Restaurant owner stocks up on workers’ goodwill
Owner Tom Davis was going to meet me at 9 a.m. in his restaurant, the Stockyards, to load up the smoker with ribs and chicken. But he’s not here.
Instead, Davis must waste his morning at the bank, disputing fraudulent charges on the restaurant’s debit and credit card machines. That’s the reality of a restaurant owner’s day.
But the restaurant and I are in good hands, with Raj Sivarajah and Yogan Rathinam.
If you’ve never worked in a kitchen, you may not know that immigrants from Sri Lanka are the backbone of Toronto restaurants. Twelve years ago, when I worked at Fresh, the lion’s share of prep was done by two guys, Mogan and Prapa.
They worked a midnight shift, producing all of the vegetarian restaurant’s soups and sauces. As long-term employees, they were the only ones trusted with maintaining the flavour and consistency of key dishes, while the line cooks, Canadian kids in their early 20s who would only stay with the company a couple years, sliced tomatoes and cucumbers.
Sivarajah was the first employee at the Stockyards. Six years later, he’s still here, still getting up at 5:30 a.m. to take the bus from his house in Stouffville.
This morning, Sivarajah and Rathinam have the prep kitchen humming along. A pot of smoked brisket braises on the stovetop. Rathinam slices and breads tomatillos for BATs (house-made bacon, arugula and fried green tomato sandwiches) while Sivarajah debones chickens for the dirty bird, a Sunday brunch special, the fried chicken mounted over waffles with bacon and cheddar, swaddled in a gravy mornay sauce.
Out back, the smoker’s racks are lined with ribs and chicken, the coals lit and the internal tempera- ture almost up to the desired 225 F.
Taking a break, Sivarajah snacks on a waffle slathered in butter. Next to him, on top of a gallon drum of Maxwell House coffee, sit three vitamin pills, an antidote for what he eats while working here.
“Most of the food here,” the 61years-young Sivarajah shrugs, patting his belly, “is fried.”
Out front, Shegae Wakai scrubs out one of the three deep-fryers with soap and water. One machine is just for french fries but meat and breading makes the oil cloudy, so the two chicken fryers need to be drained and cleaned multiple times a week.
Wakai works full time at Scaramouche, noon to midnight, five days a week.
For a high-end restaurant, those are light hours, leaving Wakai time for a second job, working breakfast shifts here.
It’s quiet this morning, everyone taking advantage to get ready for the always-crazy weekend, when Torontonians decide they want ham- burgers, ribs and fried chicken all day long.
Strapping on gloves, Sivarajah and I take apart chickens, deboning the thighs and setting aside the wings for a staff meal. Then we clean briskets. And I get a good shoulder workout on the French fry press.
When Davis shows up, he shows me how he’s finessed the brisket recipe to maximize consistency. He’s proud of the homemade processed cheese and the sausages he makes from the rib ends.
Davis is ever a tinkerer and perfectionist. “I want my ribs to have a little tug,” he says, disputing the “falling off the bone” fallacy. “But it has to be an easy tug.”
His staff room and office are the cleanest I’ve ever seen, everyone’s cubby labelled, without the expected pile of stinky shoes or desk overflowing with invoices.
It’s unusual that he hasn’t expanded in the six years since he launched. Many young restaurateurs, after a hot opening and six months of good press, eagerly jump to open a second and third location.
Davis hasn’t. It’s hard to imagine why there aren’t a half-dozen Stockyards around Toronto. Yet he still doesn’t even have a liquor licence.
Before we can discuss the reason for that, Davis is whisked away on another emergency, and soon must leave the country on family business.
But in a world of fast-changing tastes, where loyalty is more often invoked in relation to brands than people, if I can’t tell you why Davis hasn’t moved onward and upward, I can at least tell you why his employees and customers have stayed.
“Look,” says Sivarajah, holding up his phone to show me a text.
It’s from a former Stockyards employee who left to open a similar restaurant, asking Sivarajah for help in the kitchen. I ask if he’ll go work for the other guy.
“No,” Sivarajah shakes his head. “Here is good. Food is good. Tom is good.”
Stockyards Potato Salad
In a restaurant, when you’re producing 25 pounds of potato salad at a time, it’s easy enough to throw in fistfuls of all the different fresh herbs in your walk-in fridge. Scaled down for home use, it would be obnoxious for me to advocate that you buy seven whole bunches, only to use a pinch of each. So look at the herbs listed as a guideline for how much in total and just grab a couple of the ones you like best.
2-1/2 lb (1.1 kg) mini potatoes, quartered
11/2 tbsp (22 Ml) honey
11/2 tbsp (22 Ml) olive oil
2 tbsp (30 Ml) grainy mustard
Zest and juice of 1/2 lemon
Zest and juice of 1/2 lime
1 clove garlic, minced
2 tbsp (30 Ml) red onion, finely
diced
1 tbsp (15 Ml) fresh parsley, chopped*
1 tbsp (15 Ml) fresh mint, chopped*
1 tbsp (15 Ml) fresh oregano, chopped*
1 tbsp (15 Ml) fresh thyme, chopped*
1 tbsp (15 Ml) fresh sage, chopped*
1 tbsp (15 Ml) fresh rosemary, chopped*
1 tbsp (15 Ml) fresh marjoram, chopped* salt and pepper to taste
In large pot of cold water, bring potatoes to boil, reduce to simmer and cook until tender, about 10 minutes. Strain and cool.
In a large mixing bowl, whisk honey, olive oil, mustard, lemon zest, lemon juice, lime zest, lime juice, garlic and onion. Add herbs as desired. Fold in cooled potatoes. Mix and season to taste with salt and pepper. Store in fridge for up to 4 days. Makes 4 servings Star Tested by Corey Mintz.