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Critic Turned Cook Makes/Doesn't Break Mayo

Critic Turned Cook follows former Seattle Post-Intelligencer food critic Leslie Kelly on her journey away from the keyboard and into the kitchen as she trains at various Tom Douglas restaurants. Take it away, Leslie!

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The signature Sea Bar sampler includes a rotating selection, including kimchi-topped Dungeness crab. Photograph courtesy of Tom Douglas restaurants

"Don't break it," one of the cooks at Dahlia Lounge warned as she handed me a pitcher of oil to pour into the Robot Coupe, after she asked me to finish a batch of Russian dressing.

I started to sweat, struggling to keep the stream steady so the yolks wouldn't separate from the oil. "You should be able to hear when it's done," she said.

There are a million details that are second nature to most cooks, but because I was so green, I asked endless (obvious) questions.

"What's it supposed to sound like when it's done?" I wondered.

While there's no such thing as a stupid question, there's really not a great time to ask when everybody in the kitchen is focused on prepping, getting ready for service with the kind of swift efficiency of a ballroom dancer.

Later that shift, after I had successfully made the spicy dressing, I got another emulsion project. The chef asked me to make remoulade for a prawn appetizer to be served at a private party. He gave me creative license to do my own thing, so I pulled a recipe from memory, based on a New Orleans–inspired rendition from a Tom Fitzmorris cookbook I adore. A mayo-based version I beefed up with shallots and capers.

When it came time to serve the prawn cocktail, I gave the server a description of the sauce. After I reeled off the ingredients, she asked: "Can't I just tell them it's tartar sauce?"

OK, if that makes it easier to swallow.

Somebody in that private party later made the strangest special request I've ever heard: "He wants a salad, hold the lettuce." Which, naturally, sparked a saucy discussion about the crazy special requests diners make. Allergies are one thing, but uber-picky people should not bother going out to eat was the general consensus, but far from the company line, which is to accommodate any reasonable request.

I wouldn't change a thing about the food I watched being plated, especially from the Sea Bar. I convinced the sous chef to show me where he ferments his killer kimchi that goes on top of Dungeness crab. I could eat that dish all day long. But I'm certain there have been customers who've asked for the kitchen to hold the kimchi.

What do you think? Is the customer always right? Or does the chef know best?

About the author: Leslie Kelly is a Seattle-based freelance food writer whose work has appeared in the (now defunct) Seattle Post-Intelligencer, The Commercial Appeal in Memphis, and The Spokesman-Review. She's currently working in the kitchens of Tom Douglas restaurants and blogging at Whining & Dining.

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