HOT AND BOTHERED… I was hanging around annoying the guys in the kitchen at Bernardus Lodge the other day, interfering with Chef de Cuisine Christophe “Hurricane” Grosjean while he was preparing for the pending evening rush. I wandered up to the stove to peek at a few pots. It was a good-looking stove with about 10 or so burners, plus a couple of ovens, typical for an operation that size. As I got to within about 18 inches of it, the familiar wall of heat snapped my fuzzy attention into focus, and at the time only three burners were cranking.

Most people have never lined up in front of a commercial stove going full tilt during a busy restaurant push, so they really have no idea how hot it is in the area where the cooking is done. I remember my first job in a restaurant as a waiter in a steakhouse in Fort Walton Beach, Fla., about an hour from Mobile (reference Bob Dylan). I didn’t know shit. The place specialized in grilled meats done over a wood-burning fire. The chef was a Greek guy with a hair-trigger temper and a gambling habit. His familiarity with distilled spirits helped round out his personality. But that bastard could hear 10 tables’ worth of grill items called out, covering the entire surface of those burning black bars with New Yorks and filets and pork chops, then nursemaid each one to perfect temperature every time. When the rush began to wane and he only had a dozen or so items on there, he’d rant to his bookie on a phone with a long chord while he intuited the remaining few meats to completion. Every few weeks he’d throw a fit, tell the owner he was quitting, then allow himself to be talked back (with the help of a few crisp Benjamins) into returning.

As I tip-toed my way through the awkward moments and days of that new beginning, slowly absorbing the inherent ferocity in the back of the house of a busy restaurant, I still can recall that mad grill god’s face during the heart of the rush as he would turn and shout some obscenity or another at one or all of us. It would always be flushed red (like a rare rib-eye) and he’d have this look in his eyes, like someone who had just had to coax a persnickety dragon back into its cage.

Along the way, as I was earning my status as a restaurant dog, I spent enough time belly up to a real stove to understand what these wackos live with every night. I have a theory that exposure to all of that heat, along with the concomitant lack of oxygen, contribute to a distinct malaise in humans who make their living cooking commercially. I think I’ll give it a name: Cooks’ Syndrome. How else can you explain the craziness of these people?

PORTER HOUSE… Got this word from Mark C. Anderson, who also told me Marina put together another money International Flavors event, with Tico’s, Pizza Paradise and Paraiso among the brightest stars. Here’s what he had to pour out: Word from the beer frontier: The hops cops, Chris and Meredith Nelson, are still working their beat, sharing the best, most arresting flavors from Germany to Anchorage. They recently returned from Alaska all abuzz about some serious pilsners, IPAs and porters they tried at the Anchorage Beer Fest. I got out to their lair in Carmel Valley for a great little tasting (proof: Bouchee’s own VIP Kerry Winslow was there, along with savvy local scribe Renee Brincks, artist/beer freak Steve Zmak, Weekly utility man Adam Joseph and the Nelsons’ dogs Porter and Stout). We cruised through some delicious offerings, including a Wrath Belgian Style Double IPA. Damn good – 9 on my scorecard. Check out what Midnight Sun Brewing is doing. And Chris’ blog (beergeek.com), where all the best suds seem to surface.

IN THE NOW… Stopped into a couple of new joints around the area. Over in Salinas, where Spado’s used to be, is now Salotto’s. It’s got a really nice look inside and on the patio, with a black and red modern theme accented by large photographs of Venice. The menu is kind of neighborhood Italian-American, honest and upfront. There’s a full bar – for a guy like me who likes to eat at the bar, that’s a helpful feature. Give it a try.

After having an early dinner there I came back across the grade and smoothed up to Citronelle, the new big-city style Michel Richard restaurant and lounge at Carmel Valley Ranch. Walking down the long, remodeled hallway into this deliciously decored (new word) space, magic-carpet rides you to a modernized revisiting of a forgotten past vision of the future (give it a little thought).

Since I had already had dinner I decided upon a flight of cognacs (very cool). This is a place to sip cognac or fine wine or elegant spirits. It’s a place to cozy into and take your time, luxuriating in the bath of soft light and ambiance. Richard, who was still in town for the opening and chatting with CVR GM Joseph Violi, sent me out a small plate of little cheese puffs, light clouds of curd that rained delicate deliciousness all the way down.

At the time of this writing, Primo, in PG where Pasta Mia used to be, was getting ready (they will be open when you read this). I anticipate that will be a place to go for an interesting glass or bottle of wine, some fun, flavorful food and an all-around enjoyable experience from the friendly staff and gracious owners John and Kimm Stidham.

A word or three from a guy who has been part of 18 restaurant and/or nightclub openings: Please give all these folks a chance. Putting together a restaurant opening is one of the most difficult things to do. There are so many moving parts, so many thousands of components that go into the average restaurant day. Coordinating that, like building a good sports team, requires a certain amount of time and a natural measure of mistakes, skipped beats and minor catastrophes. Give a new joint at least six months to get its stuff together… so no whining, just wining and dining… cheers.