(Downtown Moose Jaw Saskatchewan, credit: https://businessinfocusmagazine.com)
For the most part, I grew up in a small Canadian town called Moose Jaw. It is a small city located in the prairie province of Saskatchewan, enclosed by farms and wheat fields and, for lack of a better phrase, culinarily it was a deserted wasteland. But, it has always brought me great comfort and solace as my home. The most memorable meals I had were those made by my grandmother Cecile. A small, French Canadian woman, who I learned later on in life, had more experience in restaurant kitchens than I had known.
To my younger self, she was the woman who made the best meat pies, butter tarts and breads. Basically anything she tried her hand at, you knew you were in for a treat. She also wrote recipes in such perfect handwriting that were near impossible to decipher. She had passed away when I was still young, so I didn’t yet realize the gravity of this loss in my life. But, I did know that she wanted someone in our family to enjoy cooking as much as she had.
(Breads I made a year ago: Left – Candied Walnut and Chocolate Challah Loaf; Right – Chocolate Brioche with Candied Hazelnuts)
I graduated high school with no real aspirations of what I wanted to do with my life, I just knew that I loved eating. But, that wasn’t much of a career option. Even though I mostly grew up in my hometown, my father’s job kept my high school life interesting. Him, my mother and I had moved to several different provinces for his work (which my pubescent self had groaned about at first, but later learned to enjoy the culinary tour it took me on).
So, after graduating in Nova Scotia, I took some time and moved back to Moose Jaw, worked in a hotel, and fell in love with hospitality for the next year. I was a host, a bartender, and a glorified omelette maker on Sundays. It was my adolescent wonderland.
(The dining room in the Grant Hall Hotel on Moose Jaw’s Main Street. Credit: granthall.ca)
After my time away, my father had received news that he would again be moving with his work to a new province, this time to British Columbia. I decided to tag along, because my desire for new experiences was not yet fulfilled and I craved for more than what Moose Jaw could offer. So, I did what any young person who didn’t know what they wanted out of life would do, and applied for Culinary School in BC on Vancouver Island. It should be noted that I didn’t fully intend on actually committing to schooling. But here I am, writing about one of the better decisions in my life.
(The Golden Hinde. Vancouver Island. Credit: Keith Freeman photo August, 2006)
Culinary school tickled my brain in the best ways. It challenged me, even demanded that I not waste the opportunity I had been given. So, I stuck with it—out of a class of 20, by the end of the first year, only 5 of us were left, and as of today, only 2 of us still work in the industry. An odd ratio, some might say, but for the passionate and seasoned, it makes sense.
(Dishes I made at culinary school, left: Beef Carpaccio with Roasted Red Pepper Rouille, French Baguette Crisps and Dressed Arugula, right: Creamy Prawn Bisque with a Poached Prawn, Crème Fraîche , Micro Basil and Chives)
On my first day of school, I met the first cook who I resonated with and who challenged me to be better than everyone else, Logan. How did we connect? What did we discuss? What was it that brought together 2 young men, who wanted to dive into this career head first with no remorse?
Well. He forgot his pen. You can’t take notes in a class with a “No Cellular Devices” policy, without a pen. So I like to tell myself that I’m the reason he is the other graduate still in the culinary world, because of my blue $2 pen. On that day, my journey into the underbelly of society had just begun.
To be continued…
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