The Dining Alternative private dining experience

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!

E. Dehillerin takes up a lot of valuable Parisian real estate with its corner space.

I really love all my kitchen tools. Although I’d be the first to admit that simply having a good chef’s knife is all one truly needs in the kitchen, having the right tool for the right job often makes all the difference. So having Paris’ kitchen supply shops just a couple blocks from where I am working makes it all too easy to jaunt over during my break for that “one special tool” I happen to fantasize about while cooking… or to replace a tool that finally met its match in the middle of service.

Another angle of the storefront, showing off the countless kitchenwares available inside.

Although I usually maximize my precious time off with a serious nap on a bench within the Palais-Royal, I occasionally satisfy my urge for that “one special tool,” and with glazed eyes peruse the wares along the shelves and isles in the different stores… all conveniently located within vicinity of each other.

The iconic rooster in copper displayed in the case surrounded by other gleaming copperware.

Even after my first visit to all of them, I quickly deduced which stores were for mommies baking cookies with the kids and which ones were for professional cooks. It came down to three shops, with a final honorable mention. My favorite shop, simply because it could only exist in the heart of Paris, open since 1820, is E. Dehillerin located at 18, rue Coquillière. This is the real deal, with stacks and stacks of copper, carbon steel, Le Creuset, and Staub cookware, and with rows and rows of tiny kitchen utensils, it’s enough to make your head spin and wish for every item. And the gruff, yet surprisingly helpful clerks (if you have the patience) just add to the charm.

You are immediately welcomed by this wall of copper as you enter the store.

I found some items here that I've been searching for a long time.

Every size and type of pots and pans stacked up and up and up...

Another great culinary shop is Mora, just around the corner from E. Dehillerin, at 13, rue Montmartre, which opened in 1814. This store specializes in equipment for bakers and pâtissiers. They have an endless supply of hard-to-find ring molds, silicon molds, and chocolate molds of every shape and size imaginable.

The storefront of Mora as you approach from the street.

A decent selection of pots and pans, along with an entire wall of ring molds in the back.

Pastry cutters, piping tips, and numerous tools of which I can only guess their use.

Endlessly varying shapes and sizes of silicon and baking molds.

The third shop that I really enjoy going to is A. Simon, just down the street from Mora, at 48, 52, rue Montmartre, the “youngest” of the shops, opening in 1884. Just recently, the owners of the famous G. Detou bought A. Simon and they did some renovations to the kitchen equipment side of the store. Now the two sides are more distinct, with the “red” storefront depicting the kitchenware side of the operation, and the “green” storefront depicts the dinnerware side of the operation (hence the “48, 52″ address).

The red storefront of the kitchenware side of A. Simon.

Each store has so many things, there's always something new to find... which led me to spend plenty of hard-earned euros, yet again.

The green storefront of the dinnerware side of A. Simon.

Inside A. Simon shows the ceiling track that helps move big, heavy boxes throughout the store... although the rest of the shop simply reminds me of a department store.

I wouldn’t be completely honest if I gave the impression that it’s only these specialty kitchen stores that I frequent, since I’ve made several trips to BHV as well… a department store. Although I did take one trip up to the 3rd floor (Culinaire & Table) to buy an affordable digital scale, it’s usually the basement on the -1 floor (Bricolage) where I find what I need, such as scissors, rulers, masking tape, tweezers, pliers, and other kitchen essentials that can only be found in the hardware store.

"Here You Are" sign at BHV... important floors to note: 3 and -1.

Kitchen utensils at BHV are geared more for the home cook, but there's still an impressive collection of Le Creuset pots.

The expression “like a kid in a candy store” couldn’t be more appropriate. I often contemplate purchasing an item which I may not even know what its use is, but it look so useful. I have so many kitchen tools and gadgets at home that my wife has banned me from ever complaining about how many shoes she has… but having the right tool for the right job is truly worth it. And I can’t wait to test out my new toys at the next Chef’s Table Event.

With my family coming to visit me for the first time since I moved to Paris, we covered all the usual tourist spots during our itinerary: Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triumph, Notre Dame, and of course, the Louvre. At each of these attractions, there is always a long line, and waiting for an hour or so in a boring queue with small children is no easy feat.

The line of people waiting to get in at the Louvre's pyramid entrance.

