CONFESSIONS OF A LAS VEGAS CHEF
I’M IN HELL. It’s an hour into dinner service and the shit is really hitting the fan.
“Two more surf ‘n� turf � six all day!� Willie, the broiler cook, barks at me.
With more than half a dozen steaks sizzling away on the grill, Willie is the only other cook on the line as slammed as I am.
Almost instinctively, my left hand snatches a couple foil pie pans from the shelving above my stove. Moving quickly, I fill each about halfway with water from my station’s utility sink. Without looking, I reach into the upper compartment of my highboy and grab two lobster tails from a hotel pan of three dozen I prepped earlier today. I hit the tails with a brush of clarified butter and a toss of salt and pepper I keep pre-mixed in a stainless steel sixth pan on my station. Into the oven they go.
Mis en place! Although the phrase literally translates to “everything in its place,� “misenplace� actually refers to the painstaking set up and prep work which must be performed daily by each cook for each station in anticipation of the onslaught of battle � of the living hell that is dinner service.
From coarsely chopped parsley for garnish, to splitting three dozen lobster tails, removing the meat and placing it artfully atop each shell (remember: presentation � presentation!); to preparing the saffron cream sauce for the ever-popular seafood linguine I push out of my station (a dish that really flies on the weekends), to the twenty pounds of potatoes I must boil and hand mash with copious amounts of butter, heated cream and sauteed garlic. Not to mention the trays of escargot appetizers, hand-cut fries tossed with truffle oil, twice-baked potatoes, pre-blanched risotto and all the other various components of the dishes and sides I’m responsible for on my station. More than two and a half hours of back breaking work that must be done each day before the first diner even walks through the door.
I hear the clatter of the printer as it spits out more tickets. It’s a sound I’ve come to hate. Truly horrible. At times, I even hear it in my sleep.
“Two salmon, one sole!� I call to the tall, dour looking Columbian dude working the fish station.
He shoots me a pissy look � as if I’m the one ordering the friggin� fish. In addition to being blessed with the busiest station on the line (in the entire goddamn hotel), I’m also saddled with being this guy’s personal “wheelman� � calling off orders for him which for some unbeknownst reason materialize from my printer.
The printer spits another ticket at me. A four top: two crab leg and escargot appetizers followed by four entrees: two Serrano ham wrapped chicken breasts, vegetable risotto and a seafood linguine. All the entrees must hit the window at the exact same time. I need to get the chicken working right away � even before I fire the appetizers.
I pull two airline chicken breasts (legs still attached) from the bottom of my highboy (raw chicken is always stored on the bottom shelf). I quickly hit them with some seasoning, wrap them in the Serrano ham I sliced earlier, and place them both in a single sauté pan. There’s almost no room in my small oven. Fortunately, four of the lobster tails I’ve fired for Willie’s surf ‘n� turfs are ready to go. I yank the pie pans they’re sitting in out of the oven with a pair of tongs and set them on the shelving above my stove where Willie can grab them.
“Lobster tails, up!�
Once the chicken is working, I hastily wash and dry my hands to avoid cross contamination, turning my attention to the appetizers. Grabbing a dozen crab legs from a 600 pan inside my highboy, I arrange them six each in two separate pie pans before popping them into a tall, multi-tiered steamer just to the left of the deep fryer on my station.
The escargot is easy. I’ve already prepped a dozen orders prior to service: gently sautéing the snails in garlic, shallots and oil before placing them in the little cup-like holders of the cast iron serving plates -- then covering each in a blanket of herb butter. All I need do now is heat them over a low flame using the burners on my stove until the herb butter is melted.
It's Saturday night and the dining room of Steakhouse 46 located inside the Fabulous Flamingo Las Vegas is packed. Former Heavyweight Champ, Mike Tyson, is posing for a picture with some of the front of the house staff. Mike is a local and drops in from time to time for dinner, as do a number of other celebs both major and minor. More tickets. I call off the entrees for the fish cook, then check to see what I’ve got. Just as I feared. Whole main lobster. SHIT!!! Grabbing a hotel 200 pan from the stack beneath my prep table and a wooden tool used to pull live lobsters from the tank, I bolt for the exit door located at the back of my station. Hanging a sharp U-turn, I reenter the restaurant through the rear door of the dining room.
