Burnt Bits

My Own Kitchen Confession

The obvious truth is that every kitchen has its messes, and so does every cook. Sometimes it’s a cake that caves or a sauce that splits. Sometimes it’s bigger, a night that falls apart, a service that sends you to the walk-in to cry, a job that ends before you saw it coming.

Burnt Bits is where those stories live. A standing corner of The Fifth Course for the moments that didn’t go as planned, mine and other people’s too. Sometimes they’ll make you laugh. Sometimes they’ll hit a little harder. Always, they’ll be human.

I’ll drop in here now and then with one of my own kitchen stories. Other times, I’ll pass the mic to someone else, a writer, chef, or person whose work I admire. (Later this month, we’ve got our first Burnt Bits “guest” via a Substack crossover, and I’m very excited about it.)

But for now, I’ll kick things off with a story of my own.

Before I ever cooked for a living, I was in marketing and social media. I went to art school, started in illustration, shifted to graphic design, and eventually landed in the freelance hospitality world, running accounts for restaurants and chefs. I’d always cooked, but at some point it stopped being just a habit. It started to feel like the thing I wanted to stake my life on.

So I did. I quit my job, gave myself a year to figure it out, and applied to work at a sandwich shop. I got hired. And I thought, this is it — my first real step into the kitchen.

Wrong. I was fired within a month.

Let me start, calmly and not defensively, by saying I did nothing wrong. Anyone who knows me knows the sandwich is one of my great loves. Eating them, making them, thinking about them. So when I landed my first proper kitchen job, it felt both seasoned and brand new. I won’t name names, though it wouldn’t change the story, but it was a beautiful little spot that made damn good sandwiches.

I’d been there a handful of times before working, and plenty after they let me go. The place was R&D Foods in Prospect Heights. At first, it was great. I loved the pace, the prep, the customers. I didn’t love the other employees as much, but that wasn’t the point. I was there to work, to learn, not to make friends.

It was the morning after Halloween. My shift started at 6:00 a.m., and I was outside the door at 5:50 with a coffee from home in hand. I’m a big Halloween girl, but I was in bed by midnight. I’m also a big sleeper, and that has not changed since having a baby. The morning rush came and went, then the late morning pop. By early afternoon, during a lull, I mentioned to a coworker that I was feeling a little sluggish.

When I clocked out, I got called into the office. The owner sat me down and told me she didn’t stand for hungover behavior and would have to let me go. I didn’t even get a word in before she asked me to leave.

I was stunned. Then I was confused. Then I was mad at myself, thinking, that’s it, I’m never drinking again. But after a minute, I came to my senses. I hadn’t done anything wrong. So Garry and I walked up the block to Leland, ordered a crisp glass of wine and some appetizers, and I told the story to our waitress, who told the head chef, who offered me a line cook job on the spot.

I stayed there for a while, then moved on to Misi. That one moment sent me somewhere better. I trailed food stylists. I cooked events. I went to culinary school.

Getting fired wasn’t the end. It was the burnt bit at the bottom of the pan that you scraped up and stirred back into the sauce, arguably the best part.

And maybe that’s the point. The messes don’t always ruin the meal. Sometimes, they make it richer.

Sound Bites: August Playlist

Meal In

A backyard BBQ at my house! Let me paint you a detailed picture of the food & two recipes!

The table was a festival of flavors, each dish hitting a different note. We started with prosciutto and Stilton cheese, salty and creamy with just the right mix of elegance and grit. Sweet and spicy short ribs came next with a crisp, vinegar-bright cucumber salad to cut through the richness. Honey-ginger-sriracha chicken thighs brought sticky, fragrant heat, while salmon crudo with fennel, basil, and pine nut sauce offered a bright, silky contrast. Pepper-garlic shrimp landed fresh off the heat, and a baked cauliflower and arugula salad grounded it all. Plenty of wine kept the conversation flowing and the night unhurried.

Meal Out

On a hot New York night when you’ve got a little extra time to hop on the train or take a drive, head straight to Elias Corner in Astoria. It’s no-frills in the best way: wobbly outdoor tables, salty air, a grilled fish staring back at you, and a $15 carafe of house wine that somehow empties way too quickly. This old-school Greek joint with its big bustling patio was built for loud tables, too many CAMPERS, and an unnecessary amount of shared plates. No menu here, just a chalkboard with whatever came out of the water that day.

I started with smoky, charred to perfection octopus, tender in all the right ways, and sardines that were non-negotiable. Order them fried, hit them hard with lemon, and thank me later. After that, let the fish choose you. Branzino, monkfish, salmon, sea bass, it doesn’t matter. Every bite tastes like summer in Greece.

It’s like stepping into someone’s Greek backyard, asking your aunt what’s for dinner, and somehow getting the freshest catch on the island. Just go.

My Order:

Sardines, Fried potatoes, Octopus, Black Seabass, Greek Salad

Side Plate:

An exceptional read by a superior human. I always find myself returning to David Lynch’s Room to Dream, but this article is one I like to revisit from time to time. It’s not directly about messes, yet somehow it fits the scene perfectly.

Just because I used it today and every other day this week. My most used tool is my Fish spatula. Is it a sleeper tool? Maybe? I don't see it often in home kitchens, but it's plentiful in restaurant kitchens. So my home cooks… you’re welcome <3

Until next time,

xx Gina