I was recounting a time to my roommate, many years ago when Ginhee and I waited in the rain by the Louvre’s glass pyramid to get into the museum. “Why don’t you just go through the Carrousel? There’s never a line there. I don’t understand why everyone waits in line by the pyramid.” I was dubious. We went to take a look at the glass pyramid anyway, just to show the boys for the first time. Then we turned back, to the Rue de Rivoli to enter Le Carrousel du Louvre.

99 Rue de Rivoli.

Looking down the street, with the Tuileries further down on the left and Place de la Concorde at the end.

Crossing the street to get to the entrance.

Although there was quite a number of people milling about, not a single person was waiting in line at the automated machines to buy tickets to the museum. We quickly ran up to them, as though this was some secret about to be discovered at any moment, and everyone around would scramble to get in line (like when a new register opens at a grocery store when the lines get long). But nobody seemed to care about our personal discovery, and we had tickets in our hands within seconds.

The ticket machines await.

By now, our boys had spotted the food court in this mall atmosphere, unfortunately nothing unlike any of the baneful wastes of space we have in America, and they ensued with their “I want a snaaaaack” chants. Quickly overlooking all the typical heat lamp infused platters of food, we were draw to a seemingly appetizing display of pastries, cookies, and other confections.

An attractive display case...

As we were about to order, Ginhee said to me, “You know, this is a McDonald’s.” I hesitated, weighed my options, and with bug-eyed children beaming up at me, continued to place my order.

... until I realized where I was standing.

Everything was good, and Ginhee and I laughed to each other that this was in fact our sons’ very first McDonald’s experience. Not too bad for American children, eating McDonald’s chocolate croissant, chocolate cake, hot chocolate, and macaroons, underneath the Rue de Rivoli, right next to the Louvre, in the heart of Paris… I suppose there can be exceptions.

Our goodies.

A good snack got us ready to explore the museum.

Our tour guide.

Tired of walking, we did a piggy back ride through the museum's long halls.

Playing by the water (please don't fall in).

Here’s a short video of us taking a ride up in the elevator underneath the glass pyramid:

A continuation from day one.

January 25, 2011:

That Tuesday I walked in per my usual schedule, and little did I know what was in store for me that day… or for the whole kitchen, for that matter. Three months had now passed for me on the Garniture Viande station, and I had firmly created a routine for myself on the post. There had been some other shifting around amongst the other cooks. There was a new Poissonnier, and he was having a hell of a time, every single day, every single service. There was a constant tirade of yelling and screaming directed at him, and he wasn’t taking it well, nor seemed to be improving.

Gorgeous sea urchins from the coast of Spain, all cleaned up and ready to go.

Once in a while, there is a cook who is a few minutes late, and as long as it’s not chronic, it’s not really a problem. But after half an hour, the fish cook still hadn’t shown up and everyone was starting to wonder what was going on. The chefs looked around the station and noticed that all of his tools and knives were no longer there. He was gone.

Delicious sea urchin roe, and lots of it.

Forty-five minutes into my day, and my chef de partie stormed up to me, “Peter! Va à poisson!” I wasn’t sure what that meant. I had a ton of stuff out and was in the middle of several prep jobs. My station was packed with all sorts of produce, stocks, and gelling agents, while I had about five or six different pots on the stove top. “Qu’est-ce qui va passer avec tout ça?” I asked. “Chef m’a dit que tu dois aller tout de suite!” I left everything as is and went over to the Poisson chef de partie, who was actually my best friend in the kitchen. “What’s going on?” I asked. “I have absolutely no idea,” he responded. “So what am I supposed to do?” “I have absolutely no idea,” he repeated. The chefs were busy now cleaning all the fish, the poissionner‘s responsibility during the mornings, who had now gone missing. The Poisson chef de partie, who works Garniture Poisson, gave me some of his work to keep me busy. No one knew what was going on…

Live langoustines from the Mediterranean Sea.

The time was getting closer to service. Nobody was saying anything. I was running out of things to do, which was an extremely worrisome situation, since I know that there is always so much to do, but I was now on a different station, being given absolutely no information or guidance. The Poisson station was being set up around me by the sous chef and my friend, the Poisson chef de partie. Once in a while I would be given a direction to go get this or that, but nothing more specific. Suddenly, the orders started rolling in: “Deux cabillaud, une lotte!”

A langoustine tail, showing their razor sharp points, which routinely draw blood, especially after cleaning a few dozen of them.

