I thought it might be interesting to build a short series of stories from the kitchen. We may try to immerse in building a skill set and mastering process, studying what are considered the right methods and preparing our lists for another day of craziness in the kitchen, but it will always be the stories – our own and those of people whom we know and admire, that fill our memory banks and help us to survive and thrive. We all have them, it becomes our responsibility to discover how to use them. Here’s one I will never forget.

“Fear is a great teacher, a kind of unintentional storytelling that we are all born with.” – Karen Thompson Walker, novelist

I was just 20 years old in 1970, recently done with college and working through my apprenticeship at the Buffalo Statler Hilton Hotel. My current job was roundsman, working the evening line for the hotels’ Beef Baron Restaurant. I believe it was a Tuesday night, slow off-season with very low occupancy in this 1,200-room hotel. We expected maybe twenty or so guests, so the chef had scheduled me alone. Wanda, a seasoned veteran of the property was working garde manger and desserts on the other end of this sub-basement kitchen. There was an escalator that carried service staff between floors (always a balancing act when trays were loaded with covered dinner plates). I had been working here for less than a year but felt confident in my skills that were soon to be tested.

My mise en place was based on the anticipated number of diners so, feeling prepared, I was settling in for a boring evening. The kitchen was huge for today’s standards with separate department areas for our butcher shop, pastry department, soups and sauces, banquet prep area, garde manger, the hot line with a dozen flat top ranges, a bank of deck ovens (usually filled with prime ribs for the multitude of banquets that worked their way through the kitchen), and a flight type dishwasher area and silver room for the chafers, coffee urns and platters that carried food on many nights of banquets from 50 to 1,200. Tonight was very quiet – no banquets or coffee hours, nothing unusual, and a restaurant that echoed from emptiness.

As an apprentice, I was able to work every department during my intended two-years under the tutelage of Chef Pecoraro. I always worked large banquets, already did a few months with the butcher, but now settled into line work. Normally, there were three of us on the evening line – each with a definitive station and menu item responsibility. Tonight, I would be working them all.

I can’t remember what time it was, but I will always reflect on the frantic message that came from the dining room Matre’d. “I just heard from the front desk. The fog in the city is so thick that all planes in and out of the airport have been grounded. There are two busloads of travelers in route to the hotel. The airline is putting them up for the evening and covering their meals. They should be checking in within the next thirty minutes, and everyone will be knocking on our door for dinner shortly afterward. We can expect an additional 80 or so guests in the restaurant.

What emotions rush through your system when faced with imminent fear of chaos and failure? I looked to my left and right – no one there to help. I instinctively turned to the chef’s office – he was checked out for the day. I checked in with Wanda, but she just shrugged; her years of experience allowed her to take the news in stride. For me…it was cold sweats, shaking hands, and blurred vision.

I called the GM to unlock the receiving area so that I could quickly grab more supplies, but nothing was prepped to handle this unexpected crowd. I quickly pulled together a couple easy items for restaurant specials and told the Matre’d to push guests in this direction – everything else would be questionable. There wasn’t time to call the chef, or any other line cook for backup. I was on my own.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion, except the clock that was ticking off minutes like they were seconds. It was an era before point-of-sale systems or computers, so orders came in on handwritten dupes by servers (only two on schedule for this intended to be slow evening). Orders were hard to read and difficult to follow through the sweat pouring down my forehead. We were off to the races.

It was crazy and although I would like to say that I pulled a rabbit from the hat and everything went smoothly – this was far from the truth. If you have a fear of heights, you know what it’s like to have the sensation of falling off the edge. Your legs are rubbery, your vision is clouded, everything seems to spin, and your shaking hands are cold and clammy. This was my state of mind…but I soldiered through – somehow.

 At some point during the chaos, I sliced the very top of my thumb off (I know – gross) and grabbed a side towel to cover the wound. I continued to work through the orders coming in all at once. I really have no idea what the food that I served that night was like. Did I prepare everything correctly, were guests happy? Did everyone receive the correct order, were steaks done to proper doneness?

At the end of the evening, I felt like an army private who made it through the night infiltration course – a part of basic training where live bullets zipped over your head while you were crawling under barbed wire and whispering to yourself, “don’t stand up, don’t stand up.” The kitchen was a mess, remnants of orders lost were strewn on the floor, a few broken plates painted a vivid picture on the other side of the service counter, and servers walked around in a daze, shaking their heads. My poorly bandaged thumb was throbbing as I started the process of cleaning up and making a list for tomorrow. On a super-hot sauté pan, I unwrapped my thumb and while grimacing and closing my eyes, cauterized the wound to stop the bleeding. There were moments this evening when I thought about running out the back door, but I didn’t. There were moments during cleanup when I questioned if this was the career for me, even though I knew it was. And there was even a short moment of relief when I spoke under my breath of pride in making it through.

I walked over to garde manger to see if Wanda was still alive. She was characteristically calm and even managed to laugh at the way I looked. She shook her head, chuckled, and said – “Trial by fire, trial by fire.”

There have been many moments on the edge of the cliff during the last fifty-five years but none as vivid as this one. It was this moment in time when I was first introduced to Murphy’s Law – If something can go wrong, it will. Did I learn anything that night? Yes, I learned to always ask myself: “WHAT IF” and have a backup plan just in case. I also learned to always carry a few Band-Aids in my pocket.

“Every moment in life is a learning experience. Or, what good is it, right?”

-from Six Degrees of Separation

I’ve shared this story many times and would be willing to bet that those who were on the receiving end of this tale, remember it. Experience is the best teacher! I wrote a quick note for Chef Pecoraro as I turned off the lights and the exhaust fans. “Rough night, I’ll fill you in tomorrow.” – Paul

PLAN BETTER – TRAIN HARDER

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