At the diner I dishwashed at on the fringes of Northeast Philadelphia as a teenager, the cooks (they didn’t seem like “chefs” since one was named “Chief” and one was named “Rocco”) listened to the “urban” station 98.9 (a.k.a. Power 99 – I always thought it strange that the station found it necessary to round up) and protested if I ever even thought about listening to the Smiths. On the left coast in the age of the IPod, the musical tastes of power chefs are less divided by genre, at least according to a recent report in the SF Chronicle. Except for the noxious presence of the notorious B.O.B. M.A.R.L.E.Y. (didn’t you guys get enough of “Waiting in Vain” between bong hits in UC system?) on Sebo’s playlist, these culinarians have diverse/decent taste – Jessica Boncutter rocks Fela Kuti at Bar Jules, Russell Moore lets the Bad Seeds sprout at Camino, and Richard Reddington whips up Pearl Jam at Redd. (That’s funny because jam is a food, so this chef is “whipping up” Pearl “Jam,” which is also a band! Get it? (Christ, blogging is kind of hack work sometimes, you know? What can I say?) And, yes, I like Pearl Jam. Even the debut record. Got a problem with that? ) But imagine how “out” (out = “avant garde,” or “weird,” or “wild” in jazz lingo) food would taste if only more chefs listened to Arnold Schoenberg and Edgard Varese and shit, homie! Can you develop a gustatory version of the 12-tone system? What if you were cooking on acid, or had huffed some gas before your shift? Then your FOOD would be FUCKING JAMMIN’!!!