Hardcover
-
PICK UP IN STORECheck Availability at Nearby Stores
Available within 2 business hours
Related collections and offers
Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781782406136 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Leaping Hare Press |
| Publication date: | 08/27/2019 |
| Pages: | 176 |
| Sales rank: | 148,403 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.30(w) x 8.20(h) x 0.70(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
MOTIVE
THE PEASANT AND THE PROPHET
OVER A DECADE AGO, BEFORE SILO WAS BORN, I DROPPED OUT OF SCHOOL. I DIDN'T LIKE SCHOOL: I'M DYSLEXIC, DYSCALCULIC, DYS-EVERYTHING.
I don't take well to being told what to do. As soon as somebody tells me what to do, I want to do the opposite. I fell out of school at 16 and fell into a kitchen; it was the only place that would have me. It's the same story for a lot of chefs.
Kitchens are pretty unruly places, full of anarchy and chaos. The life of a chef is similar to the life of a pirate – there are rules and discipline, but there is also the freedom to express yourself and be an individual. I fell in love with the kitchens. I was used to being in classrooms, being told what to do and being miserable. Kitchens felt free. I liked the loud music and wild language. You still had to be on time and achieve whatever's needed of you that day, but not at the expense of your soul. I felt like I'd woken up, I'd found my tribe. I didn't know it then, but I had a chip on my shoulder; an insatiable need to work at the best restaurants, make my CV shine, wear those big names like medals – the chip demanded it.
I found guidance in the 'almighty guide' and embarked on a gruelling stint through the Michelin-starred citadels of the North. After a few years, my youthful resolve began succumbing to the anarchy, a friend convinced me to leave the hallowed shrines of the North and come work at Fergus Henderson's St John Bread and Wine in London. The St John restaurants were an anomaly in the landscape of gastronomy, not such an obvious beauty, hard to decipher for the uninitiated. I was a 20-year-old lad who thought St John was a joke. Where were the neat dots? The foam? The sous vide? I must have been insufferable. However, working there very quickly changed my perspective.
The chefs at St John were much older, less aggressive and altogether out of tune with everything I knew; only the chef whites were recognizable. James, the head chef, was the first significant Silo influencer. While working in this temple galvanized with identity, he was a force of his own. His values were sage and confident, not always in tune with his surroundings. He was a very nice chap, we'd talk for hours about food around the world, his thoughts were sophisticated and intelligent, I ate up every word. However, there was James the diplomat and James the bloodthirsty knight. If I disobeyed his formula, intentionally or not, there were fierce consequences; rage would ensue, which would be impossible for me to shrug off.
James and I would work services that I'll remember forever. A terrified peasant and crazed prophet going into battle – unprepared, unarmed with impossible odds, destined to suffer. I crumbled in every battle, I was useless. However, while I was getting munched up by the outnumbering horde, James revelled in it: he was thirsty for action and knew he was unstoppable. The other chefs that worked with James told a very different story, apparently the wrath was bottled up. This was hard to stomach. I'd like to think he saw something in me, he wanted me to learn the hard way, that through suffering I would become stronger.
Maybe not, maybe I was that bad.
Head chefs are so often barbaric; the surge of power in such a volatile environment is intoxicated by ego. James wasn't like most chefs. While ego is part of us all, he was possessed by his own code. This wasn't a job for him, he cooked with a purpose – there was something he saw on the horizon and he was moving directly towards that – nobody was going to get in his way.
It was the training (and other subliminalities) I received at St John that led me to trust in 'magical intuition'. When rid of safety measures, you only have your instincts to survive. St John taught me to cook for a reason: respect the produce, banish all that is superfluous, cook whole food, cherish the whole beast, obey the seasons. It felt natural, honest, and we were cooking for an honourable idea.
I AM NOT THE CHOSEN ONE
AS A TEENAGER, I WAS DECLARED 'DUMB,. I WAS TOLD SO BY THE OTHER KIDS AND THE TEACHERS, AND I FELT IT.
It wasn't just the inexperience; I was hopeless, I had no confidence, there was so much I didn't know.
One day, when I was working at St John, I received an email to participate in a national cooking competition. I thought, 'There is nothing to lose.' Over 1,400 applicants entered, I was told later. After rigorous culinary gatherings, I was chosen with four others for the final showdown. This competition was the BBC Young Chef of the Year. There I was, a 21-year-old with no discernible achievements, and I was going to be cooking on national TV. Here we were, kids barely in our 20s, dropped into a new reality, an army of cameras stalking our every twitch. The format of these competitions go for telegenic thrills: we had to cook against near-impossible odds, face challenges that the judges themselves would trip over.
