‘The perfect egg’ - essay Financial Times
Once Sheila Struyck (1965) worked as a sous-chef in a grand café. She is now an investor and non-Executive Board member. Throughout her corporate career, a job in the kitchen has always been the escape-route to gave her mental freedom in her work. Now plan B has become reality.
translation of essay in FD Persoonlijk (the dutch equivalent of Financial Times), 20-05-2021
"C'est joli, this is a beautiful dish.” We don't get to hear that often and Marie is rightly proud. Bright orange and yellow carrot cylinders and round shapes of daikon, descending in size, lying on a smooth puree. Marie, my 22-year-old Canadian classmate, is happy: "As a vegetarian, I can finally show that you can cook with vegetables at Michelin level." Today is the "exam blanc" (mock exam), a practical for the final, the last hurdle before we can call ourselves “Chef”. We are allowed to develop the starters ourselves. There are several mandatory components: a sauce or jelly, bread or filo pastry, daikon and "the perfect egg" - an egg that is cooked at 64°C for an hour. We must use at least 12 ingredients from the list. And you are not allowed to smuggle anything extra into the classroom. Getting the plate to the table of the diners on time - not too early and not too late - is a crucial part of our training. Every minute late costs you -2% on your final grade. Marie finished on time. And then the Chef looked at her plate a few more times in amazement: "But where is the egg? You will not pass the exam like that."
A year and a half before, I was given a tour of Le Cordon Bleu, a 125-year-old culinary institution on the Seine, after seeing the film about Julia Child, one of the first TV chefs, on the plane. I had already decided to leave the management board of a French multinational company. My heart leapt for joy when I was saw all the students working so intensively in the kitchens.Could that be me after all these years? At 55 I would be the oldest by far, yet there would never be a better time than now. . I still had an apartment in Paris. Being a non-Executive Director and venture partner at an investment fund is not a full-time job, so there was time.
In the eighties while I was a student Business Administration, I worked as a sous-chef for an old-fashioned Chef in a grand café. I really enjoyed the job, but after academic studies you weren’t expected to "work with your hands". I started at P&G in the marketing of Punica - a fruit juice with no culinary aspirations- and I forgot all about that satisfaction I felt after a day of working in the restaurant. When it’s finished it’s finished, no work to take home. However, the thought that I could still work in the hospitality industry gave me courage and was liberating for the thirty years that I was climbing the corporate ladder. Knowing that you can leave a job without falling into poverty made me mentally independent.
On the Executive Committee Board of Europcar, where I worked in Paris, I was increasingly drawn into the political entanglements and lengthy meetings I would have walked out of earlier. Then Jasper, my partner, asked: "What more do you want from that corporate ambition game? I hear you complain a lot about your work. You get energy from nature, from being in the kitchen and working with young entrepreneurs. Why don't you spend more time doing that? ” As if stung by a wasp, I responded to this uncomfortable question: “What do you mean? Am I over the hill? ” After years of striving for higher and better, slowing down and striving for less ambition and status feels like being on a downhill trajectory. It feels like losing. But after yet another week of jetting around Europe for meetings, I got curious. Would it be even phantomable? To say goodbye to a life with a full-time job. Then what am I going to do? Cook? I can't do that anymore with my lousy arm, can I? "
After a riding accident a couple of years ago, I have been unable to bend my right wrist. With my diminishing knife skills, the idea that I could always pay the mortgage by working in the kitchen disappeared. In retrospect, with the loss of my plan B, both my mental autonomy and thus the fun at work diminished. If you operate autonomously in a company, you spend less time entertaining all the questions and suggestions of all those people who also ‘have just an opinion’
Would I find my mojo behind "the stove"? Remko, my cousin, allowed me to do an internship for a day in his restaurant THT. "It will be a quiet evening, only three hundred guests," said the Chef. "Here are the six entrées you are responsible for." Of course, I made a lot of mistakes. When I started to lag as well, the Chef rolled up his sleeves, encouraged me and helped me out of the mess. Exhausted and happy, I drove home after cleaning. "The chief gave you a double shift. He apparently wanted to see if you would persevere. Don't give up now, "Remko laughed when I called to cancel the second day of internship. My arm and shoulder hurt too much. But now I knew that it was mainly because of my lack of routine and technique.
