On tilt

In poker, even the best players sometimes experience what is known as “going on tilt,” becoming frustrated by previous bad beats or stupid bets. What follows is more stupid bets, poor plays, and inevitable downward spiral of anger. A good way to avoid going “on tilt” is to remain detached and unemotional by each hand.

The same could be said about working the line in a kitchen. During my first full week of working the garde manger line at Marea, pulling 14-hour shifts, I went on tilt. Wednesday we had a particularly busy lunch crowd—Mario Battali decided to stroll in with several friends, a party of 12 that ordered a tasting menu, etc. We also expected a large dinner crowd, so our prep list was hefty.

All the pressure, including having Chef Michael White watching as we prepped oysters for Battali’s party, flustered me and caused my downward spiral of mistakes.

Within the space of an hour I managed to:
-- Cut my ring finger on the mandolin during prep.
-- Screw up shucking about 10 oysters, forcing me to throw all of them out in front of a disappointed chef.
-- Forget to add all the components to the lobster salad, forcing it to come back for a replate.
-- Drop an “on the fly” mackerel tart (i.e., an order that needed to be done right away). -- Drop the replacement mackerel tart, causing the other line cooks to relegate me to slicing garlic for a sauce the grill station needed.
-- Slice open my index finger mincing said garlic.
-- Spill mignonette near the oyster station.

In retrospect, I’m glad this happened. It helped me to realize that to work the line I need to remain calm, even when the world ends. After that day’s dinner service I apologized to my fellow GM line cook, and he told me that “everybody screws up here at least once a day. It happens.”

The next day one of our sous chefs dropped a whole batch of pork jus on our station right before lunch service. He screwed up. It happened. He cleaned up the mess and got back to work. People noticed and commented on the screw-up, but twenty minutes later nobody could have cared less.