Fond memories at The Southern Inn restaurant, Lexington, VA

I read today that The Southern Inn Restaurant suffered a total loss from an early morning fire. I am so sad. We read Rockbridge Weekly article and told the staff The Southern Inn was my first cooking job; the kitchen where I learned most of my skills, where I discovered my passion for cooking, where I thrived under the guidance of terrific chefs and cooks I worked with. The Southern Inn Restaurant always feels like the home in which my professional self grew up and nurtured. Paraphrasing They Might Be Giants, it is "the little bird house in my (chef) soul". Since we moved to Richmond in 2001, we've been back a few times to visit Lexington and to eat there. I can't wait for George and Sue Ann Huger to rebuild and reopen the Southern Inn Restaurant. My heart goes out to them and the current staff.  My mind, meanwhile, races back to these fond memories from June 1999 to July 2001. 
http://southerninn.com/ *btw, the photos below are not from my time at the Southern Inn Restaurant. I was busy working and did not have a digital camera, either.

While everyone partied like it was 1999 (it was '99), I was in the basement of The Southern Inn restaurant in Lexington, Virginia, preparing hors d'oeuvre for the Y2K New Year's Eve party going on upstairs.

I was cursing myself over a hotel pan of white chocolate cheesecake that wasn't pretty at all. I had forgotten the cheesecake in the oven half an hour too long the previous day and, in a hurry to go home, I put the cheesecake straight into the walk-in fridge where, overnight, it punished my abuse by cracking itself open in several places, crater deep. I tried repairing the open wounds by smoothing a hot knife blade over the surface. No luck. The cracks mocked me for my day-old carelessness. I drizzled raspberry coulis to make it pretty, but it looked like blood had spewed out of those craters. Dang it! I was on my 14 or 15th hour and all I had to do was set up the desserts on trays so the wait staff could pass them a little after midnight while guests were toasting the year 2000. I was screwed.

In the kitchen above, I heard the distinctive, boisterous laugh of my boss, mentor, executive Chef George Huger, the owner of the restaurant. I heard him calling my name as he walked across the kitchen above my head and soon he ran down the stairs saying, "Hey Ellie, you're still here? How are the sweets coming along?"

I must have looked so guilty, being caught red-handed (literally) standing over a cheesecake massacre. Not missing a beat, George walked over to the cake, cut a little piece off the edge, tasted it, grinned and said, "Mmm, taste good. Let's get some filo shells and pipe these babies in them! C'mon, chop, chop!"

Just like that: problem solved. Half hour later, hundreds of tiny filo shells filled with the "now-raspberry-swirl" white chocolate cheesecake, topped with fresh raspberry or shavings of white chocolate (we didn't have enough fresh raspberries for all of them) arranged themselves so sweetly on silver trays and were a hit with the guests. Lessons learned: 1) don't mess with physics/cooking principle just to rush home, 2) when I do mess up, better come up with a creative solution than trying to force the mess into the original intention.

That was my first large catering job experience in the US. I had helped my Mom catered weddings for hundreds of people in Java, where my Mom still operates her catering company. I had been working for only 6 months at the Southern Inn restaurant, my first real cooking job (meaning I got paid!). 

Hubby was going to W&L Law School, he was away in CO for a summer internship when I applied for the cook position that June. I had been waiting tables at a neighboring restaurant, The Sheridan Livery Inn, the previous school year, but decided it was time to start a career. As I said to George during the job interview, I knew how to cook some Asian food and simple spaghetti dishes (with red sauce or with vegetable primavera), but I want to learn how to cook the "western" way.  To his credit, George hired me anyway, starting as a prep cook during the day and making salad, cold sandwiches and plating desserts during service.

I could not have chosen a better restaurant to learn the rope: we made everything in house, from salad dressings to table breads. It was a perfect learning environment for me, I got to try my hands at everything we make at the restaurant. From day one, everyone in the kitchen were helpful and the wait staff were friendly. George took me under his wings for the first few weeks, making sure I learned the fundamental techniques, such as knife skills. After 3 or 4 times he caught me retiring the big 8-inch chef's knife in favor of the 2-inch paring knives (I had never hold a chef's knife before in my life), George collected all the paring knives and bellowed to the kitchen, "If anyone sees Ellie using a paring knife, take it away from her." He put away the paring knives into the tool boxes we use as knives storage case and handed me an 8-inch chef's knife. I managed to keep all my digits and my knife skills actually improved. Who knew?