Arab millennials
Essay in Dutch Financial Times. Click here for PDF
The Culinary Arts programme of Le Cordon Bleu Paris started in the first week of 2019, right after my last day in the boardroom. In ill-fitting uniforms, we are behind the cookers for the first practical lesson. No introductory round, no group discussion about your motivation. We start with the brunoise cutting of vegetables: dice of exactly three millimetres. The teachers are Chefs from Michelin restaurants. They often started at the age of 14 and have never followed a management course. They have managed difficult teams and characters throughout their careers and feel the pressure of a demanding clientele every day. The craft and art are transferred in a master companion system. "The great thing about my profession is that I will learn new things every day until I die,” says 60-year-old chef Poupard happily.
My classmates come from all four corners of the world. Arab millennial with 20,000 followers on Instagram. Chinese who speak four words of French and English, but are the first to serve a beautiful plate. And a Russian who sold everything he owned for this opportunity. The rhythm and discipline in the school kitchen are just like in a restaurant. All preparations are made in silence and utmost concentration. Everything is made and prepared in advance, so that you can devote all your attention to preparing your - of course pre-heated - plate.
All materials and ingredients are laid out in a set place, so that you cannot miss them out when the high pressure strikes. You work as efficiently and quickly as you can: "If you hurry when you have time, you have time to spare when you are in a hurry." Then the buzz increases. The plate must be served on time. You keep hearing: "Bon" or "Oui, Chef". A confirmation that you have heard the question or command and that you will carry it out. In the kitchen, there is only one boss. You don't question the Chef's plan and you don't carry out the assignment differently because you think your ideas are better. A concept that would be a nice change in many other businesses too!
Back to our mock exam. Marie was so busy with her vegetables that she lost sight of the egg, the actual assignment. I did not finish everything I had come up with on time, the egg is hidden under a tired white foam. A disappointingly pale and messy plate. It is a lot less elegant than the pictures with nicely laid out plates that I had collected on Pinterest. "What is the hero of your dish?" Was the only question from the chef. "Where is the crunchy toast to dip in that delicious soft egg yolk?
Uncomfortable questions
These are uncomfortable questions. All the Instagram food porn pictures had led me to abandon the essentials. I had been tempted to show off and to "pull out all the bells and whistles", so that as a result nothing was really done properly. It was certainly not a "perfect egg."
For the exam I now had to come up with something that could be done well despite the pressure and time limitations. How do I bring the best out of the egg? Every Chef knows the answer. Use all five flavours: sweet, salty, sour, bitter and umami and different textures such as crunchy, unctuous, soft, foam and liquid. So, a creamy fennel puree as a bed under the egg, sautéed carrot as an orange flower next to the pickled radish rings. Firm foam of mushrooms as a cap, with a decoration of a "caviar" of cider vinegar and the fine green of the fennel. A golden-brown ring of toast. On the plate a line of pangrattato (breadcrumbs in garlic butter, allspice and lemon zest). The Chef's uncomfortable question had brought a great improvement. This resulted in a diploma and a high Chef's hat. And an improved version of my plan B: I can always work in the kitchen.
Uncomfortable questions create room for reflection and strategic changes. It takes courage to ask them, they tend to elicit a strong reaction, from looking away with a stupid smile, to a startled or angry reaction: “Why don’t you mind your own business”. As a supervisory director and investor, you are by design lagging in time and information on the management board. Therefor you must be mentally autonomous to ask those uncomfortable questions. Having nothing to lose makes you fearless. It is having a plan B. Knowing that if your uncomfortable question gets you into trouble on the job, you can survive without it. That gives the ultimate freedom.
translation of essay in FD Persoonlijk (the dutch equivalent of Financial Times), 20-05-2021