Hearn - High season: a memoir of heroin & hospitality

H I G H S E AS ON

A MEMOIR OF HEROIN
& HOSPITALITY

JIM HEARN

First published in Australia in 2012

Copyright Jim Hearn 2012

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ISBN 978 1 74237 841 1

Typeset in 12/14.5pt Bembo by Midland Typesetters, Australia Printed and bound in Australia by McPherson's Printing Group

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Alice

Contents

So Im standing in front of my six-burner stove at Raes on Wategos in Byron Bay and our head waiter Scotty wants to know if Ill cook a soft-shell crab for Paris Hilton that isnt deep-fried. Im no killjoy so I say sure, itll be wet and soggy but itll taste like crab. Besides, its New Years Day and Im feeling generous. Scotty, who knows what hes doing, takes care of her security guys with two whole fish, wok-fried vegetables, lotus-leaf rice and a couple of Peronis, then tells Paris hell send a few things out. Scotty has a certain arrogance which goes down well with most customers.

The thing about girls and eating, particularly if theyre celebrities or wannabe celebrities, is that they want the following three things when they go to a restaurant: first off, they want to have fun, which is why they travel in packs; next, they want to try a whole lot of different food, which they often share; and finally, they like all the food to look great. And what has become apparent this week with Paris Hilton, last week with Elle Macpherson and at Christmas time with Megan Gale, is that they actually have human bodies that require sustenance. The best of them know this much about themselves but many dont, and in the latter case it can mean the first rule of going out to lunch gets broken; which is to say, no ones had fun at a restaurant if theyre still hungry after the meal. Doesnt matter how good the view is or the service was.

So Scotty goes all out and orders half a dozen entrees for the six girls, doubling up on two so effectively theyve got eight. When it becomes obvious Paris and her little sister can really eat, Scotty, whos seen it all before, puts a rush order in for a cooked-through rib-eye steak with sweet potato mash and shitake jus, two fish of the day, three leaf salads, a main-size lemongrass-pasted Moreton Bay bug dish and, to keep the party going (as much for the other punters in the restaurant who are all busy texting their friends about whos sitting near them), we get the mains out the door as soon as the entree plates start coming back in. A share menu is a great way to eat pan-Asian cuisine anyway. Its not on a lazy Susan so you need a good waiter, but a share menumaybe fifteen dishes for sixis a rocking good idea if everyones there for the food rather than the Cristal. And these girls eat everything we throw at them.

The last thing they need in order to feel the day has come together for them is a great bathroom. And the bathrooms at Raes are small but fucking great. So the girls all trip past and pile in and do whatever six girls do together in a tiny bathroom before they stumble out, giggling as they pass the kitchen where the crackhead apprentices are lined up to catch a glimpsewhich is all theyre going to get because the security guy, who in this instance manages things pretty well, stands in the doorway of the kitchen because hes seen what apprentice chefs are capable of. He knows that the three freaks in my kitchen, Jesse, Choc and Sodaall of whom are under twenty-one and have more body art and piercings than the Illustrated Manare much more of a potential threat than any paparazzi. Just looking at the security guy I can see hes worried about the boys. I figure hes stood in doorways like this all over the world to deter smart-arse apprentices from yelling out, Paris, you want my phone number? or Paris, I loved your video or Paris, how were the crabs?

But the thing about Jesse, Choc and Soda is that while they may look like punks and act like punks, they cook like angels. Not everyone can stand the heat, sweat and abuse of a busy five-star restaurant. Not all kids have the necessary survival skills to see out one busy lunch service let alone the three or four years it takes to qualify as a chef. And these kids mess up. Sometimes theyre late, sometimes the police ring looking for one of them, and sometimes they crumble and cry under the pressure, but if one stuck a paring knife between another ones ribs during service, the one with the knife tickling their lungs would finish plating up their order before removing the steel from their rib cage. Okay, I exaggerate, but only slightly; these kids are tough, they can stand the heat...

That said, Im starting to worry about Jesse, who looks less than pristine. Hes been going hard for a couple of weeks now and although he hasnt let the line down yet, hes starting to piss everyone off with his bad attitude. Jesse is the oldest of the three apprentices and the leader of the pack. Its important to the smooth running of the kitchen that Jesse doesnt get too messed up because if and when he does, he takes the other kids to hell with him. Even though Im chefor the old guy at the stove with a speaking partthese boys have their own subculture in which Jesse is the leader, and where he goes they follow. And right now, because its high season in Byron Bay, nothing else matters other than getting through the next few weeks with whatever self-respect people can drag along behind them. The stakes are high; fuck up and walk out now, or push things too far until one of the kids break, and were finished in this part of the world as chefs. That wouldnt matter if wed been here six weeks or even six months, but after a couple of years were a team and theres a certain level of expectation. Besides, Vinnie Rae would cut off our runaway legs.

Vinnies a real treat. Hes like our older brother who grew up and got rich and famous and now... now hes like our very rich and very demanding older brother. He looks like a blond Bob Dylanwho can surf. He came from the same kind of working-class neighbourhood as the rest of the guys in the kitchen, had the same sort of parents and same public schooling. But Vinnie was never going to stay a working-class drone. If his first job had been in the transport industry, hed be a trucking magnate by now; if hed started out in the fashion industry hed be an international design star. But he didnt, he started in a kitchen, and now we live with the consequences of that fateful day.