During Prep.
As I step into the restaurant, coffee in hand, I am greeted by familiar smells. Today it seems to be a combination of charcoal, garlic, and the dominating scent of wood wax which follows me as I walk past crates and boxes of this morning’s deliveries. I get into the changing room, find my clogs, pick out an apron - ideally one without too many burns and fringed hems – tuck a crisp and clean torchon to my side and carefully grab my knife roll before making my way into the kitchen.
The dining area is empty and peaceful, and the kitchen is quiet, still blissfully free of the loud droning of the extraction. Soon I am greeted by a continuous flow of chefs, KPs, cleaners, managers, and delivery drivers as they speed past the kitchen, each on their own mission.
Before even looking at the prep list, I start setting up my section, assess the current stock (or lack thereof), and occasionally utter a condescending tut when I find the section to be not 100% up to standard; the undefeated arrogance of the opening team. It is easy to reject any sense of empathy for the closing team when you are coming in on a sunny morning, freshly caffeinated, happily ignorant of the stresses and exhaustion of the closers the night before – quietly knowing that, especially after a long double shift, you might not have left the section in a better place yourself.
Once the section is set, I glance at the prep list. It is a little longer than I would have hoped. We should be fine to start, but some items will run out after a couple of portions. If there is a slow start to service, I should be able to continue some smaller jobs into lunch.
With the list in hand, I make a trip to to the walk-in fridge to fully assess the situation. I can’t suppress a small shiver as I step into the the small cold room, currently at a rather unpleasant 2.1°C, and start going through the prepped and unprepped ingredients. One of the herbs I need for the day isn’t here. I make a mental note to check if it is scheduled to be delivered today or if we need to put it on second orders. I grab a few boxes and trays of produce and carry them back to the service kitchen. I put down a big chopping board, set up some containers, get out my current favourite knife, a heavy but slim German blade, give it a quick sharpening and start prepping.
Prep time passes ruthlessly.
Just when I start to feel good about the progress I’d made this morning, I glance at the clock and realise that those seemingly small jobs have already eaten up a good chunk of my precious prep time. I review the list and re-prioritise, mentally crossing off less immediately urgent items and quietly panicking at the bigger, more time-consuming jobs still left to do.
Slowly, the people from front of house start trickling into the building. The counter now features a cheerful collection of takeaway coffee cups, order sheets, menu drafts, lighters, and even a highly coveted Sharpie which will likely change hands and pockets multiple times today. Music is playing loudly, a constant beat trying its best to impart energy and urgency to the prepping chefs. Occasional chatter accompanies the chopping, talk about our plans on our off-days this week, questions about today’s prep list and menu, or the odd discussion on a random topic, an inevitable product from an idle mind when engaging in a repetitive manual task.
The tension builds as we enter the last hour before opening. Time works differently in that hour. You think you have another full hour left to prep, but then you realise that your section isn’t as set up as you thought it was, you notice orders that need to be put away, and before you know it, it’s fifteen minutes before opening and you get dragged away from your section as the whole team gathers for a pre-service briefing.
Curious passers-by peer through the windows as we go through today’s menu, sample two of the newer dishes, and taste a few sips of the wines that are on this month. As the manager gives a detailed explanation of the origin of the grapes and the particular fermentation process involved in the making of a wine, you may notice the chefs’ occasional restless glances into the kitchen, acutely aware of the list of uncompleted jobs awaiting them. As we conclude the briefing, each of us buzzes off to power through some final prep, tidy our stations, and get a final top-up of caffeine, nicotine, or both. I skim through the prep list once more. It isn’t as bad as it could have been. I may not be fully set, but I’m ready nonetheless. Not being ready isn’t much of an option.
The clock strikes twelve. The manager opens the doors. Service begins.