Disaster Narrowly Averted

We spent the morning preparing food and setting up the kitchen for today's Grand Buffet. On Friday, the dining room is filled with platter after platter of beautifully arranged food from the Advanced Garde Manger and Baking and Pastry classes, plus the kitchen is open and we prepare a selection of hot dishes. Today's options included blackened ahi tuna, salmon wrapped in puff pastry, and sautéed scallops. My team was responsible for prime rib, stuffed pork tenderloin served with slices of braised pork belly, mashed potatoes and acorn squash, wild mushrooms, and veal parmesan. And everything needed to be in place, chafing dishes lit and filled with water, at 11 am.

I worked on tomato sauce for the veal, peeled potatoes and squash, and kept an eye on the beef, sizzling away all morning. At one point, Chef Glenn walked by and said, "When you have a chance, light the fryers." I replied with a snappy "Yes, Chef!" and before too long, Fitz and I were sitting on the floor while he showed me how to light the pilots. You need to crank the knob half-way, stick in a lighted match, and hold for 15 seconds, then turn the knob from "light" to "on". Of course, the knob and the flame are behind metal doors, about 7 inches off the floor. The second fryer was especially recalcitrant, and refused to light about 4 times before it finally "took".

Not long afterwards, we broke for "family meal," everybody sitting around in the dining room (careful not to disturb the perfectly set tables) with plates of leftovers from yesterday. I headed for the ladies room, and when I returned, I watched as Chef marched Fitz back into the kitchen, where they stood next to the fryers. I joined them, and Chef pointed to the right fryer, smoking hot but empty. "It's like driving your car without oil! You could have burned the place down!" I joined Fitz's apologies, already in progress, and he told us to get out of his kitchen and finish our lunch. A few minutes later, I approached him and said, "Chef, I'm very sorry about the fryer. I made a mistake, but it'll never happen again." "You're damn right," he said. "Those are the lessons that last you the rest of your life." Then he told me about the time he burned his eyebrows off.

I was all set to help Fitz carve prime rib, but Chef put me on "maitre d'" duty. I stood at the entrance to the kitchen to smile and invite people in. I had a good view of the dining room for two hours, and the chance to talk to many of today's guests, including the school's executive staff.

When we cleaned up after lunch service ended, several Chefs gathered in the front aisle of the kitchen, laughing and joking and clearly shooting the breeze. Andy walked past me and said, "That's what I want to be: the Chef who stands around joking while everybody else works." Isn't that everybody's view of management?

I am falling into an all-too-common trap by failing to mention the people who are making our life SO much easier this week: we have stewards who do our dishes. They are wonderful. We give them the good leftovers.

At the end of the shift, Chef Glenn called out "Bring it in," and gave us his feedback. He pointed out the areas that we should concentrate on next week: having our tools available and sharp, being more precise with the timing of our cooking, and "taking it up a notch." As always, he said, "OK, you don't have to go home, but you do have to leave my kitchen." Which we did. I thanked him as I left the room, and he said, "You did good."