This month marks 15 years for me in the restaurant biz. I doubt when I donned my apron and punched my time card for the first time my 14-year-old self would have ever imagined what the future would hold: all of the customers that would make me want to scream, all of the co-workers that would make me want to tear my hair out, all of the late nights, all of the dirty fingernails, and all the dang Niçoise salads.
15 years split between working for a Frenchman and some serious Francophiles, I’ve served more Niçoise salads than I dare estimate. You’d think I’d be sick of the very sight them, but, shockingly, I’m not. There’s something so satisfying about looking at such a beautiful and abundant plate that when I came into a couple of beautiful tuna steaks over the weekend, I immediately knew I would use them to make the Rolls Royce of Niçoise salads.