The live lobster Tank is located up front in the restaurant’s waiting area next to the reservation desk. Moving as quickly as I can without drawing any undue attention or clotheslining a slow-moving server, I make a beeline for the lobster tank.
Tactfully shooing away the crowd of diners � both children and adults alike � from the massive hundred-gallon tank, I zero in on a nice two pounder that appears to be dozing off in the corner. As soon as the wooden tool breaks surface, the lobsters scatter. The critters ain’t dumb. They know a trip to the steamer’s in store for one of them.
The tool I’m using is nothing more than a long, narrow wooden handle with a broader, shorter piece of wood forming a ninety-degree angle at the base. Similar to the wooden “rozell� used to spread crepes, it’s not exactly state-of-the-art for snaring a fleeing lobster.
Proceeding stealthily, I’m able to catch the snoozing lobster off guard, trapping it in the corner. Just as I attempt to pull the critter from the tank, “John Gotti� comes barreling to the rescue.
John is the group’s “alpha lobster� � a massive four and a half pounder who’s somehow managed to evade capture and has now grown to a size and weight beyond most diner’s pocketbooks. As I grapple with the smaller lobster � now in full fight or flight mode � John attempts to intervene. Though he wears rubber claw bands, the “Capo di Tutti Capi� flings himself bodily against the wooden tool in a wild frenzy � hoping to thwart my attempt on his imperiled fellow crustacean.
Both the children and their parents seem amused by the spectacle. Laughing gleefully as if it’s all a show � part of the fine dining experience. I silently curse the brute, vowing to return on my next day off; plunk down the requisite three bills to purchase, and personally shove his little, overgrown lobster ass into the steamer �
From a work in progress ...✍️ #food #finedining #steakhouse #lasvegas #flamingohotel #hautecuisines #culinaryarts #culinary #restaurant #chef #chefdepartie #linecook #linecooklife #misenplace #miketyson
“Two more surf ‘n� turf � six all day!� Willie, the broiler cook, barks at me.
With more than half a dozen steaks sizzling away on the grill, Willie is the only other cook on the line as slammed as I am.
Almost instinctively, my left hand snatches a couple foil pie pans from the shelving above my stove. Moving quickly, I fill each about halfway with water from my station’s utility sink. Without looking, I reach into the upper compartment of my highboy and grab two lobster tails from a hotel pan of three dozen I prepped earlier today. I hit the tails with a brush of clarified butter and a toss of salt and pepper I keep pre-mixed in a stainless steel sixth pan on my station. Into the oven they go.
Mis en place! Although the phrase literally translates to “everything in its place,� “misenplace� actually refers to the painstaking set up and prep work which must be performed daily by each cook for each station in anticipation of the onslaught of battle � of the living hell that is dinner service.
From coarsely chopped parsley for garnish, to splitting three dozen lobster tails, removing the meat and placing it artfully atop each shell (remember: presentation � presentation!); to preparing the saffron cream sauce for the ever-popular seafood linguine I push out of my station (a dish that really flies on the weekends), to the twenty pounds of potatoes I must boil and hand mash with copious amounts of butter, heated cream and sauteed garlic. Not to mention the trays of escargot appetizers, hand-cut fries tossed with truffle oil, twice-baked potatoes, pre-blanched risotto and all the other various components of the dishes and sides I’m responsible for on my station. More than two and a half hours of back breaking work that must be done each day before the first diner even walks through the door.
I hear the clatter of the printer as it spits out more tickets. It’s a sound I’ve come to hate. Truly horrible. At times, I even hear it in my sleep.
“Two salmon, one sole!� I call to the tall, dour looking Columbian dude working the fish station.
He shoots me a pissy look � as if I’m the one ordering the friggin� fish. In addition to being blessed with the busiest station on the line (in the entire goddamn hotel), I’m also saddled with being this guy’s personal “wheelman� � calling off orders for him which for some unbeknownst reason materialize from my printer.
