I was well into my day going through my usual routine of prepping that morning’s fish delivery, when Guy Martin hustled down into the kitchen, yelling at all of us to immediately go upstairs. With the way I had all my products spread out in order of priority, there wasn’t anything I could “immediately” leave. As the kitchen became empty with everyone gone, I placed whatever would fit into the fridges next to me, and covered all the whole fish up with ice.

The magazine cover, with ironically of all people, an American chef.

As soon as I reached the outside of the restaurant to meet everyone else, we were all instructed to now go and put on fresh, clean aprons. Nobody knew what was going on, but we’re rarely in a position to be asking questions, so everyone filed back down to “freshen up,” before emerging once again into the gardens of the Palais-Royal, just outside the restaurant.

We were met by a photographer with his typical bigger-than-your-head camera. He was in close discussion with Guy Martin until he yelled out for us to go all the way down to the other end of the gardens. Since we spent our entire day in a basement kitchen, we were ecstatic to suddenly be instructed to take a stroll in the garden. Once we reached the other end, we turned around, waiting for the next instructions, as we looked at each other in confusion. We were then told to line up and run the full distance back. We did as we were told, laughing all the way at the ridiculous spectacle we were creating for the innocent passers-by in the garden.

Then, as we all returned, we were asked to line up along the gated cloister for another group shot. At first I stood right next to Guy Martin. I thought… why not? But the height difference was unflattering, so the photographer quickly moved me. I was relegated behind the gate, at which point my sous chef grabbed the bars and made the classic “get me out of jail” motions. I immediately responded, “C’est presque la vérité,” alluding to our life in the kitchen. This got a rousing “LOL” from my colleagues, which really made me feel good.

After a few rearrangements of different people, the photographer settled on a line-up and took several shots. We were then released and the kitchen crew quickly filed back down into the basement to resume work and hopefully make up nearly an hour of lost time.

I had a lot of fish patiently waiting for me which I was not too excited to have to hastily shred through. However, since nearly every day is a struggle against the clock, I already had a game plan well rehearsed. I always start with the biggest fish (cod, turbot, monkfish) and work my way down to the smaller fish (sole, John Dory, bass).

The first reason for this strategy is simply a matter of negotiating space for everything. Since all the fish comes in at once, first thing in the morning, I have to figure out how to organize countless products. If I take care of the biggest fish first, I will be able to find space to store the finished portions much easier than if I did the small fish first.

A beautiful turbot, also very heavy at nearly 25 pounds.

As a second, and more practical reason, it’s exhausting moving huge boxes of fish packed to the brim with shaved ice first thing in the morning… before I’ve even had my first cup of coffee. It’s also a lot of physical work cleaning the various fish. It’s best to get the heavy lifting out of the way, so I only need to deal with small fish later during my prep time. That’s going to lead straight into service, so I can’t be physically burned out early in the day.

Fortunately, filleting a turbot is quick work.

Taking a second to play with the enormous turbot carcass before moving on.

As soon as the few big fish are done, I move right onto the smaller ones. At this point, I always feel a sense of relief knowing that I’m on the downhill part of my prep time. The few times that I’ve been really, really pressed for time, I’ve been able to quickly clean these smaller fish at my station during service. It’s far from ideal, but manageable nonetheless. It would simply be impossible to do that with a 30 pound fish.

Preparing Saint Pierre (John Dory) is always fun to fillet, simply following Mother Nature's dotted lines.

Sole nicely opened up.

As we got closer to service, my friends realized that I needed a little extra help. Julien, a three-year Véfour veteran, worked Poisson the year before, so he knows his way around fish and the station very well. Katsuji was a new addition to our kitchen team, having just come from Pierre Gagnaire Tokyo, where he was the Poissonnier.

The dream team coming in for the last push.

Even just ten or fifteen minutes of help can make a big difference. It gave me just enough time to set up my station and tidy up my fish prepping area. That way, I can roll into service without any loose ends. Earlier in the day when we had the photo shoot, none of us had any idea what it was for. There are all sorts of photographers and camera crews making their way through the dining room and kitchen on a weekly basis. Of course, this was the first time the entire front and back-of-house staff were called out into the gardens for a group shot. It was quite a pleasant surprise to see ourselves in 3 Étoiles a few months later!