Feature

In the Kitchen with Anna

by Anna Farina
I should have known better. A drop of blood dances around my ring finger and Anna hurriedly asks, “blood?” Yes, blood. But only an insignificant amount. I should have heeded in their advice when Anna, the head chef, and the rest of the Al di La crew told me to be extra careful when using the mandolin (a device used to slice an array of veggies). I didn’t catch on the first time when one of the crew referred to this gadget as “evil.” I did now. I am then attended to with a band aid and finger protector resembling the likes of a condom. Mondays sure aren’t void of excitement here. I can’t remember the last time someone ran to get me a band aid.

Recently, Mondays, (my day off) find me on the opposite side of the job spectrum: no longer running around, accessorizing baubles and doing PR for a women’s boutique, but running around, prepping in the intimate kitchen of an Italian eatery in Brooklyn’s Park Slope, called Al di La. It’s not by happenstance, though, that I get to injure myself while slicing salsify and working next to one of the most noted and endearing chefs of Italian cuisine in the borough, Anna Klinger. I’ve broken bread many times at this Fifth Avenue staple, which showcases an honest and well executed menu of Northern Italian fare, and always wanted to know who and what was behind it all. How could ravioli be so good, consisting only of three ingredients? Needless to say, I was determined.
Several bowls of mussels and a plate or two of homemade pasta later, (Soon afterwards) my fingers became overly ambitious and decided to “cold call” this favorite of mine. From what I remember, the conversation went like this:
A.F. “Hi, may I speak with Anna?
A.K. “This is she.”
A.F. “HI, my name is Anna as well and I have a bit of a weird question for you.” I’m interested in going to culinary school, but would love to get some firsthand experience in a kitchen to see if I like it or not.” And I really love your restaurant. “Are you up for that sort of thing?”
A.K. “Sure. I think that’s a great idea if you’re thinking of going to culinary school; I’ve had several people do that here.
A.F. “Great. See you Monday then.”
Wait. Why was that so easy? I didn’t know, nor did I question. I went with it and was happy.

The next few Mondays came and went and my appetite for the culinary arts went satiated more and more. Anna and her crew acclimated me in the simplest but erudite of ways, and it didn’t take long for me to figure out why that ravioli was so damn good. The first hour of a typical Monday had me perfectly peel citrus fruits that were to be segmented and married with crispy greens. Blood oranges and grapefruit then bled into a cornucopia of big and small culinary feats like whipping up batches of vanilla bean whipped cream, chiffonading mint, and cleaning a small colony of intricately packed, salty and spiny, anchovies. Now these meek hours a week blend old and new culinary odd jobs: I dabble in the aforementioned while mingling in the likes of ice cream making, kneading and shaping tart dough, shaving cheese, and cleaning fresh sardines. All the while, getting to sample everything I touch, sans spiny fish.

Today, though, isn’t just one of those run in the mill sort of days in Klinger’s kitchen; tomorrow, the chef du jour will have to acquaint an audience of 50 at De Gustabis - one of the restaurants at Macy’s Herald Square - on how to make some of the same dishes that have made her place so widely haunted.

“She’s mine today,” Klinger quips to one of her fellow chefs whom I usually work with on Mondays. So, as much as I would like to retire my mandolin for a new pair of shoes, it is nor the time nor place. There are heads upon heads of cabbage that need to be shredded and Anna knows I’m game. I don’t quite get the right consistency the first try, so Klinger considerately shows me what slaw should look like.

I’m shredding cabbage and other veggies for the next few hours while Klinger devotes her time and hands to things like braising ribs, cleaning and filleting exotic fish, and even answering the occasional phone call. All the while finding a minute here and there to entertain a couple of questions on my part and get in a laugh with her devoted staff.
I find it funny and endearing all at the same time when I notice we’re both wearing converse sneakers; mine a muddied ivory, Anna’s, a sparkling black. Klinger notices too and remarks on this kitchen coincidence.

With her perfectly cropped hair and adept hands, Klinger affords a sensibility and lightheartedness to her work and gracefully run kitchen. Out of wanting to soak up as much as I can during my short weekly stay here, and also for the simple reason that I’m nosy, I’m brazen and ask Anna if she’s ever calculated how much of her life she’s spent standing up. After all, this is the same lady who, two days after giving birth to her son, went right back into that kitchen of hers, son in tow, and cooked up a storm. She could answer anything, right?

She doesn’t take time to think about it. She tells me that she’s never thought of it that way, because it’s “just not worth it” for her to. Instead, she thinks of all the hours upon days upon years of standing up in her kitchen doing what she knows best as a “labor of love” sort of thing.

Back to shredding.
Born on the great John Lennon’s birthday, Anna was raised and fed in Brooklyn, New York. From inception, she was always overtly fascinated with shoes. She used to momentarily filch sunbathers’ prettily strewn sandals on the Italian beached when she was little; it didn’t matter whether they were 10 sizes to big — they were shoes, and she was in love.