The printer spits another ticket at me. A four top: two crab leg and escargot appetizers followed by four entrees: two Serrano ham wrapped chicken breasts, vegetable risotto and a seafood linguine. All the entrees must hit the window at the exact same time. I need to get the chicken working right away � even before I fire the appetizers.
I pull two airline chicken breasts (legs still attached) from the bottom of my highboy (raw chicken is always stored on the bottom shelf). I quickly hit them with some seasoning, wrap them in the Serrano ham I sliced earlier, and place them both in a single sauté pan. There’s almost no room in my small oven. Fortunately, four of the lobster tails I’ve fired for Willie’s surf ‘n� turfs are ready to go. I yank the pie pans they’re sitting in out of the oven with a pair of tongs and set them on the shelving above my stove where Willie can grab them.
“Lobster tails, up!�
Once the chicken is working, I hastily wash and dry my hands to avoid cross contamination, turning my attention to the appetizers. Grabbing a dozen crab legs from a 600 pan inside my highboy, I arrange them six each in two separate pie pans before popping them into a tall, multi-tiered steamer just to the left of the deep fryer on my station.
The escargot is easy. I’ve already prepped a dozen orders prior to service: gently sautéing the snails in garlic, shallots and oil before placing them in the little cup-like holders of the cast iron serving plates -- then covering each in a blanket of herb butter. All I need do now is heat them over a low flame using the burners on my stove until the herb butter is melted.
It's Saturday night and the dining room of Steakhouse 46 located inside the Fabulous Flamingo Las Vegas is packed. Former Heavyweight Champ, Mike Tyson, is posing for a picture with some of the front of the house staff. Mike is a local and drops in from time to time for dinner, as do a number of other celebs both major and minor. More tickets. I call off the entrees for the fish cook, then check to see what I’ve got. Just as I feared. Whole main lobster. SHIT!!! Grabbing a hotel 200 pan from the stack beneath my prep table and a wooden tool used to pull live lobsters from the tank, I bolt for the exit door located at the back of my station. Hanging a sharp U-turn, I reenter the restaurant through the rear door of the dining room.
The live lobster Tank is located up front in the restaurant’s waiting area next to the reservation desk. Moving as quickly as I can without drawing any undue attention or clotheslining a slow-moving server, I make a beeline for the lobster tank.
Tactfully shooing away the crowd of diners � both children and adults alike � from the massive hundred-gallon tank, I zero in on a nice two pounder that appears to be dozing off in the corner. As soon as the wooden tool breaks surface, the lobsters scatter. The critters ain’t dumb. They know a trip to the steamer’s in store for one of them.
The tool I’m using is nothing more than a long, narrow wooden handle with a broader, shorter piece of wood forming a ninety-degree angle at the base. Similar to the wooden “rozell� used to spread crepes, it’s not exactly state-of-the-art for snaring a fleeing lobster.
Proceeding stealthily, I’m able to catch the snoozing lobster off guard, trapping it in the corner. Just as I attempt to pull the critter from the tank, “John Gotti� comes barreling to the rescue.
John is the group’s “alpha lobster� � a massive four and a half pounder who’s somehow managed to evade capture and has now grown to a size and weight beyond most diner’s pocketbooks. As I grapple with the smaller lobster � now in full fight or flight mode � John attempts to intervene. Though he wears rubber claw bands, the “Capo di Tutti Capi� flings himself bodily against the wooden tool in a wild frenzy � hoping to thwart my attempt on his imperiled fellow crustacean.
Both the children and their parents seem amused by the spectacle. Laughing gleefully as if it’s all a show � part of the fine dining experience. I silently curse the brute, vowing to return on my next day off; plunk down the requisite three bills to purchase, and personally shove his little, overgrown lobster ass into the steamer �
From a work in progress ...✍️ #food #finedining #steakhouse #lasvegas #flamingohotel #hautecuisines #culinaryarts #culinary #restaurant #chef #chefdepartie #linecook #linecooklife #misenplace #miketyson
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Angela
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Jul 22, 2023 09:57AM
I love your writing! Intense, hilarious, and entertaining! Can't wait to read the full work when it's done!
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