A waiter takes your order after your thirst has properly been addressed \u2013 Champagne? A martini? A glass of sparkling water perhaps?<\/p>\n
An amuse bouche arrives seconds after the waiter disappears with your command for the kitchen to fuss over.<\/p>\n
The sommelier appears and, being the best in the world that he is, guides you through a volume of voluptuous green bottles until, together, you have reached a suitable date for the evening. Or perhaps a few. Maybe just a taste from many?<\/p>\n
The courses roll out and waiters glide to and from your table seen and unseen. They know when to get your attention and when to leave you alone. They know when you want to strike up a conversation and when to remain in the shadows refilling glasses, brushing away the crumbs, taking away empty porcelain plates with silverware made of real silver. That is their job \u2013 to know what you want and when you want it.<\/p>\n
And then there’s us cooks in the kitchen slaving it out under extreme pressure like we were in a war game simulation with chef’s barking orders and tickets in-coming faster than torpedos. And we’re either laughing in the trenches because we’re winning the game or keeping our heads down working faster and faster hoping the flag is still ours at the end of the night.<\/p>\n
Yes, it is quite another world from the dining room. I personally like to play both fields.<\/p>\n
Nonetheless even you, the diner, has entered into the timelessness of ‘kitchen years’. The Broadway show you thought you were going to catch at 8PM has now become less important than staying for an extra dessert course and an after-dinner drink. You are living moment to moment, like us cooks do, just in a different way…<\/p>\n
I’m not so early into the kitchen this Saturday, but not so late either. Early enough to gather my equipment before the rest of the kitchen staff starts searching for all the good flat bottomed pots and pans and the desirable cutting boards.<\/p>\n
“Last day, huh? Is it really<\/em> your last day?” The hot appetizer cook, Chris, comes over to chat a little before the kitchen becomes a circus.<\/p>\n “Yup, it’s my last day, and you’re the next Monk Station cook. Are you excited to be on the entr\u00e9e line?” I ask wondering how he’s feeling considering he will begin without any training on the station.<\/p>\n “Yeah, I’m excited, but I don’t know the station at all.”<\/p>\n “Don’t worry.” I offer with a pat on the shoulder, “I have everything written down that you need to get prepared with an hour by hour itemization. And they won’t let you fail on this station. Trust me. A dish off the entr\u00e9e line costs at least $50. They will not<\/em> let you fail. But they will scrutinize everything you do over on this side.”<\/p>\n “Yeah, so I’ve heard…” He remarks and I can tell he’s worried about the position.<\/p>\n “You’re shit has to be tight over here. I mean really<\/em> tight. Expect to be yelled at for weeks about everything \u2013 even if you think it’s perfect, it’s not perfect. You’ll be fine.”<\/p>\n He leaves to go back and set up the Hot Appetizer station which is by far one of the worst to get up and running. That station has so much mise en place<\/em> it’s almost unthinkable. And he will be fine, he’s a good cook.<\/p>\n “Hey, there’s much less mise en place<\/em> on Monk Station!” I call to him from across the piano, “It’s easy compared to Hot Apps….”<\/p>\n I am blazing through my prep work\u00a0and I’m not feeling anything yet. I expected to feel sad or relieved or something upon arrival into the kitchen that has been my home for the last year and a half and instead I feel nothing. It’s just a regular Saturday.<\/p>\n Cooks come up to wish me well and ask if it really is my last day. One of the new cooks catches me in the walk-in fridge and says: “You’re going to cry tonight, I know you’re going to miss us.”<\/p>\n I tell her, “I am<\/em> going to miss you<\/em>, but I am not going to cry.”<\/p>\n And I know I’m not going to cry. I don’t know why I know that, but I do. It’s not that I love anyone less or more than the last place I cooked at, it’s just that I know in my heart I’m ready for the next chapter to begin.<\/p>\n Diner service finally starts up after five hours of prep work and the chefs are messing with me biggtime: last night on the line Amy? How does it feel? You’re gonna miss us? Thank God you’re leaving \u2013if you put another plate like that on the passe<\/em> we’ll have to fire you….<\/p>\n But it’s all in fun. And for the most part we are just too busy to do anything but concentrate on the dishes.<\/p>\n The first seating is over and I’m still not feeling anything. And now this is bothering me.