The sous chef directed me to take the fish out of the reach-in refrigerator, and continued instructing me about how to sear it and how to finish it, whether basting it with butter, or putting it in the combi-oven, at what temperature, and for how long. As this continued, I started to pick up on the patterns of how the different fish needed to be prepared and began to figure out how the orders corresponded to what I needed to do. I kept up the rhythm, leaving the sous chef less and less to instruct. Before I could fully grasp the reality of the situation, I was working the fish station.

My fish delivery... literally a mountain of work.

We became busy, and I got moving fast. I was concentrating as hard as possible to make sure I heard all the orders correctly and ensure all of the timing of the fish was correct. With a couple dozen pieces of six different types of fish, there are a lot of different cooking times and methods. I was employing all of my cooking senses to their maximum capacity. The sous chef dropped back into a supporting role, and was doing no instructing now, just occasionally pointing to different pans, if the fish needed to be turned, or helping me set and stop timers (there are three to manage). The chef de cuisine and Guy Martin were at the head of the kitchen, expediting as always, but with their eyes glued on me… I could feel them watching my every movement.

The invoices I have to sign off on, nearly 2,000€ of products.

As soon as service was over, I started cleaning up as best as I knew how. The sous chef approached me and let me know that the fish station was now mine. I had just become the new Poissonnier at Le Grand Véfour. The whole kitchen was in a frenzy over the events of the morning. With a no-show-no-call from one cook, me being moved over without anyone knowing what was going on, and then a hard service, where everyone had to simply assume their positions and continue with the day as normally as possible, it was a very emotional situation. I told my friend that the station was just given to me, and he said, yes, he was just told as well. We gave each other a big congratulatory hug. This was truly amazing. We had been friends since we began working together in the same kitchen, and now we were working together on the same station. It was too good to be true. I got big hugs from others in the kitchen whom I was close with, but certainly not from the chefs de partie of Garde Manger and Viande, whom I had worked with and now departed.

A rare moment of levity, "taking a nap" in an emptied shelf while I was trying to clean it.

And for me, this was an absolute dream. As an American coming to France to work in a restaurant, I was prepared to clean the salad greens for my entire stay. Now I had been put in charge of all the seafood for the restaurant, upwards of 2,000€ worth of products per day. From the moment the seafood purveyors put the fish into their iced boxes on the coast of France in Brittany, to the moment the guests ate the fish from their dishes in the dining room, I was the only other person to touch the fish: receiving, fabrication, cooking, and plating.

Working every day at Le Grand Véfour is a challenge, and a big one at that. It’s a constant uphill battle, not just getting my mise en place prepared on time, but doing it up to spec. And that’s good, I like it like that, it’s why I wanted to come to France in the first place. I always felt that what I produced was better than my coworkers, and I needed to know how it would compare in a top restaurant, in the country known for fine dining. When there are so many details to ensure, things can fall apart at any point, and you never know when… and that’s part of the job: to make sure that 1.) it never happens, or 2.) if it does, be able to recover… quickly. With that said, there have been many days when it seems that no matter how hard you push, no matter how hard you work, you just can’t stay ahead of the storm of prep and orders about to flood the kitchen. And when the s— hits the fan, it gets messy, really messy, and fast. No matter how many guests are on the books, we get slammed in the kitchen twice a day: lunch and dinner, everyday. There are days more severe than others, sometimes feeling like a free-fall throughout the entire service, as though I just jumped off a skyscraper and I’m in a constant fall, occasionally breaking through a plate-glass window, like some James Bond movie. This is how fast you have to move. I wish I could film it – it would be the best cooking show you’ve ever seen.

Fresh scallops from the northeast Atlantic Ocean, ready to be shucked.

With these daily ups and downs, there have been two days in particular that have really stood out and have made me realize that not only do I know what I’m doing, but I’m excelling, even as a foreigner in a French kitchen in the heart of Paris. November 5, 2010 and January 25, 2011 are days now considered personal milestones that will remain with me for the rest of my life.

November 5, 2010:

I remember this date since it was the Friday before my second son’s fourth birthday. I started in August on the Garde Manger station, typical for anyone starting out in a kitchen, especially when they are not sure of your ability. Thankfully, I realized that I was way over-qualified for this position, but the language barrier knocked me down a few notches, which I especially had to fight against. Moreover, my chef de partie knew I was better than him, and he’d throw me under the bus any chance he could, even blaming me for things that were his own fault. He thought I couldn’t understand, but I did. I let things lie, although I would be infuriated. I felt strongly that they would see what I’m capable of and hoped that would outshine any bulls— “he said she said” kitchen politics.

