A Contrite Cook

Work ethic is about more than hard work. I am often tempted to equate good work to the sum average of many days of hard work -- some brilliant, some not so brilliant. This might be a winning strategy if you are cycling in the Tour de France or displaying a portfolio of black and white photographs, but when it comes to mediocre work in the kitchen … more is definitely less.

The problem with being good “on average” in a restaurant kitchen is probably apparent. While you, as a cook, may be aware of your batting average on, say, the Arctic Char dish; each diner’s experience of your Arctic Char performance is limited to one “at-bat.” And chances are that the diners are not comparing notes at the end of each evening to calculate the mean average of your performances that night. They only care about their particular dinner. Thus, you must be excellent every time to be excellent at all.

I discovered this more personally when I came in Tuesday morning to find my coworkers, at great cost to their personal prep time, redoing some of my mediocre work from the day before. I often come in on Mondays when the restaurant is closed and help get a head start on the week’s preparation. I’ll peel hundreds of potatoes, pick and wash large crates of spinach leaves, grate cheese, peel and slice onions and a list of other relatively simple kitchen tasks. The goal is to make light work for the Tuesday morning staff so that when they arrive for lunch preparations, they are not starting from scratch. Sometimes, however, when I am peeling the 176th potato, alone in a quiet kitchen, after a short weekend, my eyes begin to glaze over and I lose my Michelin perspective. I revert back to childhood chore mode and begin racing through my list, failing to connect each vegetable with its place on a finished dinner plate.

Watching Mark re-peel and trim the baby carrots that I had, in theory, peeled and trimmed on Monday, I was totally humiliated. I was that stagier! The one whose efforts to help really just make more work for the team. I felt awful and I was convinced I could see resentment in my coworkers’ eyes. Even in this moment of contrition, however, I really didn’t care about the carrots. I slid over sheepishly to apologize for my shoddy work the day before, hoping that at least my perceptiveness might salvage a little of my reputation (sum average mentality, again!) But Mark’s reaction said it all:
“Don’t be silly,” He said. “Sorry doesn’t do much good at this point. The whole reason you come in on Monday is so that I can come in on Tuesday, take these carrots, blanch them and put them on a plate. But would you put this carrot on a plate?” And he held up a small mangled baby carrot, bits of peel and carrot hair still clinging on for dear life. “I mean surely you can see this isn’t even properly peeled.” The death blow. I could surely see. And I answered quietly, “You’re right Mark, I would never put that on a plate.” He smiled kindly, “Just do it right the first time, yeah?”

Mark is my peer. A mere 25 years old, He is witty and cheerful. He is never flustered and certainly never angry over a silly stagier. Mark embodies good work. Of the 212 baby carrots he would plate that day, not one would slip by his hands without a loving trim, perfect blanch, and finishing glaze.