Thankfully, it was on this day that a switch suddenly flipped for me. It's like the part in The Matrix when Keanu Reeves dramatically pauses and says: 'I KNOW KUNG FU.' You see, up until this point I had so little confidence; I had worked for some really amazing restaurants but had always remained the grunt of the kitchen.
The first challenge of the competition was to cook four egg dishes in 30 minutes: boiled egg and soldiers, poached salmon and hollandaise, steak with bearnaise, and a lemon soufflé. I remember a rush of fear, anxiety, panic; so much that I felt paralysed. I could see all the other chefs racing around. I was overwhelmed, riddled with doubt. All of a sudden, it went quiet.
Then it came, a deep breath, a gift from the gods. It was as if the deep breath cleared all emotion from my mind. Sound returned, and I knew what to do. As Keanu started deflecting the strikes of Agent Smith with ease, I started cooking. It all started making perfect sense: I KNOW HOW TO COOK. I realized, with just four minutes remaining, that I hadn't started on the soufflé. Again, I collected myself in a breath, and without fear the ingredients came together with a clear mind. I closed the oven door just as the timer stopped. The judges were chipper, impressed with what they could see, but, 'Where is the soufflé?' It had finished cooking at that exact moment and I pulled it out to the judges' huzzah. It was as if I knew it would take them three minutes to review my first three dishes – it made great television!
I ended up winning the competition. Blood, guts, failures and now, finally, a taste of glory. I had achieved what I thought meant 'success'. It was a feeling of ecstasy that went on for days. Unfortunately, that feeling wore off. A few days later I remember thinking, 'Now what?' This was my first existential crisis. Why do I still feel empty? How do I feel fulfilment? What does it all mean? The high of winning a competition like that leaves you needing more, it's addictive. I needed more success, but where would I find it? What would it cost?
It's common to want what others want. I wanted to be the best chef, now I wanted to own my own restaurant. Furthermore, I wanted it to mean something, like St John. Before St John, I'd been cooking for 'the almighty guide', a purpose simply orbiting 'excellence'. Rabid chefs in a barren landscape, marching towards the oasis, a place known as 'perfection'.
In an effort to go the other way, I found new direction. I chose restaurants that tickled my interest, ones that stood out as an original. I would spend a small amount of time in a lot of brilliant places. I left St John and went on a culinary pilgrimage. My motives were questionable but innocent. I needed to taste more victory. My next fix would be harder to come by, as I had to go bigger. This time I was looking for my own purpose.
THE BEST CHEFS CAN'T COOK
MY CRUSADE TOOK ME ALL OVER THE WORLD.
Instead of working at one restaurant per year, which is the norm, I went to dozens of different restaurants for a day, a week, a month – espresso shots of culinary worlds, sipping on perspective. I had complimentary glimpses into the minds of some brilliant chefs, soaking up many points of view.
The journey took me all the way to Australia, to a kitchen that was one of the world's best. At face value this place seemed exemplary — really unique food 'inspired by nature'. However, it was more of a factory. (A factory or a prison?) There were over 30 chefs working in this steamy dungeon. The different sections were run by different gangs, loaded with animosity and self-interest. Cooking in this kitchen was a world unto its own. Cutting flowers into 'natural' shapes with a scalpel, laying 'painted' carrot ribbons onto silicon with tweezers and organizing identical parsley stalks into test tubes. Welcome to the machine.
High standards mean pressure, long hours and an unhealthy appetite for competition. Perfection can be achieved by aligning all the variables precisely. This is enforced to achieve the best food in the world. It's a matter of many hands make light work. Program lots of chefs to do very little, perfectly. I was part of the protein gang; I had the duty of cooking the quail breasts. One day a senior chef decided he had a problem with me. He made it clear: my quail cooking technique was not how he wanted it. It was a routine 'show him who's boss', an exercise in flexing his authority. Although this guy was about as sharp as a spoon, a master of his own reality; his behaviour was befitting of the gang culture.
In a moment of bravery, I stepped away from the marching line and challenged him: I told him that he was wrong. He bellowed out a string of nonsensical sounds, like an angry ape. I replied, 'Let's both cook it in our own way and let the kitchen decide if mine is inferior.' His eyes began darting around as the remainder of his body became paralyzed in silence. Now speechless, he started pacing, chest out, fists clenched, eyes wide open. This gorilla knew he was wrong. He backed off, then ambled off into the steamy shadows. I continued cooking it my way.
