Chef John Bubala having thyme of his life
NEW CAREER | Chef John Bubala brings on-the-job lessons into classroom
Chef John Bubala owes his career to an envelope stuffed with five bucks and a packet of Kool-Aid.
Bubala was entering his fifth year of college and going nowhere fast when his father sent him this curious "care package" as a means of cutting off financial ties.
(John J. Kim/Sun-Times)
Bubala left school and got a job working the line in a few national franchise kitchens, eventually launching a successful culinary career as chef/owner of Thyme, Timo and Baccala restaurants.
After closing Timo in 2007, he joined the staff of Kendall College to teach a new generation of cooks, some of who were probably rationing concentrated drink powder like he had 20 years earlier.
For most folks, a time of transition is stressful, but as far as I could tell, Bubala, who was teaching a class on stocks and sauces, seemed to be having the time of his life. No doubt having free weekends helped, but his class seemed to fuel him.
I wanted to know why an independent chef who called his own shots in Chicago for 10 years was so giddy. And selfishly, I'd also hoped to learn a thing or two about improving my chicken stock.
Over a couple of his five-hour classes, I learned stock tips in spades (see sidebar), but what I didn't expect to learn was how the seemingly rarefied confines of culinary school also could be a practical primer on life inside the hot line of stoves.
Bubala, who didn't attend culinary school, seemed like an unlikely messenger. He learned cooking through stints at Morton's, the Four Seasons and Marche.
While his class starts with textbook technique, he brings his experience as a recent chef-operator to the mix.
"He isn't just teaching stuffy French classics," says David Wolf, one of Bubala's students. "He shows us what it's like to be in a real kitchen."
Bubala doesn't lecture for hours or do many demos. He operates the class exactly like an afternoon prep in one of his restaurants. He purposely omits methods or measurements, providing only ingredient lists and basic technique guidelines in his lesson plans to encourage independent thought and creativity.
On one of the nights I was there, the class worked on juices and oil infusions. One of their tasks was to make a New Orleans-style muffuletta olive spread. Some students made a traditional antipasto mix that could be spooned on bread, while another group pureed the ingredients, creating a gorgeous, silky, spicy salad dressing.
Bubala's style allows for mistakes. That's where the real teaching kicks in. When an aromatic carrot sauce breaks for Wolf and his partner, Bubala shows them how to save it with an emulsion of cream. When a hollandaise comes out gritty, he helps a student realize the burner was too high. When an expected yield of red pepper juice comes up short, he works through on-the-fly kitchen math with a student to adjust a recipe.
He also has fun, often ripping off a batch of pop culture quotes from movies like "Cool Hand Luke" and "Full Metal Jacket" during class.
"I think all chefs should take an opportunity like this to give back," Bubala says. "You get few chances in life to witness the direct consequences of your actions, but the classroom is one of them."
Though, for Bubala, it's not all give. Caught up in the demands of running a restaurant, he rarely had time for experimentation.
"I always admired [Ferran] Adria [chef of Spain's El Bulli]," says Bubala, who plans on opening another restaurant someday. "The guy takes summers off to do research."
In one class, Bubala had students infuse ginger, cinnamon, basil, cumin and other spices into separate pans filled with reduced carrot juice. Then, he told the students to mix everything together and reduce the sauce. No one in the room, including Bubala -- who was using the exercise to show the students how to add butter to a sauce -- expected the mixture to taste good.
The result turned out to be an ethereal hazelnut-perfumed sauce, a surprise lesson potentially informing Bubala's next restaurant.
Culinary schools have come under fire recently for providing what is essentially an expensive vocational education that some contest is best learned on the job.
At Kendall, students pay as much as $600 a credit hour and can incur thousands in debt, with hopes of securing a job that pays as little as $7 an hour.
It turns out a guy who learned in the kitchen of hard knocks is exactly what culinary school needs.
Michael Nagrant is a Chicago free-lance writer.