A day in the kitchen

“Come at noon and bring a chef’s jacket and knives.”

           That line was the entirety of the email I received from the chef of a new and bustling Italian restaurant after asking whether I could spend some time in his kitchen. I had eaten there a few weeks ago and had hidden my bold request within a thank you note for such a lovely meal. I had crafted the email with such precision and had agonized over- what- I’m not sure until I finally hit send. He responded within 5 minutes. It was like ripping off a band-aid. So swift it didn’t sting but it still makes you catch your breath.

I have been contemplating changing my “career trajectory”. The office life, while fine, is just not the life for me. Uninspired and unchallenged at my desk during the day, I turn to cooking and baking in my free time. I have never cooked professionally and this idea of going into a real professional kitchen is terrifying. When I arrive at The Restaurant at the prescribed date and time, the sous-chef I’m assigned to doesn’t know where I fit into the equation.  “Which restaurants have you worked at before?” he asks as he shows me to the locker room in a separate part of the building. I pick an empty locker and shove in my bag. “None!” I shrug. “Any culinary training?” he asks, trying to figure me out. “nope!”

            I had rehearsed my spiel about why I was here but somehow none of it comes out and I leave him in wonderment over how I ended up here for a day. He hands me his access card to get back into the building after I change. I don’t need to change- all I have is my brand new Chef’s jacket which was laundered to mask the worn in folds of a new shirt. He waits. We head for the door and he suggests that I grab my knives. Crap. Rookie move.

            With my knife sack in tote we head back to the kitchen. Sous-chef is talkative, approachable and a little manic. He walks too fast. I chase him around the kitchen as he shows me around: walk-in vegetable fridge, garde manger, wine cellar, oil disposal. At the fish station he grabs a quart of green cherry tomatoes, some celery and carrots. As he rounds a corner towards the baking area he asks me to grab the foie gras. I’ve worked with foie gras before, I know what it looks like but I turn to the table and none of my options look correct. Damn. If I take too long I’ll lose him in the kitchen. I grab a plastic tub filled with vacuumed sealed bits of fat and run after him. The dishwasher points me in the right direction when he sees me look a little bewildered. I catch up to sous-chef before he realizes I’ve fallen behind.

            “I saw your business card on your knife case… do you run a catering company?” He is still trying to size me up. I finally have the mental capacity to clarify: “I’m thinking about going to culinary school and I figured I should spend some time in a real kitchen before sinking all that money!’ My response is acceptable and we operate on even keel from then on. My first task is to slice that quart of green cherry tomatoes. “No, those are tomatillos” he explains. I try to make up for my blunder by saying I’ve never seen them out of the husk before. Sous-chef grabs one perfect tomatillo and places it deliberately on the cutting board with the stem to the left. He takes his knife from the magnetic strip on the wall and in one graceful and long motion slices ¼ inch off the top of the tomatillo. He re-adjusts and slices two more pieces of the exact same size. He discards the top and bottom shows me the slices, throws them in a metal pan and tells me to do the same before running off.

            My dad is a trained chef but never cooks anymore. When I was told to bring my chef’s knives, I didn’t know what that meant. A quick consultation with my dad cleared things up. I should bring a big knife, a medium knife and a small knife. Easy enough. I pick my favorites from home and spend a good amount of time sharpening them that morning. After all, what is a chef with dull knives?

            I grab my first tomatillo and carefully slice off the top just as sous-chef had shown me. I ready myself to make the first slice and stop to grab his slices and compare them for size. If I remember correctly a crucial part of prep work is making sure everything is the same size. If the tomatillo slices aren’t the same thickness, they won’t cook in the same amount of time leading to some slices being underdone or soggy. I take care in making sure all my slices are the exact same thickness. Sous-chef is back with a giant vat of parsley. He grabs a handful and places it on the chopping board. “So you wanna hold the parsley like this and chop it like this. Then I like to give it a once over.” The parsley has been turned into perfect green dust. “wait, are you left handed?” I ask. “Yeah! So do it like I showed you but backwards.” And he’s off again.

