My Internship with Lidia Bastianich By Linda Carucci The following essay was published in the Women Chefs and Restaurateurs (WCR) newsletter Spring 2003 I'm one of the many charter members of WCR who has sat back with pride for nine years, watching our organization grow. When the WCR scholarships are announced each year, I am occasionally asked to write a letter of reference for an applicant. As I do so, I get vicarious thrills just thinking about the possibility of interning with an esteemed colleague or continuing my culinary education. During cooking school, back in 1984, I did a three-month stage in Mexico at a dysfunctional French-owned resort, memories of which still color my admittedly warped view of our industry. I certainly wasn't anxious to insert myself back into that world. But something told me a WCR internship would be different. So I allowed myself to entertain the preposterous notion that after a 15-year hiatus from working in restaurant kitchens, I would apply for a WCR internship. Soon after the scholarships and internships brochure came out last year, I drew a bath one evening, eased myself in and shopped through the pages, letting the idea of shutting down my cooking school for a week or so seep into my entire body. Three internship opportunities appealed to me. In the interest of time (they each required a separate essay), I narrowed my choices down to two. The hardest part of the application process was getting three letters of reference from my "employer." I've been self-employed for eight years, so I had to be creative. I thought about what the selection committee would be looking for, and made a list of colleagues who could convince them I was the best fit for the prospective internship. I only needed three letters, but I solicited fouróand asked for them a week earlyójust in case one didn't come through. As it turned out, I had to remind one person who'd completely forgotten, and ask another to recreate the letter on company letterhead. Each reference addressed different issues and skills, so I sent in all four letters. In my essay for the WCR/San Pellegrino Cucina Italiana internship, I wrote about a culinary question that comes up often when I teach home cooks how to season food: Over the years, I've wondered why Southern Italian cooks, like my Grandmothers, season to taste with just salt, while in cooking school, French chefs used salt and pepper. I have asked this question of several respected colleagues in our industry, and it seems as if they always dismiss my inquiry without much consideration. As a cooking teacher, this drives me nuts. After reading Lidia Bastianich's books and watching her on PBS, I suspected she'd have the answer, and I was hoping for the chance to ask her. This internship would be the perfect opportunity. Stephanie Pearl Kimmel from the WCR scholarship committee called me the day before I was due to leave for New York to attend the James Beard Awards this past May. She told me I'd been selected for the internship with Lidia Bastianich. Incredulous, I picked up the phone and called her restaurant, Felidia, to see if I could make a reservation to eat there and meet Lidia while I was in New York that weekend. The only available opening was lunch on Monday. Who knew when I met Lidia that afternoon that she would go on to win the grand prizeóBest Chef in the U.S.óat the Beard Awards that night? As an Italian once said to me, I'd fallen into the middle of a cheese. Since I live on the West Coast, it made sense for me to time my internship in November to coincide with the WCR conference on the East Coast. Besides, it was truffle season. My initial concerns about the expenses of airfare and a hotel in New York were mitigated by the generous support of San Pellegrino, the internship sponsor. WCR executive director Melissa Mershon and Lidia's terrific assistant, Miguelina, collaborated to find me the perfect hotel on the Upper East Side of Manhattan within walking distance of Felidia. I was all set. It took me longer to decide which knives to pack than it did to fill the rest of my suitcase. I slipped five favorites into my knife roll, and ended up using all but the serrated blade. The bird beak was a fortuitous addition that served me well in a cardoon-peeling episode at Felidia. I took two sets of chef whites (I wore one while the other was at the laundry near my hotel: $9.50 per chef coat!) and a civilian outfit fit for the dining room. The best decision of all was to pack two pairs of sturdy, black shoes. Miguelina was my contact at the restaurant, and as my internship week approached, she spoke with the sous chef, Todd, and offered me a schedule of 9 to 3 each day. That served as a guideline for me to plan my free time in Manhattan. I arrived at Felidia Monday morning at 8:45 and met Todd. Nice guy, hard working, he seemed genuinely glad that I was there. He introduced me to the only woman in the kitchen at the time, who happened to be an intern from the CIA. She gave me a tour, got me an apron, showed me the lockers, and invited me to share hers. She had had the flu all weekend and the doctor ordered her to stay in bed, so she was going to leave as soon as she finished her mise en place. I prepared myself for the inevitable female-bashing this would engender from the guys in the kitchen, reminiscent of my days in cooking school when the chefs would torment the few remaining women in the class whenever one of us was out sick. But at Felidia, it never happened. Todd insisted she leave right away and take as much time as she needed to get better. Incredible. As the rest of the crew arrived and I peeled broccoli rabe, I became increasingly aware that the way Todd treated the intern was not an aberration. With Howard Stern blasting in the background, while the guys and I did mise en place for lunch, they rationally discussed how they would cover for one of the cooks whose wife was about to deliver a baby any day. Not an ounce of resentment or an air of attitude. Amazing. Having solved that problem, the talk shifted to a topic that convinced me I was in a dream sequence. One guy asked another about which dentist he used. They all chimed in with the name of their favorite dentist "on the plan." I couldn't keep silent any longer, "Lidia actually gives you guys a dental plan?" What a place. Suffice it to say, there are myriad more benefits to working at Felidia. That first day I cancelled my dinner plans and worked until 8:30 at night, not wanting to miss a thing. I felt as if I were in a jewelry box, surrounded by gems. The executive chef, Fortunato, in cahoots with Simon on the pasta station, made sure I tasted every pasta that went out, "Put an extra piece in the water for Linda." Whether it was the pear and Pecorino ravioli or the espresso pasta filled with pumpkin, my taste buds danced with every sample. Lidia had come through the kitchen earlier that day and invited me up to her office. Between lunch and dinner prep I spent a few hours with her discussing how I could get the most out of my week there. Within the first fifteen minutes, she answered my culinary question. (Southern Italian cooks often season the cooking oil with peperoncino, so there's no need to add pepper at the end.) Lidia gave me carte blanche to observe any department in the restaurant and to trail her whenever she was around. She even tried to take me on a photo shoot with her under the Brooklyn Bridge that day, but I stayed behind so they could fit an important prop into the only remaining space in the car. I found great humor in being eclipsed by what must have been a 150-pound pumpkin. Lidia included me in meetings with staff, filling me in on enough background information to make me feel like one of the family. Because it had been so long since I'd worked in a restaurant, I was curious about the point of sale and computerized reservations systems. She encouraged me to spend some time in the front of the house, and told me a little about the strengths of each of her staff there so I could make my own decision about whom to observe. I alternated three days in the kitchen with two days in the dining room. It was illuminating and fascinating, and everyone I spent time with was generous and helpful. The frosting on the cake was listening to Lidia's keynote address at the WCR conference in Cambridge just two days after my internship. As she shared her elegantly simple motto, "Be prepared and professional," it dawned on me why those gentlemen working in her kitchen are such a credit to our profession. Clearly, the mutual respect and high standards at Felidia filter down from the top. Still, I wonder if there could be more to it than that. The slice of life I experienced during my Felidia internship makes me wonder if these civilized new attitudes in the kitchen are typical of the new generation of chefs. Or are things so different from my first internship 19 years ago simply because Felidia is a woman-owned restaurant? Apparently, I have some new questions to ponder. Maybe I should apply for another internship. Copyright 2002, Linda Carucci. All rights reserved.