granted as well; every minute I spend talking to someone is precious and I don't want to waste a single word.

So, kids, talk to strangers. I’m not advocating approaching sketchy men on the street or walking down dark alleys at night in search of people. What I am suggesting is that you keep your eyes and ears open to the people around you. The world not only has opportunities to see new places and have new experiences, but to meet incredible individuals. I came here to learn about food and experience a new landscape. I’m finding a far richer experience than I ever imagined though because of the people I’ve encountered along the way.