            I grab the handful of parsley and pick out the yellowed leaves. I notice the parsley is curly- not Italian flat leaf. Huh. Funny for an Italian place. After a few attempts I figure out the proper technique: I gather the parsley into a tight bundle with my left hand and gently ease the bundle towards the knife in my right hand, all the while keeping my left-hand fingers curled under so they won’t get chopped off. While commending myself on my parsley dust I let one of my left hand fingers slip and I slice right through my nail. I guess my knives are sharp enough.

            Up until this point the kitchen had been calm and mostly empty. They don’t have a lunch service (which I didn’t realize) so for a while it’s just me, the sous-chef and that helpful dishwasher. The sous-chef melts foie gras fat in one pan and sunchoke confit fat in another. The house sauce needs a touch-up and more complexity so he is also reducing 2 bottles of red wine- I don’t catch what kind. The kitchen is starting to smell great and the fact that I’ve only had a cupcake for breakfast is becoming a problem. Thankfully this is a kitchen that encourages you to taste, taste, taste. My next task is to blanch, peel and pit white doughnut peaches. The 3^rd one has an unsightly bruise on the top. The garde manger tells me to give it to the dishwasher. “To eat?” I ask. “Hum… yeah.” He responds puzzled. I devour it instead. Next I’m marinating olives. It’s really easy! Chopped dill and orange zest added to a big bowl of green Castelvetran olives. We’re talking about 20 pounds worth of olives. I’m not careful enough when mixing the olives and soon I see some chopped olives surfacing to the top of the mix. I grab them and greedily stuff them in my mouth. Luckily I’m near a trash can- these aren’t pitted olives.

            The kitchen is bustling now. Two men have started setting up at the garde manger and it seems that I’ll be with them for the rest of the night. I wasn’t even sure how long I would be allowed in the kitchen and here I am, a few minutes before dinner service is set to begin. They ready their station with hotel pans filled with ice to hold the dozens of prepared ingredients: capers, toasted almonds, chopped hazelnuts, diced confit tomatoes, sliced green olives swimming in olive oil and I’m please to see my finely chopped parsley. Chef gives the garde manger some hushed instructions which finish with his head motioning towards me. They tell me that I am going to be peeling 5 quarts of cherry tomatoes. Awesome. More peeling! I start cutting tiny little X’s on the bottom of each tomato, tying not to bust them open as they are just so incredibly fresh and juicy. The two garde mangers are working on a new dish for tonight. Chef is showing them how to properly slice a piece of brilliant pink raw salmon. The knife is thin and very long. The cut starts at the tip of the knife and ends almost at the handle. There is practically no pressure applied to the salmon, the knife just slides right through.

            I start to inquire about a pot of boiling water for the cherry tomatoes but I’m told that I should just throw them in the fryer for a few seconds. Huh. Why the hell not? I guess you start to see appliances differently when you have access to these kinds of commercial beasts. The fryer is a monster. “Is this thing even on?” I ask. The oil isn’t moving. “Yeah, go for it” I start emptying the tomatoes into the basket above the oil and at the first drop of water hitting the surface, the fryer jumps to life. I grab the handle of the basket and plunge it into the hot oil. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… I count in my head. Too long and these tomatoes will vanish and end up floating around the fryer for the rest of the night. I pull them out in time and into an ice bath. The skins look like crackled paper and pop right off. Back at the garde manger I slip the skins off the tomatoes one by one as I watch the guys finish up their new dish: a stroke of mustard mayonnaise with lots of chives is the base, topped with the thin slices of raw salmon, a few perfectly peeled cherry tomatoes (not mine), capers and on each tomato is a leaf of tarragon applied with tweezers. Chef tries it and likes it. “More salt next time.” He hands the plate back to my station and offers it to us for a taste. We each grab a spoon and try to rustle of little bit of each element onto our bite. It tastes great.