Being a Friday, and since we are closed on weekends, the prep list was somewhat light. I quickly cranked through my duties, hoping to perhaps give a helping hand on another station, a gesture that my chef de partie did not like… he knew what I was trying to do, which was branch out and show that I’m capable of more than just Garde Manger. I had the Poissionner (who I was friendly with) ask him if I could help out elsewhere, and when I verified that I was nearly done with my mise en place, he begrudgingly agreed. Later that morning, I was helping the poissionner clean sea urchins and sea scallops – now this was fun! I even had the fortitude to take photos of the actual products right before we cleaned them. I never have a camera with me, so the fact that I by sheer chance decided to take pictures of these adds to how crazy this day was.

Fresh sea urchins from the coast of Iceland, ready for their painstaking cleaning process.

Later, we were absolutely crushed during service. The avalanche of orders was overwhelming. When you stop caring about what the new orders are, and have trouble keeping up with the backlog of orders already in, it’s a problem, and a big one at that! I was reminding my chef de partie what we needed to do. These are times when my expertise in the kitchen shows the most. The stress level couldn’t be higher, and I’m always as calm as can be. However, I’m still moving as fast and as smartly as possible. And at 6’2″, 180 lbs., I can make my presence felt. We were shredding through orders: food, plates, and hands flying through the air. Everybody screaming at everybody at the same time. And then finally the light at the end of the tunnel, and it was all over with as quickly as it had started. When the dust settled, I knew I had done well, and I felt good about it.

After such a service, it looked literally like a tornado had hit the kitchen. Plus, since it was Friday, we had all of our end of the week cleaning chores to fulfill. The entire place was a chaotic mess of food containers, trays, plastic wrap, discarded mise en place, knives, plating spoons, dishes… you name it. The jet hose was out, spraying down the insides of our reach-in refrigerators, with over a dozen cooks milling about one way or another, desperately trying to get their chores done as quickly as possible, constantly fighting each other for space, cleaning supplies, the jet hose, plastic wrap… the list goes on…

The Viande and Garniture Viande stations.

Through this beehive mess of cooks cleaning, I all of a sudden heard my sous chef call out to me, “Peter! Viens avec moi!” He was heading into the walk-in refrigerator and I was thinking, although I felt that everything had gone well during service, what had I done wrong, or forgotten…?! Once we were inside and the heavy door latched shut, the quiet droll of the cooling fans replaced the tumultuous cleaning frenzy of the kitchen, and it was just my sous chef and I. He told me that the Garniture Viande cook, who had already missed the past couple days, had called in and simply quit. My sous chef, along with the chef de cuisine and Guy Martin, had discussed that I would replace him. He said that he believed that I could handle the stress on the meat station, and they were most confident about my competence to work the station because of my seasoning ability. They were concerned about the language barrier and felt that it would present some problems, but hoped for the best.

I could not believe it. My first question (foolishly) was if Chef Martin knew about this. “Yes, of course. We discussed it with him.” Does my chef de partie know? “Yes, I already told him that you’re leaving Garde Manger and starting Garniture Viande on Monday.” Does the Viande cook know this? “Yes, I’ve already told him as well.”

Setting up my camera (hoping to take a video that never worked), I accidentally took this shot, a glimpse into the kitchen right before service.

I was floored. Completely light-headed, in a surreal state, we exited the walk-in, right back into the frenzied mess of the kitchen. It certainly didn’t seem so bad as it did moments ago. I had a smile chiseled onto my face that I couldn’t remove. Although a somewhat simple move in the kitchen had taken place, the meaning behind it was tremendous. Within that instant which he told me of my move, it had verified my entire career as a cook. Not only did I have the ambitions to move to France to work in a kitchen, not only did I actually get accepted at one of the best restaurants in Paris, not only did I survive the first few months, but now I got promoted, and placed right into the middle of the lions’ den. The meat station was one of the fiercest stations and I’d be working with the most aggressive cooks in the kitchen. The “American boy” had just leap-frogged over a couple stations, and with all the chefs backing me up, there was nothing anyone could say about it.

Continue onto day two.