<\/p>\n Actually I am<\/em> feeling something: I’m feeling really tired because I haven’t slept well for weeks. And when I’m tired, I’m irritable. And dammit, I want to feel something <\/em>other<\/em> than irritable.<\/em><\/p>\n “You okay tonight? You seem mad or upset?” the Chef de Cuisine asks as I’m gathering plates for the line in between seatings.<\/p>\n “Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask? I’m concentrating on making my dishes perfect tonight. I want a perfect night.”<\/p>\n “Well you look angry. Smile.”<\/p>\n “Why are you asking me to smile. You never ask any of the male cooks to smile and they look more upset than me right now.” I lash back, surprising myself.<\/p>\n “Amy, I am not<\/em> messing with you tonight. I just know that cooking is a passionate thing and it brings out lots of emotions. That’s all.” He says still<\/em> slightly messing around with a sparkle in his eye that tells me he’s up for a good challenge and a slight smirk that always means trouble.<\/p>\n When my Chef de Cuisine is in a good mood that normally means he’s going to come down on us harder. I usually try to stay clear of him when he’s happy.<\/p>\n I ignore the rest of this conversation because I’m obviously being led down a road of no return and continue bringing plates for the line.<\/p>\n The second seating is smooth and my fish is poaching nicely and my plates are looking clean and my sliced monk is looking soignier…<\/p>\n Chris, the Hot Apps cook is sent over to my station to join me for the end of the last seating and I am trying to teach him everything amidst the rush. But it’s impossible. And he, of course, wants to plate everything.<\/p>\n But at the same time I want all my dishes to be perfect because, it’s my last night and I want to finish them myself.<\/p>\n But I like Chris and I want to help so I let go a little.<\/p>\n The last dish is ordered and it’s a filet with pommes pur\u00e9e<\/em>. I have no idea it’s the last order and I heat up the filet and saut\u00e9 the wild mushrooms while Chris caneles the pur\u00e9e<\/em> on the plate.<\/p>\n He does a good job, but I like it when the caneles are shaped just a little bigger and fanned just a little wider. No matter, it looks good, he takes the plate to the passe<\/em> and I follow behind so I can glimpse the upcoming tickets.<\/p>\n I read the tickets, and read the tickets again, and then it hits: that was the last ticket for my station and I let Chris plate it. The horror!<\/em> It’s not his fault, but I’m upset that I’m asked to train a cook on my last night on the line when I could\/should have been doing this the whole week long.<\/p>\n I leave the kitchen to cool off and go to the bathroom while the other stations (besides the entr\u00e9e line) are cleaning up. The Chef was right \u2013 cooking is a passionate thing! I look in the mirror, take off my paper hat, and finally I feel something totally unexpected: I am so<\/em> happy! And I still don’t know why \u2013 but I am so<\/em> happy!<\/p>\n I come back up to the kitchen and half-heartedly pitch in cleaning. No one expects me to. And I’m busy taking loads of photos. I look on the passe<\/em> and a silver tray of Champagne glasses await.<\/p>\n The Chef de Cuisine comes up to me, “Well Amy, go get your champagne in the walk-in, I know you wanna open it.” But first he hands me the blue permanent marker and I write on the dry-erase board, what we write when a ‘dish’ is taken off the menu for the evening.<\/p>\n Amy 86 at 12:30 A.M<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I stare at this and for a second I think maybe I will cry, but tears don’t come and I grab my champagne.<\/p>\n “Are you gonna open it for me chef? I ask<\/p>\n “No way sister, I’m sure you’ve had a little practice at this one…” He smiles, but something is bothering him and he leaves briefly while I pop the corks and pour champagne to discuss something with the Ma\u00eetre D in his office.<\/p>\n Hmmm, not good, a problem on the floor.<\/p>\n He comes back to the passe<\/em> to grab his glass of champagne, but another cook has swiped it and I feel bad for not saving a glass for him. He gives a speech that frankly does nothing to inspire and I look at him a little confused. He looks back to the dining room. Something is bothering him and it’s not my departure.<\/p>\n “”The pressure he must be under”, I think to myself.<\/p>\n I snap more pictures of the team and invite everyone over to our local hang out, Faces & Names, for pints.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/div>\n
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