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When reviewing restaurants, I always find myself wondering: What’s the kitchen like? Who’s cooking my food? Who owns this place anyway? How I’d love to follow my order in and see how it all comes together, to let readers know not only that the Grilled Halibut Encrusted with Spinach and Artichoke Topped with Marsala Beurre Blanc was perfectly cooked and seasoned, but also what it took for that fish to arrive at the table. To use some restaurant industry lingo, writing about the front of the house without digging into the back of the house has always seemed to me like only telling part of the story.
That’s why I was so excited when the owners of two local restaurants, Daveed’s and York St. Cafe, welcomed me into their establishments on a recent weekend to experience a side of the restaurant business that few patrons ever get to see — the kitchen. It’s definitely another world back there, summed up by a grinning Charles Lowe, sous-chef at York St. Cafe: “Cramped conditions, insane hours and extreme chaos!”
The dining room might be calm and elegant — with its stemware, soft lighting and poised servers quietly attending to your every need — but hit that swinging door and it’s a different story altogether. The kitchen is a loud, barely controlled mayhem that plays out in tight quarters, with stoves blasting heat like a furnace. There’s a lot of manual labor involved, with far more steps and care than you might think going into even seemingly simple dishes (Those tasty little gnocchi at Daveed’s?
Handmade, just like my Italian great-grandmother used to do.)
The next time you cruise in for a leisurely 8 p.m. dinner, consider for a moment that the kitchen has already put in a good five-plus hours: They’re in well before you show up, prepping to get ready for the first seating, and they’re there long after you leave.
A practiced server at York St. Cafe put it nicely: Restaurant life is like hosting a perpetual dinner party. Recall the last time you had people over for dinner, and remember all the stress and running around it took to make sure everything went smoothly and your guests were happy, not to mention all the cleanup afterwards. Multiply that by 20, and you’ve got a restaurant on a typical Saturday night.
Now imagine doing it five or six nights a week, year round. See what I mean?
So how do these iron chefs survive, even thrive, under such extreme conditions? By upholding a few critical laws of the jungle:
Preparation. This might seem obvious, but as anyone who’s ever faced an empty refrigerator can attest, running out of grub isn’t a good feeling. Chefs plan ahead to make sure they have enough food for their guests. This means detailed planning, ordering and preparation so they can respond no matter who walks in the door. When I showed up for my shifts at Daveed’s and York St. Cafe, hours before first the first seating, the chefs were already hard at work chopping, slicing and dicing — stocking their stations for the battle to come.
Organization. When tempers are flaring, the dining room is full and the orders are pouring in, being methodical can make the difference between success and failure. Even simple organizational techniques — like always keeping things in the same place and consistently doing things in the same order — can dramatically increase efficiency. When I tried my hand at plating trays of house salads, I approached it in a haphazard way. Of course I forgot the cucumbers on some, missed the tomatoes on a couple and had to double back and pull them off the rack to finish them. Highly inefficient.
Communication. In the restaurant, it’s all about communication: cook-to-cook, cook-to-server and server-to-customer. When it works, customers get what they want when they want it. When communication breaks down, the customer’s dining experience does too. Chefs need to know from servers if customers’ special requests are merely preferences or if they’re life threatening (a lot of foods are prepped ahead of time, contain multiple ingredients and come in contact with other foods). Chefs need to coordinate so that your crabmeat salad doesn’t sit there sweating while your companion’s scallop appetizer gets seared. When it works, it’s a beautiful thing, as chefs turn and wheel gracefully in close quarters, keeping track of fistfuls of orders at a time, anticipating each other’s needs and pitching in to help.
Sounds demanding, huh? Well, it is. Not that any of the chefs or sous-chefs or other kitchen staff I met would want any of your sympathy. They’re there because they love what they do. Here’s the word from the front lines, though, on what chefs would like to see more of from you, and how you, the valued restaurant patron, can make their lives easier:
Show your good breeding. Plan ahead and make a reservation (it helps the kitchen plan how much food to prepare), and if you do reserve a table show up when you say you’re going to. Most people don’t realize the implications of showing up late or not at all — others might be turned down for that table being held for you, resulting in lost revenue if you don’t show. Restaurants are businesses after all.
Cultivate forgiveness. “Customers aren’t that sympathetic to mistakes,” says Kathyrn Bishop, executive chef at York St. Caf/. “We all make mistakes sometimes.” And if something does happen, remember that restaurants are complex operations. At least give them a chance to fix it.
Escape the bounds of your cultural milieu. This is the most polite way I can think of to say, “Don’t be a hick.” Have an open mind, try new things and be adventurous when you dine out. “Cincinnati is a weird monster. They say it’s 10 years behind. Is it? Yes,” says David Cook, executive chef and co-proprietor of Daveed’s. “When we opened, we said to ourselves this was going to be an education process. It’s been slow.” Cincinnati’s restaurant scene has clearly come a long way, but remember that you vote with your wallet every time you order something ordinary.
Think before you ask. Most chefs don’t really care if you want to switch potatoes for rice, and significant dietary issues are an unavoidable contemporary reality. But, at least in fine dining establishments, when you ask the chef to leave out this ingredient and substitute that, put the sauce on the side, request goat cheese instead of Gorgonzola, etc., you’re fundamentally changing the dish and compromising the chef’s vision and artistry.
What a fun experience this was! After my two shifts in the belly of the beast, I came away with tired feet and a newfound appreciation for the cooking life.
My favorite moment? Standing in total bliss in the kitchen at Daveed’s, savoring a taste of halibut dreamily prepared with morel mushrooms, tomatoes and basil oil, the chaos of the kitchen swirling around me, and David Cook’s bracing words echoing in my ears: “You’re only as good as the last plate you put out. You start over every day.”
This article appears in Jun 23-29, 2004.