            Chef has the first order of the night. “One Cacio & Pepe. Hold the pepper!”  That seems like a weird order. The rest of the service flies by. I watch the two garde mangers assemble the same 5-7 dishes about 5 times each as I continue to remove cherry tomato skins form their ice water bath. One of the first orders for my adoptive station is the raw beef tartar which is made to order. It is served in a parmesan anglaise (which almost made me faint earlier) and topped with an egg, sunny side up. The garde mangers are a little rusty or they just make their portions too small because for 2 orders of the beef tartar, they end up with enough leftovers for another portion. We all grab a spoon and try the raw beef. I’m in heaven. It’s nearly 6pm and this is my first real bite of food. “Would you judge me if I ate the rest of this?” I ask. The garde manger shrugs so I do just that. I eat an entire bowl of delicious raw beef. Raw beef and a cupcake. That’s my sustenance.

            Despite not being a huge fan of fish in general, it is the Tonno dish that captivates me. It starts with marinated rep peppers and colorful cherry tomatoes in a perfect circle in the middle of the plate, topped with raw ahi tuna, expertly sliced and so dark that the slices look like fruit jellies, all of this sauced with a lime ginger vinaigrette with chives and green olives which has enough acidity to cook the tuna slightly. Next are tiny, perfect segments of limes, placed at the cardinal points of the dish with a tuna tartare quenelle made with piment d’espellette right in the middle. The whole thing topped off with a few perfect pink globs of smoked steelhead caviar.  The third time I see the guys make this dish I notice that they have forgotten the caviar. Do I say anything? I can’t help myself and blurt it out. They thank me. The second time they forget and I mention it, they don’t look so happy for my help.  I clearly still have a lot to learn about kitchen politics.


           We are two and a half hours into the dinner service and I am surprised that I don’t start to zone out. I’m surprised that I’m not bored or overwhelmed. I was really nervous coming into this kitchen and although I’m still not at ease, and I’m not really doing anything at this point besides watching, I’m excited. I try to get the garde mangers to let me assemble a dish but I think they are still trying to prove themselves to chef (and maybe to me as well). A bus boy comes over to ask about the elements of a dish. They start talking about lemon basil and the garde manger slips the busboy a few leaves to sample. When I ask the guard manger about the anise hyssop foam, he kicks himself until he can remember the name of the chemical they use to induce all those bubbles. “Lecithin” he says, finally. The dishwashers are all Latino men and the cooks look like bad-asses. I clearly don’t belong here but somehow I feel like I do. And while the staff probably knows I don’t belong here either, by the end of the night they are giving me warm smiles. They all wish me well as I sneak off before the dinner service ends. As I step outside of the kitchen for the first time that day I notice that it has rained. I also notice that I have a massive headache. But I'm still smiling because I can't help but think that I have finally found my people.

            

Baked Chicken, Tomatoes & Olives with Roasted Asparagus

I cried during my commute this morning. Nothing bad happened. I was listening to the latest This American Life which is centered around fathers and their opening story was about a dad showing how much he cared for his daughter by assembling a terrorist attack kit for her to take with her to college in New York. He apparently spent quit some time assembling special equipment for "the box": a NASA blanket, self powering flashlight, potassium iodide pills in case of nuclear fallout.... When she moved into her dorm, her dad brought "the box" tightly sealed and labeled "Winter Coats". She kept the box with her through her first and second year and then decided to open it on her third year to use the emergency $200 to go tanning before a big trip. On top of all the disaster equipment was a letter from her father. It said: "If you are reading this, then something very bad has happened But don't worry because you're going to be fine."

I love this whole story. It makes me cry now just thinking about it. It's just so frigging sweet. Maybe it's because it reminds me of my own dad. Not always knowing how to verbally or physically show his affection, but making a huge effort to not only provide, but to protect his family. My mom has always said that if she was ever stuck on a desert island, or was in an emergency, the one person should would want by her side is my dad.

