450 dinner guests landed on us between 6-11pm at almost non-stop traffic. On Friday, the night before, 100 less were served but the pace was different as diners all arrived betwen 7-930pm ie 2.5 hours of frantic madness, verses a drawn out 5 hours of less intense, but much longer madness. Whichever way you look at it, the burden is on the 18-member kitchen team, each and everyone of them. I was desperately trying to make myself useful during service, mindful that I am not in anyone's way. I stayed well clear of the 'Pass' where Donovan and his senior chefs were; calling new orders and final plating with chillingly scrutinzing QC eyes. Nothing goes unnoticed, and I mean nothing. If it is a bad mistake one gets hell on the spot, a lesser mistake one gets hell later, there is simply no hiding.
I just love the pace, the dynamics, the energy, sounds, the rhythm, the honesty, the brother/sisterhood but above all that attitude of digging in, and getting things done. After 2 consecutive nights of bombardment, on my feet over all those hours, my legs were in protest. I told one of the chefs how much I look forward to sleeping in today (Sunday) and his reply ' ... not for me, I will be back for mise en place bright and early tomorrow since we depleted our stock today ....'
Last night I hid behind Pak, the Senior Sous Chef to my right and Patrick, Sous Chef from London and got a real taste of 'heat'. They were guardians of the wood fire grill, which must be 400C and 130C more than the highest setting at a regular home oven. A 2" thick steak is seared, on both sides, in less than a minute. The picture was taken at the beginning of service, we (or rather they) looked very different at the end, drenched and bright red faced to begin with. I was out-classed and truly humbled by their dedication and focus.
Baptism of Fire .... indeed, in more ways than one. I was there, at The Atlantic, when 450 were served!
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