Fava beans are a lot like life: it takes a lot of work to get to the really good parts.
First there’s a pod to deal with. Peel back the zipper-string that keeps the pod sealed tight, open up the green shell, and inside you’ll find the precious fava beans nestled inside. But the work doesn’t stop there. There’s still a heavy, protective skin to remove before you get to the precious kidney-shaped nuggets of delicious emerald green. What a luxury fava beans are; I marvel at their simple elegance every time.
Lately, I can’t help but admire the wonderful little things about my job at Mozza.
It took countless years of shedding through inconsequential restaurant positions to find a job studded with rewards. I pitched the notion of the power of a flashy title and began to celebrate the good, humble work of service. I zipped past months catering, peeled back the years of meaningless beer-tap pulling, and stored away my management jobs, to uncover the simple joy of waiting tables and making drinks at Osteria and Pizzeria Mozza.
Nancy Silverton, Mario Batali, and Joe Bastianich’s world-class restaurant is a place where there is no such thing as a meaningless job.
From the prep cook shelling fava beans, the dishwasher cleaning off plates, the receptionist taking calls, the pasta cook dropping fresh pasta into the boiling water, the waiter explaining the menu, to the chef in pristine whites calling out orders —we all make a difference to the experience of everyone that steps into the restaurant.