George then instructed me to watch and learn from the guys working the line at dinner service. The long galley kitchen was perfect for spectating. My cold station was just 2 feet away from the 12-burner stove "saute station", then the shared flat top, full size gas grill and double oven comprised the "grill station".

In between plating cold apps, salads, or sandwiches I would hover over the saute station, watching Jimmy or Dave deftly portion penne pasta into the boiling water, sear a chicken breast, saute a rockfish, warm up some creamy polenta, pan saute 3 portions of veggies, and finish 2 sauces for the steaks being plated by Mike the grill cook, said "thank you" to the waitress putting in an order, tell me to "fire" a salad (I hopped back over to my domain), call out a fried apps order to Mike, put another saute pan on a burner and start cooking some mussel apps, got the veggies pan off the stove, turn off the flame under the polenta pan, grab 3 plates and portioned the veggies on them, Mike took two plates and put potatoes and lamb racks on them, Jimmy/Dave put the polenta and rockfish on the third plate, drizzle some sauce and sprinkle chopped fresh basil, wipe the plate rim, put it up on the window and pleasantly called out a wait staff "order up!", turn around to pull the penne basket out of water, poke the chicken breast and hum, put it in the oven to finish cooking, turn off the flame under the mussels, plate - garnish - wipe rim, put it up on the window about the same time Mike put up the fried apps and me finish the salad. "Order up!"

We danced like that all night, all week long. It was a well oiled kitchen team. I wasn't running then, I got "cooking high" instead. 3 months later, when Mike moved down to Florida for the winter, I got to train and work the saute and grill stations.

Then, true to the food business nature, there were periods when we were short-staffed. The baker went back to school, something like that, so I volunteered to come in on one of my days off to bake the table breads while the sous-chef took on the dessert making duties. Once a week, I'd arrive at 5 or 6 a.m. and made ten dozens of hamburger buns, 6 -8 different kinds of breads shaped into dozens baguettes for the table bread, and sheet pans of focaccia. At firsts, I would miss my timing and 3 hours into mixing the next dough, the other doughs proofing in 5-gallon buckets would puff up so great they spilled out of the buckets. I'd run to the buckets punching down the doughs. I loved the bread baking day, I'd come out of the restaurant smelling like cinnamon raisin bread.

Months later, after we got another baker, the newly appointed sous-chef quit on me two hours before service on a Friday night. We had something like 70 people on the reservation book that fateful night, the fish delivery was late from Maryland, the sous chef was late as well - surprised! I was breaking down some beef filet or racks of lamb when he strolled in after 3 pm. We were supposed to be there at two. I had come in at 1, knowing there was a truckload of meat and fish to clean (I didn't know the fish was gonna be late, so coming in an hour early was a moot point).

Anyway, the Quitter Sous looked over the to do list I wrote, went downstairs to start working on the fish. He carried up a whole tuna and a couple sides of salmon, and (I kid you not) about 15 minutes later he took a deep sigh, put down his knife on the fishy board, threw away the gloves, and said, "I can't do this. Tell George I've got to go. Family stuff."  He went downstairs, got his stuff and walked out the door.

Penny had worked the lunch and was getting ready to leave. She looked at me and after the initial shock, we both said, "What the hell?!"  Bless her heart, Penny stayed for a couple more hours to help me get ready for dinner. I never gutted fish so quickly in my life!
 
When George came back at 5 (he opened the restaurant and worked lunch in the dining room, because of course, the dining  room managers had quit the weeks before, so George went home for a few hours after lunch). So, when he came back at 5 and found out the situation, he assigned one of the waitresses to take charge out front. As we stood behind the line waiting for the dinner guests to arrive, I said to him, "Whatever happen tonight, if I mess up anything, please wait until we're done with service. If you yell at me during service, I may just break down. I'm soooo pissed off at Quitter Sous right now."
Thankfully everything went smoothly that night. I'd say it was one of the best and smoothest service we ever did together. Phew!

Btw, I gave the Quitter Sous a cold shoulder when he came in for his paycheck the following week. I was sure if I were to open my mouth to talk to him, I would spit fire.

Ah... the Southern Inn Restaurant, I'll miss your old self. I look forward to visit your new self!