I would too.

I was going to post about this recipe anyway and it turns out this totally something my dad would eat, following his strict diet rules of no starch, carbs or sugars. But he would have this for lunch the next day, cold, and slathered in french mustard. With a glass of wine.

Dad: "I'll est 11h du matin et la vie est belle."

Baked Chicken, Tomatoes & Olives with Roasted Asparagus
Adapted from Donna Hay's No Time to Cook
Serves 2
From the pictures you can see that I cheated and used what I had on hand- so no mozzarella or proscuitto but bacon instead- and who can argue with that? This recipe can easily be doubled or tripled. The chicken, tomatoes and olives are great the next day too- reheated or not.

• 8oz pack cherry tomatoes
• 8oz olives, marinated & pitted
• 2 tbl olive oil
• 2 chicken breasts, boneless (or 4 cutlets)
• 1 ball mozzarella
• 8 slices prosciutto
• basil leaves
• 1 bunch asparagus
• 1 tbls olive oil
• salt & pepper
• 3 tbls parmesan, grated

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Place cherry tomatoes and olives on a cookie sheet and drizzle olive oil and seaon with salt & pepper. Bake for 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, prepare the chicken: if using 2 chicken breasts, slice them in half so you have 4 thin chicken breasts. Cut 4 thick slices of the mozzarella and place them on top of each chicken breast with a few basil leaves on top. Wrap 2 slices of procsuitto around each piece. Remove the tomatoes & olives from the oven and add the chickent breasts on top, seam side down. Bake for 12 minutes.

Meanwhile, prepare the asparagus: bend each stalk until it breaks naturally and discard the bottom half. Toss the asparagus with the olive oil, salt & pepper and scatter on a cookie sheet. Top it all off with some parmesan. Cook in the same oven for about 12 minutes.

Stumbled across this picture this morning..

And it took my breath away.

And you can rent this villa here

When my family lived in the South of France, our house had this view but we were perched higher up and a little more to the left. The house itself was a fantastic mess- built over 4 levels you had to walk down a flight of steps to get into the kitchen, then down another flight into the family room, up another set to get to my bedroom and up yet another flight to access my parents room. In fact the only way for me to get to the kitchen without using the stairs, would have been to walk through the courtyard or walk around the house from the exterior- although I still would have had to walk down the stair directly outside my windows. For you see, my parents chose this house precisely because you could see this view from every room. When my brother and I were first shown the house, my mom took me to my new room, flung open the windows and in a sort of Lion King moment said: “You get to see this view every morning and every morning feel like you own the world.”

We did not get along with the owners of the house. They were a crazy couple who constantly fought with each other and the fact that they owned a house together did not seem to make things easier for them. For some reason, they gave us free reign to alter/improve the house as we saw fit and once my mom found out that the woman didn’t like green, she painted just about anything that needed paint green- forest green for the banister in the dinning room and the stair case leading up to the kitchen and olive green for every square recess detail on all the French windows. And it looked good too! The only time my father protested her painting was when she managed to paint, in one afternoon, our 15 foot chimney a lovely burnt orange color. His problem with the newly painted fireplace stemmed from its shape because it ended up looking like a huge Orangina bottle. My brother and I loved it.

Last July I was lucky enough to meet up with some of my French family in Nice and Monaco for my dad’s birthday. I hadn’t been in the south of France in about 6 years and the experience was unexpected: it was a homecoming. I never knew until then that the closest thing I’ve ever known to a home town was living in the south of France. I spent that extended weekend with a stupid grin on my face realizing just how much I had missed that place and thankful that I still have family living there.

Even if they are French and wear speedos.

Kris also forgot....

• 2 Hammer House DVD's : "A House on Haunted Hill" and "The Devil Rides Out"
• His π dish (another gift from my loving mother... )

Things my boyfriend forgot..

And I think this list gives you a pretty good idea of what kind of a guy he really is-

• A plaid Fedora style hat
• Trivial Pursuit DVD Game- The Star Wars Edition
• his check book
• a communist party lighter*
• 3 back issues of Empire
• "Skeleton Crew" by Stephen King (although this wasn't really forgotten, it was forcefully taken when he locked me out of our flat- as he was leaving for the airport- at 7:30am- on a Sunday)
• a wooden dragon trivet*
• 6 pairs of fancy chopsticks*
• Asian apron*
• about 85 power adapters
• shoe polish kit
• a broken Mao watch*
• an Excel Saga magnet
• a Cyclops magnet
• a fancy Kenneth Cole watch*
• 1 leather glove

*These items were given to Kris from myself or brought over specially by my mother from CHINA. She will be sorely disappointed to see this list.

Somewhere in the Chinese Wilderness

Dear Padme,

You have now been missing for over a month. Once the parents moved from the cramped 15th floor apartment in funky downtown Sanya, to their fancy new beach cottage on Yalong Bay, you hightailed it out into the surrounding nature. And I can't blame you really. You hadn't been able to eat grass in 7 months! Although you're a really prissy cat, you do love roughin' it. Last summer when we moved into a smaller townhouse less than a mile from the old house, you spent the first couple days hidding in mom's closet until you garnered all your courage to sneak outside where you stayed for 4 days straight. We called your name from the porch every morning and night, hoping you'd return. And you did. Covered in travellers and smelling like a wet towel.




It was Thanksgiving weekend of my senior year in High School and my Meme Suzanne was visiting us for the holidays. I had been aching to get a cat, but since I'd be going to college in a few months, it didn't seem to make sense to my parents. I understood their position but couldn't get the thought out of my head. Now my Meme Suzanne is the one repsonsible for getting me my first cat when I was a kid. A guy on the corner of Monoprix in Pithiviers had some kittens in a box and Meme let me pick one out and then forcibly pay the man 10 francs, even though he was just happy the kitten had found a home. My parents were quite surprised with the new acquisition, but no one questions my grandmother. With Mem in town and my mom having suddenly developed a love of taking our labrador Nelly to Petsmart, I knew the time was right. I can't honestly say why I choose you of all the cats available that day. You were hidding in the corner of a pen with your mother and brother and we were told that you had been found on the side of the highway. I'm not sure I even held you before making my choice, but you were so little, beautiful and afraid of everything, that I knew you needed my help.



You had already been named by the kind people at the shop and although you might look like a "Daisy" you had a bit too much attitude to pull it off- which is a good thing really. Your coy looks and superior demeanor led to your name being chnaged to "Padme Amidala"- regal and feisty- and completely nerdy. My dad couldn't wrap his head around it so he refered to you as "notepad" for the first year of your life. Once you settled into your new home, you developed a deep love for the family dog, Nelly. While she laid on the landing, you would carefully sneak up and try to nuzzle her. For some unknown reason, Nelly never reciprocated your love openly. She would immediately walk away or violently shift if she ever noticed you being affectionate. You might even chase after her a bit but always had to fall back quickly in order to preserve your image. But if anyone were to turn on the stairway light in the middle of the night, we knew we would find the two of you snuggled up together- until Nelly noticed that someone was watching- then she had to get up and move quickly in order to preserve her image.



When I lived at home you were really my cat. Long after everyone else in the house had gone to bed, I would take my daily shower and I could always count on you to be leaning against the bathroom door and when I opened it you would give me a look of: "what took you so long? I fell asleep waiting!". You would then rub against my bare legs as I made my way through the dark house back to my room. You always beat me back and would leap onto my high sleigh bed and use the footboard to inch your way closer to my face, wanting nothing more than to rub your drooly little mouth all over my clean cheek. Once I'm finally lying in bed trying to read, you simply cannot stand to be behind the book but insist that I either hold it above your head or not read at all. And this is your favorite option because then you can sit high atop me, with a smile on your face and your paw extended, gently clawing my mouth. And it hurts. But for some reason that's when you look happiest.