You don't trust yourself as a young chef. You look up to these people who own million-pound restaurants, with titles and years of distinction, who have proven to be successful. I felt emboldened from challenging a leader, rebellion was growing within. There was another way forward.
One day, after a particularly gruesome shift, I stumbled outside and into the street. I was running low on life, worn out, losing faith, desperate for a way out. It was hot and raining heavily. I could hear music thudding in the distance. I gravitated in that direction until I saw a giant queue of people snaking around a mysterious building. I joined the queue as if it was a stairway to heaven. This profound monolith was like nothing I'd ever seen before. Like a moth to a flame, I followed the crowds inside.
The people swarmed around brightly coloured tables made from used tarpaulin. Giant kegs filling jam jars with beer. There were no windows, just huge gaps in the walls, bees buzzing through. Loquacious graffiti plastered everywhere, like prophetic inscriptions in a cave. The rich verdant garden on the roof grew from giant rusty barrels. The outer walls had thousands of little terracotta pots suspended in an old industrial frame carpeting the whole building, wild strawberries growing from each pot. The views were breathtaking, the music was loud, I was intoxicated. Good life existed here. I didn't know what was going on, but I had an intense feeling – this was my future.
The prestige bullshit I had just left behind was insignificant in the shadow of this holy temple. This was The Greenhouse by Joost (pronounced 'Yoast') Bakker, a man I would meet soon after, the Zero Waste prophet.
IMAGINE A WORLD WITHOUT WASTE
JOOST HAS A PRESENCE THAT I STRUGGLE TO DESCRIBE. IT IS AS IF HE IS FROM THE FUTURE.
Everything Joost said and did was so simple, his examples obvious, yet somehow nobody was doing them, which made his ideas so radical.
Joost talked about big subjects – how to innovate, how cities could grow food, how we are going to save the world. He would say things like, 'Imagine flying into a city and all you see is green.' He is a bonafide artist, a visionary and a man trying to make the world a better place. Without hesitation, I joined his posse of luminous disciples.
Joost had a business partner called Greg and one day I joined them both for lunch. They used big words that I didn't understand. I remember them throwing this one word around, this word I didn't know: 'sustainability'. I felt like I needed to engage them, finally, and so blurted out, 'What does sustainability mean?' There was a pause. They sat perplexed, probably thinking, 'Is he taking the piss or is this a deeply profound question?' These are brilliant men, but I don't think they had caught on to how absolutely clueless I was. I honestly had no idea what sustainability meant.
It's amazing how quickly you can learn a subject when your mind is open; moreover, when you're inspired by the same subject you're trying to understand – it's an intense download. I absorbed this world around me, I started to see something forming on the horizon.
Further down the line, Joost, myself and his army of disciples opened Silo by Joost, a little cafe in the centre of Melbourne. The plan was to use Silo as a testing space for the Greenhouse empire and as a place to attempt the virtuous idea of Zero Waste. Silo was born in Australia in 2014, written on the wall it read: Imagine a world without Waste.
Joost explained that to avoid packaging, we would make everything from scratch. Sounded pretty straightforward, then I realized – I would have to make sourdough bread. I had never made sourdough before. In order to make bread, I would have to mill flour, how the hell do you mill flour? I would have to learn how to make yoghurt, no idea. There would be pastry; I would need butter, which meant I would have to churn butter, to then mix with my fresh flour. We would need to make everything from scratch, with food straight from the farm.
I was working late one night, it was just me in the little cafe, I'd been drinking wine straight from the barrel. I was making shortbread when it hit me – not the wine, a revelation, one that would shape my professional life (and is why this book exists). I'd made fresh butter from this amazing fatty cream, and biodynamic flour had just come through our flour mill. I made the dough, which looked and felt very different to the shortbread I'd made hundreds of times before. Eventually, when this arduous biscuit came out of the oven, I tasted it. It blew my mind, 'How does this taste so good?' It was incredible.
This is the future of food, I thought. If this was what shortbread should taste like, what the hell is the shortbread that we've all been eating? I needed to tell the world of my findings. This was the beginning of a new thought process, right there and then. I had identified a pre-industrial food system (though I couldn't articulate this until much later): Farmers are good, middlemen are not. Middleman means processing and packaging; Farmer means fresh, flavourful, fundamental food.
Getting things from nature in the way nature intended, food from the farm is real; food from the factory is not real. Real food tastes better.
Zero Waste had led to this unique position. Zero Waste is the future of food.
