I recently watched a fictitious movie about a young cook in Southeast Asia, toiling away at her family’s open-air noodle shop, who gets recruited to work under a very prominent chef, only to learn that all that glitters is not gold. In one scene, high profile clients appear to be doting on the chef as a celebrity, while his team whispers in the background that the clients can’t tell the difference between mediocre food and his great food; they just hired him for the bragging rights. The film was an interesting social commentary on the accessibility of high-end, innovative cuisine, and the status of celebrity chefs in the eyes of their peers versus those they serve.
In the past 10 years, we’ve seen a similar rise in the celebrity status of mixologists — bartenders elevated to the status of royalty because they were the first to barrel-age an Old Fashioned or sous-vide a Manhattan. And while it’s understandable that those studying under them would hold them to some esteem for passing on the knowledge, how does that prestige translate to livable wages, access to health care and safe work environments for those they employ? Whereas those with means are more than happy to shell out hundreds, or even thousands of dollars for a seat at an iconic restaurant or bar, how much of that high price is based on the intrinsic, economic or artistic value of food itself, versus sheer exclusivity of access to that particular chef or bartender?
Growing up, dinner time was sacred time. I didn’t always appreciate this, and there were many nights I forgot to let my parents know I had made other plans, and boy, did I hear about it. Dinner time at my house was about sacrifice — the time and energy my parents sacrificed every day, working for the money to put food on our plates, the sacrifice of what little free time they had which was spent preparing each meal so we could all eat together at a reasonable hour, the sacrifice my sister and I were expected to make as teenagers, being home at 5:30 p.m. every night to show our appreciation for my parents’ efforts by partaking, religiously, in this family tradition. And though my parents went out of their way to make sure each meal was both delicious and nutritious, it didn’t matter so much what was on the plate as the revelry with which it was consumed, and the punctuality by which we attended. Meals were to be respected.
Having worked in several high-end and/or beachfront restaurants in Waikiki, I came to realize many people saved up their whole lives to come to Hawaii, and maybe even eat at one of those restaurants just once. Some were celebrating once-in-a-lifetime occasions — weddings, anniversaries, graduations — but many had simply dreamed about tasting a lifestyle they’d only seen on TV or read about in magazines. With that realization, my service job was suddenly imbued with an urgent need to make each of their experiences unique and memorable, at least for the guests who were receptive. And while some preferred just to be left to their own social media devices, my favorite guests were always those who trusted me as a professional, to help guide them through a curated gastronomic or mixological experience.
The benefit of the doubt is an elusive animal for all those in sales, from food to clothing to cars, but is particularly prevalent in the service industry when our guests often do not perceive us as true professionals. True, there are mere order-takers who walk among us. However, for those of us who made the deliberate decision to call this our career, and spent thousands of hours, “off-the-clock,” studying, traveling, honing our craft, are we not masters? They say it takes 10,000 hours of dedication and practice to become an expert. Break that down to 40-hour work weeks, without vacation, and that’s roughly about five years. That’s longer than many doctors spend in medical school. Yet servers and bartenders in the United States still depend on tips as a majority of their income, and many chefs and line cooks can’t afford to eat at the very establishments where they, themselves, work.
My parents’ sacrifices may have meant they couldn’t afford many extravagant meals like the ones served in those oceanside restaurants in which I worked, but what they, and this industry, instilled in me is that the value of a meal is more than how much, or how little you’re willing to spend on it. It’s quality time with loved ones. It’s sacrifice of time and energy by the people who prepare it. A beautiful meal is an expression of love. For professionals, this translates to an investment of education, books, exams, training and travel by servers, bartenders and chefs so they may create inspired, unique experiences for their guests. It’s the blood, sweat and tears of farmers and fisherman who rise before the crack of dawn each day. It’s the customs, flavors and techniques passed down through generations. Having grown up in these islands, a good meal is my favorite way of experiencing and sharing the richness and diversity each culture has to offer. And though exclusivity alone may be worth the price tag for some, I feel validated each time I partake in a professionally procured meal, that if I want these experiences I hold dear to continue, I have to be willing to pay for them.
Though buying locally produced products are often the more expensive option, more bartenders, chefs and patrons are becoming aware that with enduring effects of climate change, it’s a cost we’re willing to shoulder. As support for locally made spirits grows, more investments can be made to improve their quality and sustainability.
Koolau Distillers, makers of Old Pali Road Whiskey, have recently launched Tradewind American Dry Gin. With hibiscus as one of eight signature botanicals, this Hawaiian-inspired, locally distilled gin sings of floral notes that pair harmoniously with Ruby Red grapefruit, in this farmer’s market-inspired, Kula strawberry and gin twist on the classic Sea Breeze.
Kula Breeze
1 ounce Tradewind American Dry Gin
2 ounces fresh-pressed Ruby Red Grapefruit juice
1 ounce fresh-pressed pineapple juice
0.5 ounces fresh-pressed lime juice
0.25 ounces Simple Syrup (1 part sugar to 1 part water)
1 Kula strawberry, sliced
Directions: Muddle Kula Strawberry slices in shaker tin. Add remaining ingredients and shake over ice. Strain over fresh rocks into Collins glass. Garnish with two pineapple fronds and Kula strawberry slice.
Alicia Yamachika is a bartender and craft mixologist, who currently is the key account manager at Southern Glazer’s Wine & Spirits on Oahu. Follow her on Instagram (@alicia_ yamachika). Her column will appear every second Wednesday in Crave.
