Free Generation Chef by Karen Stabiner Page B

the hot line, fewer executive sous than sous, fewer chef de cuisine jobs, and, perched on top of the human pyramid, the executive chef or, definitively, the chef. The difference for this generation was that more contestants jostled for a spot at every step of the way. It had become crowded enough at the entry level for both teachers and students at CIA to voice their concern: In 2008, the teachers’ union issued a no-confidence votein the then president, citing slipping academic standards, and three years later a group of students filed a lawsuit charging that the school was accepting too many students, diluting the program in the process. There was no guarantee that someone Jenni admired would be looking for a sous, and would choose her, at the moment she decided she was ready, but there was surely the promise of plenty of competition: One national study reported that the number of culinary school graduates had increased by 25 percent between 2006 and 2010; in 2013 the number of schools offering culinary programs was up 30 percent over 2009. It might be slightly early to try her hand at a sous position, but it might not be a moment too soon.
    Jonah worked on his sales pitch even as he hoped he was right about her potential. Jenni had an undergraduate degree in business because she wanted to own her own place someday, so he appealed to her entrepreneurial side. Yes, coming to Huertas was a speculative move—but if it worked, she was that much closer to her goal. She could end up running this kitchen when he opened a second place, and that was invaluable experience for a would-be owner, experience even he didn’t have.
    â€œThis is different,” he told her. “If you want to open your own place, honestly, this is more useful to you than working at a place someone else opens. It’s a relevant learning experience. With security.”
    She said yes. Jonah had his sous chef—and she could start at the end of March, which gave Jonah time to work through the menu with her for what now looked like a mid-April opening.
    He made one more kitchen hire, for continuity as much as anything. Juan Peña had been a porter at Maialino until Ruvi, the restaurant’s master butcher, had taken him under his wing. Juan could butcher anything, which meant that he could learn to make sausage. He could also assemble pintxos, help out in a prep crisis, or fix electrical problems. When Jonah found out that he’d left Maialino because he neededmore hours and had not landed well—he was working as a parking attendant—he offered Juan a job being Juan, whatever that turned out to mean at Huertas. He was Jonah’s talisman; when Juan walked by the pass on his way to being capable, in one way or another, Jonah felt that much more confident.
    As for the rest of the kitchen staff, he’d wait until right before the opening and save a little money by procrastinating.
    Jonah had a good balance in the front of house, though he hadn’t planned it that way. Luke was his first hire as general manager, another high school baseball player who might have pursued sports had he not injured his knee, once in high school and again in college, requiring him to find a new outlet for his competitive drive. He’d had a tutorial in high-end European hospitality at Le Cirque, but Jonah’s restaurant offered equity and a promotion and the chance to have some less formal fun. Luke was twenty-six, too young to turn down a promising adventure.
    Then Jonah heard that Nate was looking to make a move, and it made sense to talk to him as well. He was Luke’s polar opposite—a twenty-four-year-old with dual degrees from the University of Pennsylvania’s school of arts and sciences and from its Wharton business school. Nate had opened a take-out and delivery food service for students as part of an independent study in hospitality, started at USHG after graduation, and was blunt about his approach to his work: