Band of Brothers, Part One January 17, 2008

It’s Friday night and your crew is buried face down in prep. You look around and no one is in a panic or even nervous about what is about to take place in a few short hours. Seasons have come and gone, and through each this assembled and ever-maturing team has banged with the best of them, and has proved night in and night out that there is no obstacle to difficult to overcome. On top is where they want to be; and almost in a nonchalant approach, as they pour into the kitchen exchanging hellos and stories of the previous night’s events. Some were shared together and some were luckier than others, enjoying an evening with a lady friend or two. Popped collars under clean toques, fancy pants and rims, this crew seems to belong on the cover of some hip kitchen magazine and almost bad enough to create their own. They move in unison not wasting a step, every movement is precisely thought out. A trip to the dish station also meant on the way back either a pick-up of a needed ingredient or fixing of a Scooby-snack, though not to be consumed immediately but at a future moment in time when knife was not in contact with product.

An hour has passed through mise en place and a stockade of each entrée’s accoutrements is stored below in the lowboys or reach-in refrigerators, stacked accordingly and neat, ready to stand a drill instructor’s white-glove field day inspection. It’s the calm before the invasion and the DMZ is the restaurant’s front door and the invaders are the diners waiting to get their fill. They come in assault after assault in waves of two, four, six or ten, they’re completely unpredictable. Not to worry, your A-Team has dug in deep like a well disciplined military unit fortifying foxholes and stockpiling re-supply points.

H-Hour is near and your soldiers are honing their knives and wiping down their stations preparing for the onslaught. Each have their rituals: a smoke if they’re ready, quarter folded side towels separated for wiping or grabbing hot items, filling up Big Gulp am/pm mugs with soda water and a squeeze of lime, or maybe a last minute phone call to a loved one to let them know they would be home soon. This is where we separate the men from the babies, either shape up or get fried by the chaos that is knocking at your front door.

To Be Continued….