AU POIVRE

One of the more depressing kitchen jobs I endured had one redeeming feature: a staff meal prepared willy-nilly by this big Kenyan, Koffi. We ate better than the diners did. Had the chef de cuisine not been in the walk-in huffing bugspray, he would've shat all over his whites.

The first trick was "au poivre" - pan-fried thick cuts of steak with peppercorn crusts.

Koffi took a handful of black, green and white peppercorns, put them in a tea towel and whacked the hell out of them with the base of a saute pan. He'd push the fragrant gray dust into the meat, all while softening a large knob of butter in olive oil on the stove. Once the butter ran clear and the pan began to spit, he'd add the steaks and they'd sizzle and pop and sigh. High heat would sear the exterior and lock all of the moisture inside the steaks.

Chopped shallots and chicken stock went into the pan as the steaks went to rest. Reduced into a tight sticky sauce, he'd add sour cream, more butter, a cup of brandy he'd stolen from the front of the house.

Flames roared up the middle of the pan and the brown liquid bubbled and spat.

Koffi would serve it up, pouring the sauce straight from the pan.

When cut, clear, meaty juice stained with bright red blood seeped from the meat.

He was always the last to eat. "I will smoke now," he said. Koffi'd smoke about 10 menthols standing outside, talking trash with the dishwashers. We'd still have over three hours left in that hole.