I could probably keep talking about your funny ways and adorable nature ad nauseum. You're a really great cat and I can only hope that you're on an amazing adventure right now- chasing far cooler creatures than the birds, rodents and grass snakes you had conqured in Virginia. If you ever need a good cuddle, I hope you know that Mom will be waiting for you- I'll just keep sending you the Schwartz (as we say in our family). I hope you're happy wherever you are and thank you for the time you spent with us. I miss you.

Love,
Claire


PS: Dad made me sign a contract before he would allow us to adopt you (because he's just that cool), stating that "As soon as I lived somewhere that would allow a cat, I was to regain total custody over you immediately". So I'm sorry I moved to the UK and coulnd't bring you with me out of college- but I didn't think you'd be happy living in a small flat either...

The Sweet Spot of Goget's Life

My dad might as well work on Mars. He in fact works on a small island off the southern coast of China called Hainan. I know this probably doens't belong on here, but this article made laugh harder and smile more broadly than anything else lately and I just need to make sure it isn't relagted to my archives>personal>family folder and completely forgotten. So I share with you an article written for a Koren Golfing Magazine about my dear Father- translated from the original article posted below (and no, I didn't translate it and it's bloody brilliant as is):

The Sweet Spot of Goget’s Life

Being as the GM of the world class hotel the Ritz-Carlton, having a wife of love at the first sight and willing to taking care of the family by give up her own career and two excellent children; Having experienced golfing in over 10 different countries, including challenging the Pebble Beach Golf Club, St. Andrews and some other
popular places for golfing; having experienced the pleasure of hole-in-one. Michel L.
Goget always says that those (career, family, golfing) are everything of his life.

At the end of the 2007, Michel L. Goget made his son who’s studying in Washington and his daughter who’s working in London came to Sanya, a family of four had an unforgettable Christmas here and it was his first Christmas in China. They spent a great time on exploring Hainan in addition to enjoying the reunion happiness and the peaceful Christmas Eve. Meanwhile, he didn’t forget the “Golf Contest between a dad and a son”

He appreciates the time of being with his family because of the often movements for work and the busy work of hotel business. Especially after his appointment of the general manager of the Ritz-Carlton Sanya, work has been occupied every part of his life. As the general manager, there are stacks of work to do for the opening of a new hotel. “Work, work, work…” that is how he describes his life lately.

However, he will still squeeze some time out to spend with his wife, “I would be very busy until the new hotel opens, my wife is still a bit not used to it as we’ve just got here in China for a short time only, and our kids are not around too, so, I would spend more time to be with her out from work.” As for golfing, he said that is not possible for once a week, “as you know, it is hard to balance golfing, work and family, and right now it’s the special time too, I can only golf at those clubs near by for satisfying the
pleasure from golfing, I think it would be better when the hotel opens, as I will have some vacations by then, there are so many fantastic golf clubs in China and I will never miss it.”

Before he has been appointed as the general manager of the Ritz-Carlton Sanya, he had never ever been to China before, and it is even his first time to Asia. He’s just happened to know there are so many golf clubs here in China until he got here. Therefore, he drew up himself a goal for the 2008 which is a list, on that list there are names as: Mission Hills, Spring City, and Jade Dargon Snow Mountain…

Most of the people got into golf because of their friends, business, the sudden interest or being attracted to the huge area of the beautiful lawn. Goget’s golf history started exactly as the typical example of the sudden interest, it’s just his son played the role of an accelerator when linking them up together throughout over the past ten years.

It was in the 1994, the whole family was on vacation in Paris. The younger son was so engaging into the golf game than fairy tale world of Disney, But the first golfing experience was really not good except being enjoyed a little from the fresh air and the spectacular scenery, the rest was full of mess. There are countless rules and incomprehensible strategies and balls couldn’t be swung out, anyways, to him the first impression of golfing was really a game full with “troubles”.

