Patty Canedo is a pastry chef at a famed, private country club on Palm Beach and writes weekly about her kitchen exploits.
Its 8:20 a.m., and the kitchen is already filled with the sound of knives running across cutting boards, sizzles from sauté pans, and the walk-in door continuously opening and closing shut. I rush downstairs with a sheet pan. I load up cakes, ganache, six flats of eggs, and anything else I may need. "Ugh," my knees buckle under the weight of the tray, push forward and up the stairs. I pass the servers' station and glance at the day's info sheet:
Reservations: 75
Function in main dining room: 90
Banquet function: 400
Birthday function: 14
Remarks: All a.m. and split shift servers working doubles!!!
In the pastry shop, I bake cookies, separate the eggs, decorate and cut cakes, make sauces, fruit plates, back up the back-ups for the line. I glaze a cake for the birthday party tonight. Lunch service is thankfully light for a Saturday.
"Are you working tonight?" Tonya, the garde manager, asks me. She's prepping for over 120 reservations for brunch tomorrow.
"I don't think so, I think that's why they called me in early."
"You girls better behave," a random server walks in. "You never know what's going to happen. They just fired Amy." The server's referring to the banquet
pastry cook, my counterpart on the banquet side of the kitchen. Tonya
drops her knife and a chocolate tuile crumbles in my hand. We pick our
jaws off the ground.
"Well I guess I am working tonight," I say.
Lanoline, pastry chef de parte, runs over to ask me what is going on. I
shrug my shoulders as she goes down to the chocolate shop. Lunch
finally ends and the night crew begins to arrive. I return to the
pastry shop, a frantic Lanoline is piping whipped egg whites on baked
alaskas.
"I was wondering how you were going to make those," she's lightly torching the egg whites, giving them nice golden color.
"Yes,
and I have 89 more to go! I really need your help with some things,"
she says as she nervously looks at the clock. "Make two quarts of crème
anglais, two quarts of strawberry sauce, over stock the line, and make
the soufflés, yeah?"
I get right to work and assure her
there's no problem. "As soon as you are done Patty, I need you to go
downstairs and help with the function tonight, OK?"
"Yeah, no problem. So what happened with Amy?"
"I
don't know. Chef pulled her in to his office, they started talking. She
got mad and quit. Nice, right?" she keeps looking up at the clock.
Suddenly
a deep voice starts yelling through the kitchen. "Line up!" I turn off
the strawberry sauce and Lanoline puts the unfinished alaskas into the
freezer.
The whole kitchen staff gathers.
"OK,
everyone, in case you haven't heard, Amy is no longer with us. She
quit. Today was her last day. Unfortunately, this happens a lot in our
industry. We just got to keep moving, and we don't miss a beat, so that
everything is seamless. We got 400 in banquets and over 160 here in the
main dining room, including the party. Plus we got over 120 for brunch
tomorrow. Heard?"
"Heard, chef!" we all reply.
"Alright,
I want to see everyone hustling. Tell someone if you're in the shits,
and do whatever we can do to help the pastry team."
I run to
the pastry shop to finish things up, then head over to banquets to
help. By 6 o'clock, the movement in the banquet kitchen is finally to a
slow-paced calm. There's even time to eat family meal before we begin.
"It's 7 o'clock, everyone," Ryan, banquet's sous chef, announces. "At 7:20, we'll begin with the first course."
Chrissy
and I begin garnishing 400 slices of strawberry shortcakes with a
blueberry, a quarter of strawberry, and white chocolate swirl. The
meringue shows any movement or lightest touch dragging the job out just
a little longer than usual. As we finish, they begin plating the first
course. Chrissy and I run into the line.
Three long tables
with rows of plates already have a stacked crab cocktail with mango
salsa on top of an avocado puree with a small mixed green salad. In
formation, we quickly dot the plates with a thick mango vinaigrette,
followed by a drizzle of chili oil, a chervil leaf is placed on top of
the mango salsa, I place chive batons angled against the crab cocktail,
while Chrissy wipes and checks the plates to go out. In perfect flow,
400 plates go out in less than ten minutes.
There's only time
to breathe quickly and take places for the next course. Chrissy and I
skip the entrée and move on to the desserts. We lay our plates out on
the table. She drizzles crème anglais, and I follow behind with dots of
strawberry sauce. I notice the entrees going out as we finish saucing
the plates.
A line of servers forms. Plating has stopped. A
cook cuts herself while splitting the rack of lamb. Formation on the
line shuffles, and the line starts to move again.
"Pick up the pace, guys," Darren, banquet chef, says to everyone.
Entrees
are gone, and we have to push to finish the desserts. But frantic hands
destroy the delicate desserts. We lose a couple while in overdrive
mode, but just as the last cake is plated, servers start taking them
out.
The whole team breathes a sigh of relief, slap a couple
high fives and disband. I walk to the main kitchen to grab my tools.
Lanoline and Anne are in the homestretch as well. They are plating the
birthday cake, as the rest of the kitchen breaks down for the evening.
"Need any help?" I say after stopping by the pastry line.
"No,
thanks. Go home," says Lanoline, who doesn't even pick up her head to
address me. I don't have to be asked twice. Walking through the kitchen
war zone, the exhaustion takes me. I gather my things.
"Line up!" I hear again. Tired and stain coated, we all gather.
"Alright,
everyone. Nice job tonight! Compliments all around! Now let's get out
of here as quick as we can 'cause we gotta do it all again tomorrow."