6 minute read
Peeling the Onion
Written and photographed by Michael Crouch, Executive Chef at Bistro 1860
Maybe it wasn't the ideal plan I had embedded in my mind. My path to where I have landed seems unlikely and by chance I suppose, never truly knowing what it was that life had in store, what my calling was ... IS. Perhaps I still find myself wavering. Possibly, there may be a much larger means that I have yet to discover. The fact of the matter is I became a chef, whether I like or not. And here I am.
I was born on the 22 of January in 1976, a beautiful, perfect boy (according to mom) in small-town Shelby County, with hopes and dreams as far the mind can reach. Endless possibilities, only time will tell. In my very early years in grade school, I knew what I was destined to be: an archeologist – traveling through the temples of Peru and the ancient ruins of Egypt, taking on the Nazis, and eating the brains of monkeys in India. Certainly, this could very well have been related to me watching Indiana Jones films over and over and over again. I mean, hell, I already owned a whip, so I felt I was more than qualified for the position. All I needed was Short Round and a fedora.
Thirty-three years later, here I am, digging into my soul with my calloused hands; patiently waiting for the next radical idea to execute; flaunting my skills and declaring my dominance to all; justifying I'm worthy of my craft; doing what hasn't been done, yet has been done over and over; and desperately anticipating that my undeniable capability will carry me as far as I so desire it will.
Chef Michael Crouch. Photo by Andrew Kung.
The strain of this business is extreme to say the least. Fatality rates are high, too high. Just check your newspaper for restaurant closings. Anyone can open a restaurant. The thought of being unsuccessful in your "dream" will make you weep like a child; don't let anyone tell you differently. You start with nothing and build and build over the years to make something your own, the thing that represents you to the very core. Along the way, you attempt to keep yourself from selling out and doing the thing that makes you who you are. It’s what makes your blood rush.
Insomnia is the demon of all. Mind cluttered with the grind – love, ideas, my dreams, and my fears – not knowing which one should take precedence. I drift in and out as my mind fights to see who reigns supreme. Rest seems unlikely. I've always been a dreamer. The possibilities are endless. Compassion. Dedication. Determination. They are ploys my heart has put upon me. I have no choice but to execute it fearlessly and flawlessly. Time will tell.
Don't underestimate me. I do other things besides cook and drink whiskey. I have the most beautiful family one could ask for and am certainly gifted in that arena. My daughter Stephanie keeps my heart pounding and ecstatic. My folks are simply the crème de la crème. My friends that support me, my village, are strong. Hobbies … I love art (drawing, painting, etc.), however, I haven't the time anymore. Giving birth to my food has drained all my creativity to focus solely on that, something I'm cool with. Perhaps I'll pick it up again one day.
Photography is an outlet I have become more than fond of to showcase my cuisine, my travels, and times with those who bring me joy. I, like many others, use social media to show a meager portion of my life … filtered appropriately. I love to travel, particularly in the Caribbean, but truly anywhere. It's a must to clear my mind and unwind and to breathe something besides the fumes blazing from the stove beneath my chin. The flickering fluorescents. The grinding of the ticket machine endlessly spewing tickets to the floor. The noise. Beads of sweat rolling down the small of my aching back. Breaks are not an option, so seeking out time for peace and harmony is a must.
I pull myself from restless sleep and slip my clogs on my feet much like you. I'm not one to say my day is more difficult than yours … only different. I am not every chef; I am only me. As much as my grind consumes me, it does not define me. My character defines me. Being a father defines me. Being a son, a brother and a friend define me. Cooking is certainly not my life. It's truly my passion, but the relationships with friends, family, and the people I love always will retain top billing, as they are the ones who build me and have molded me into the person I have become.
My most extraordinary parents have shown me what hard work, passion, caring, and love can bring you. My exquisite child Stephanie has taught me that nothing matters but her smile and that I am her role model, her biggest fan, and her hero. Her happiness is what mends me when things trouble my heart. She is the ultimate reason for my determination to be great. I'd be remiss if I didn’t say there is also another responsible for my day-to-day prosperity. Brutus is his name, the one who ALWAYS smiles and rejoices at my arrival after a strenuous day … my dog. He is truly this man’s best friend.
In earlier years, I found myself in this business to be reckless, to say the least. Fastened in the world of chaos and ignorance, this business can bury you up to your neck if you let it. It's an amazing second family of friends and support … as all of you know, it's the people that you REALLY spend your life with. It is also these same people that can become the devil’s lair, pouring its sin down upon you and breaking you, making you squeamish and regretful at every turn. All too prevalent in social media, fake personas, and others’ lives and dreams are painted in the minds of all; don't let them question your own. You must stay on the course and fight the fight. Better yourself only for you and you alone. I am always in a state of continuous adjustment to realign what's best for me and what matters in my life. I’ve learned that we must learn to be ourselves and block out the rubbish that feeds our minds.
Today, I am a different man, a different chef. I have seized my fist around who I am. It is a constant process that has, at times, exhausted me to the core. I found that there is a way around the poison that can infect your mind and your ideology of what being in this business means. There is love, and there are family, friends and happiness. I won't lie to you and tell you that this business is great for normalcy, for relationships or for an effortless way of life. I can tell you that it is a way to create, a way to extend ego and a way to pour your heart into something when it has nothing left to pour. Breaking is not an option. There is no time for that. Cook your ass off. Love people. The rest will crumble into your famished hands.
Located at 1765 Mellwood Avenue, Bistro 1860 is open for dinner Monday-Saturday. For more information or reservations visit bistro1860.com or call 502.618.1745.