The first golfing experience didn’t leave him with a good impression, but what really made him fell into golf was his new job after that. He was employed by DOLCE hotel
group and was sent to the Hotel Dolce Fregate a golf hotel in Provence the south
France for work, “it was a beach resort with having a 27-hole golf club which is
very popular in Provence. The blue ocean, the steep cliff, the wild sea wind, the green lawn, that was my first time so impressed by that kind of beautiful club.” Then, he started go golfing almost out of control, at that time, he had to go and played the 18-hole once he had the chance, whenever it was possible he would go 3 to 4 times a week. “That was the time I was so crazy about golfing and it was also the time when my grades improved the fastest. My wife started complaining about me spending too much time on golfing though, but I always could find good excuses as it was part of my work.”

After having the crazy golfing time in Dolce Fregate, Goget took his
whole family and moved to the U.S. for work. Even when he lost the excuse of golfing for work, but he could still find a new excuse instead, that was his son. He took his son for golfing every weekend as long as the weather was not extremely bad no matter when. His wife became having no excuse to complain and increasingly his son started falling into golf too, and grades kept improving until becoming the leader of the golf team in the school. however, they would definitely go for a contest between themselves, even 2 meters height son has single, and driver straight go to over 300 yards. as a matter of fact, it’s much more an excuse making for golfing during the vacation than having a contest.

Goget said he likes go golfing in the winter, as there are not many people golfing; he said he likes go golfing in the summer which is the summer in Sanya and also Miami, and the reason is the same. To him, as long as the weather is not extremely bad, any hot or cold weather which both wouldn’t be the obstacles for golfing. His persistence of golfing is well known among all the general managers in the Ritz-Carlton Sanya.

Nevertheless, after 10 years golfing experiences, his grades used to be 85, but now go to 90. He keeps explaining the busy work makes him having no time for practice and causing the grades going down though, for this grade it’s kind of unacceptable by those golf lovers, but to him this grade has made him enjoying the pleasure of the golfing enough already.

Movements for work and plus vacations within the past 10 years, he’s been golfing over 20 countries, and most of the clubs are well known by people, such as the Pebble Beach Golf Club in the U.S; the old course in St. Andrews; Kingsbams; New South Wales in Australia…he’s been to clubs everywhere. Meanwhile, he always remembers what happened over there, such as the 5th hole in the Pebble Beach; the eagle of 328 pounds; the embarrassment of being lost in the old course; the nightmare of the sand…

The most impressive club is not the one of the Top 100. The Dearborn TPC club in the Michigan state of the U.S. is the only one where made his sweetest memories. “Sunday, December 1st 2003, that was the most memorable day in my life. A Par-3 hole of the 180 yards, I was going to use the Iron 4, but my son suggested me using the Iron 5, then I magically made the first hole in one in my life. I treated everyone with Champaign by rule at that moment, until now I still keep that Iron 5, the Titelist ball and the empty Champaign glass at home, even the ball bag tag last time that I
still keep it hung on my ball bag as they are priceless to me.

She is Great

It is a little pity to Goget for failing of making his wife Ruth falling into golf. “Ruth loves sports, tennis, swimming, running those are all her favorite, but when it comes to golf, no matter how I persuade it just never work for her, however, it’s lucky that she doesn’t stop me on golfing.”

Ruth and Goget met 25 years ago at one of the hotels in Florida, “I was doing a training then, and she was the restaurant manager. We were like the love at the first sight and thanks God gave me the opportunity of attending that training.” He keeps saying “she’s great!” whenever he mentions about his wife. It might be seen as a natural expression to others, but, after 25 years marriage that Ruth has been
managing their family so well and which makes him could concentrate on his career, but Ruth had to give up her own career for that and being by his side all the times. Having lived 7 countries, moved 16 times and raised up two excellent children. Goget is really a lucky man by having such a great wife. “I don’t agree on those saying of having golf as the second wife, that’s totally two different things, at least I would never think in that way. I like golfing, but I love my wife more. I would give up golfing for her, it’s just I’ve got no chance to make it happen as Ruth is very much
supportive on my “golf career”.