WASTED
DO YOU EVER HAVE THE FEELING YOU'RE MORE ALIVE THAN NORMAL? ARE YOU LIVING IN THE PRESENT, NOT LOOKING TO THE PAST OR FUTURE?
It was at this time in Australia I had a daily belief that anything was possible. Silo was developing, Joost's empire was readying the campaign. We had this glorious proposition: a food system that generated Zero Waste. This was a very wholesome design, but I was curious to readjust my focus to ingredients considered to be 'waste'. I wanted to offer safe passage to those ingredients condemned without a fair trial, to demonstrate how everything has value, even if it wasn't immediately obvious. One man's waste is another man's treasure.
I created a pop-up dinner called WASTED. Ten courses of food that would have otherwise been wasted: nettles, animal fat, duck hearts, anchovy spines and herb stems were just some of the ingredients brought to the table. The idea was a noble one and I had lots of moral support. However, it was an initiative without the strength of a restaurant. Joost was busy starting an empire, I was on my own this time.
People have often called me 'brave', which I never really understand, as wouldn't I have to be scared to warrant 'bravery'? I'm now very aware that people confuse bravery with naivety. Imagine that eating magical jelly beans freed you of self-doubt. Being naive is like eating jelly beans without knowing their effect. When you eat the jelly beans you have a false sense of security, a rainbow-coloured force field protecting you, obscuring the view of danger. This confidence allows you to brave the unknown, march forward into new territory. However, when the jelly beans start to wear off, reality reveals itself. After the jelly beans are gone you think, 'Was I on drugs? How did I not consider the consequences?'
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Silo The Zero Waste Blueprint"
by .
Copyright © 2019 Douglas McMaster.
Excerpted by permission of The Quarto Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
WORDS FROM THE TRIBE,
INTRODUCTION,
MOTIVE THE CIRCUMSTANCES THAT MOTIVATED SILO,
THE PEASANT AND THE PROPHET,
I AM NOT THE CHOSEN ONE,
THE BEST CHEFS CAN'T COOK,
IMAGINE A WORLD WITHOUT WASTE,
WASTED,
THE VEGANS ARE COMING,
THE DARK DAYS,
'I DON'T DO DRUGS, I AM DRUGS',
CARROTS COOKED IN COMPOST,
EXISTENTIAL ICE CREAM,
IDEAS THE THEORETICAL OVERVIEW OF SILO'S SYSTEMS AND IDEAS,
AN INDUSTRIAL FOOD SYSTEM,
A SILO FOOD SYSTEM,
ZERO WASTE: FOOD,
ZERO WASTE: NATURAL MATERIALS,
ZERO WASTE: GLASS,
THE SILO DIET,
CAN EATING MEAT BE ETHICAL?,
DIRECT TRADE VS INDIRECT TRADE,
THE FUTURE OF DIRECT TRADE,
RATIONALIZING THE INDUSTRY,
TEA,
COFFEE,
BOTANICAL DRINKS,
WINE,
COCKTAILS,
THE ORIGINS OF FOOD,
SEA,
SHIP,
WILD,
FARM,
DAIRY,
REWILDING,
THOUGHT PROCESS,
THE SILO FOOD SYSTEM,
FORMULA THE EXECUTION OF THE PRODUCT TRUE TO THE IDEAS,
THE SILO FORMULA,
ZERO WASTE: BASIC INGREDIENTS,
ZERO WASTE: BASIC MATERIALS,
THE MENUS,
JANUARY,
FEBRUARY,
MARCH,
APRIL,
MAY,
JUNE,
JULY,
AUGUST,
SEPTEMBER,
OCTOBER,
NOVEMBER,
DECEMBER,
PLANT PREPARATIONS,
FERMENTS, PICKLES & PRESERVES,
STOCKS, SAUCES & OILS,
MEAT, FISH & DAIRY,
NUTS, GRAINS, SEEDS & SWEET THINGS,
ICE CREAMS & SORBETS,
NO CONCLUSION WHAT WE HAVE LEARNED,
WASTE IS A HUMAN THING,
ALL IS MACHINE,
CHANGE IS HARD,
ADD BEAUTY,
BREED INTUITION,
CREATIVITY WILL SAVE US?,
PERFECTION DOESN'T EXIST,
PERSPECTIVE IS A BEAUTIFUL THING,
DON'T FORGET TO SMELL THE FLOWERS,
ZERO WASTE IS NATURE,
A ZERO WASTE GLOSSARY,
INDEX,
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS,