Lamb and Fennel

Jules Renard once said, "The only man who is really free is the one who can turn down an invitation for dinner without giving an excuse."

I learned to cook at the feet of a giant of a man, whose appetite for food was approximate to his appetite for alcohol. I say at his feet because he had a tendency to knock you on your ass if you did something wrong. He believed in giving oneself to the discipline and that apprenticeship was a form of slavery.
My first chore, every morning was to make a soup. At first they were little more than broth with vegetables, but I learned how to make creamed and velvet soups soon enough. When I could make a palatable soup from just about anything I was permitted to move onto sauces. As I moved up the hierarchy, I was also permitted to drive his stinking drunk ass home on occasion, and to buy him booze and fix his drinks. He taught me how to torment dishwashers, trick the bar staff into giving us more wine than we needed and to weasel out of a tab.

In Druidic folklore there was only one way to end an apprenticeship and that was to kill your master. With this in mind I began to encourage him to spend more time at the bar. I massaged his ego into believing I worshipped him and that I wanted to prove myself by doing dinner alone. I began to take over the responsibilities of scheduling and the buying and selecting the cuts to be served. I pushed my imagination to the limit to come up with complimentary flavors and my timing became a thing of wonder. I began to school my own apprentice in soups and sauces and when I was ready I challenged the master. After a fifteen minute meeting with the owner I was cleaning out my locker and I passed by the bar on my way out. The fat old bastard was there, a beer in one hand and a waitress in the other, and he smiled at me.

If I had the chance I'd like to thank him for what he taught me, not about cooking but about life. I'd take him out for a beer and tell him what a difference he made in my life. And when he got up to go to the bathroom I'd slip a laxative into his drink. That would wipe the smile from his face.