Goget has taken some time out from golfing in order to return her support. “We like took Nelly (the dog has been being with them for over 10 years already) out for a walk on the beach while we were in Florida. Sanya makes me thinking of those days in Florida, the bright sunshine, the blue sky, the beach, the ocean. Hands in hands with Ruth while Nelly is running around, the time seems going back.” And besides, he would also make some his best dishes for Ruth sometimes. By doing house work together, playing tennis together and driving to uptown for some get away, maybe those are the romantic nature running though the blood of all the French men. In addition to the love and care of Ruth everyday, he will also take a week out from a year spending with Ruth for a peaceful, quiet and romantic vacation. There won’t be any work or golfing but only two of them.

The favorite Sun Valley Hole # 3

His favorite hole used to be the hole # 18 in the Pebble Beach, before he came to China, however, his favorite now has become the hole #3 in the Sun Valley. He explained as the Ritz-Carlton Sanya can be seen while swinging from there to such a big change. “Especially in the early morning, when you look at it through the ocean and those mountains, that feeling is fabulous.” He surely takes you to the place where he thinks as the best place for overlooking the roof of the hotel while he’s giving his exclamation for creating you an atmosphere of the fantasy at the meantime. He didn’t deny of being kind of acting like love me, love my dog as what I described him as by saying “maybe! The Ritz-Carlton is really my favorite and I only wear the
Ritz-Carlton T-shirt when I’m playing golf.” He was smiling while pointing at the logo on his hat and T-shirt. The story between him and the Ritz-Carlton began 10 years ago. “I was the vice president of a hotel group in the Europe managing 6 hotels, but my kids had to go back to the U.S. for school, so I decided moving back to the U.S. and my only thought was getting into the best company in the industry, and then I chose the Ritz-Carlton. It is absolutely a strict process of being selected by the Ritz-Carlton. I went through a QSP of 2 months and a 2 hour telephone interview, being
interviewed by the executive committee personally. Every manager who wants to join the Ritz-Carlton must go through a 6 month GM training program, however, I was honored by passing the test within the only 35 days. Eventually I successfully joined the Ritz-Carlton group as the hotel manager. After that, he proved that the Ritz-Carlton group had made the right choice by showing his performance. Even though the big attack from the 911, he still managed to brought up the revenue of USD 38,000,000 to USD 60,000,000 for the Ritz-Carlton Washington within 4 years and created a big miracle into the company history.

And now, the Ritz-Carlton Sanya has again become a new starting point for Goget. He’s very confident of it; first of all, he’s been in the hotel industry for over 20 years; secondly, he used to live in the south Florida and Miami for over 10 years, there are a lot of similarities between both of the places from the weather to the transportation, so a lot of past experiences can be made use of. “Maybe the thing I’m not used to the most is the golfing environment here, as comparing to the clubs in the U.S. that my knowledge to the golf clubs is limited as the Clear water Bay in Hong Kong and some local clubs in Sanya only. I’ve heard a lot of clubs suggested by friends, but I wouldn’t be able to go when the hotel is not opened, and besides, Ruth is still not really used to it yet since we’ve just got here, so I have to spend some more time with her.”

However, as according to his coworkers that he’s going to accomplish his first golfing dream in China soon, and that is going for golfing at the Mission Hill in Shenzhen as the Ritz-Carlton Shenzhen is opening in the near future. Since he’s attending the opening ceremony for sure, then he’s never going to miss this opportunity
steps away as his personality.

Probably the only aspect of my dad's golfing "career" they didn't mention is the time he was at the driving range and while bending over to tie his shoe, got hit in the face by his best friend's club, mid-swing. He came home with his tail between his legs and a massive black eye. I should really find a picture of that.