"The Weeds." Restaurant Speak: Lexicon of Cooks.

For every lesson there is a learning curve. Some are as steep as 90 degree angles. This family of learning is known as one or all of the following:

Sink-Or-Swim
Fish Or Cut Bait
Shit or Get Off the Pot
Out of the Frying Pan and into the Fire

Other lessons aren't as harsh. Someone has patience, takes time, mentors. You get shown once, twice; there may even be time for endless instruction.

In kitchens there's a lot of the former, and very little, or none, of the latter.

A cook needs to understand everything now and produce it yesterday.
And every day said cook needs to be more efficient and organized, cleaner and faster, than the day before. Every day the food, the task, need to be executed better. 

There are a few ways to teach a cook Imperative.

One is to tell him.

"We need you to accomplish this five hour task by the time service starts, in 1 and a half hours."
"Hey, I need these carrots for service. Yeah I know you think it will take you longer than 30 minutes but it can't, right, because I need them to cook for the first order which is in, well, now, 28 minutes."
"You need to move faster."
"Every day your list is going to get longer."
"Managing your time better means doing more than one thing at a time. A lot more."

And so on.

Another is to show her.

Get in there, take the peeler out of her hand, and peel those apples faster, talking and showing as you go. Give instruction in a clear, concise way backed up with answers to why and show the how. Take another spoon out of the bain marie and quenelle 10 for every three she does. Show her how to move faster, stay cleaner and teach form, grace and economy of movement. Be more organized than your staff, showing them it can be done. Inspire them to want to be better.

Some cooks like their lessons served up military-style.

Kick cooks out of their stations, off their lines, and show them up. Break their egos with yelling, psychological violence and oneupmanship. Show them who's boss. Remind the line you're alpha and will fight to the death for that position, like a cock, or dogs. Constantly remind them they're nothing without you. It's Boot-camp. War. It's the emergency room and you have to push on through, no matter what.

There are cooks who call this abuse. And chefs who will tell you without this treatment they would have stayed mere civilians. There are cooks who only better themselves under this pressure, even when the other side of their mouth is telling you something else.

Other cooks learn through empowerment.

Sometimes giving a cook more responsibility than they may be able to handle, given their skill level, is a great way to assess and grow a cook. Certain cooks blossom with this treatment. For others it's not enough structure or guidance. Sometimes the mere act of wholeheartedly believing in someone (even before they feel confident themselves) will push them to step up, to improve.

There are cooks who grow only by verbal compliments and others who would rather their daily work towards greatness was an internal, private affair. Many cooks look to their teams to support them and others want to be the Chef's pet.

In short, there are thousands of ways to manage a kitchen. To teach a cook a lesson. Lessons.

But first things first.

Who are you?

Do you know your strengths?
Weaknesses?

I'm here to say what you don't want to hear:
You must know how to manage yourself, how to ask for help/ support/ assistance before you can manage others effectively.

        I hear you talking all this talk.
           - But for fuck's sake, step up.

The Weeds.

It's an expression we have. It means a few things but basically the expression defines getting into deeper and deeper water, and not being able to see trees for the forest.

The ticket machine starts at 5:29 and doesn't stop punching out orders until midnight.
You haven't had time enough to prep before service.
Your partner is hungover. You have a fever. Your wrist is broken. It's your 46th day in a row without a day off. The ventilation doesn't work and it's 116F outside at 7 pm and you can't think straight. Your boyfriend just broke up with you and your mind is elsewhere.
Your chef has never worked your station and has no clue about your firing times and so keeps waiting until the last minute to fire food off your station that takes three times as long as he thinks. You're pre-firing food that hasn't been called and now you've lost track of what is what, for what order and at what temperature.
Your mis en place is melting, you're plating cold desserts on hot plates and the ice machine is broken.

You're so behind you can't remember when you weren't. Your deep in the weeds you don't know when it snuck up on you.

The item on the menu you prepped the least because it's been a dud all week is on every goddamned ticket and you're trying to figure out how many orders you have so you can put them on count but you know it's more than likely you'll miscount and have to 86 it while there are still tickets on the board and then every waiter will hate you not to mention the chef and meanwhile you're cooking in six saute pans and, shit, you missed that last call, what was it?

The Weeds

will take you no matter how smart, clean, efficient, organized, you are. The Weeds will find your weakness. And live there. The Weeds wait for every cook.

        In plain fucking sight, yo.

The Weeds will take your lunch money and throw sand in your face and take your girlfriend and steal your pride. The Weeds do not discriminate. The Weeds wait. The Weeds are patient. Quiet. Confident. The Weeds strip you naked and leave you out to dry. And the next night? They'll be back again.
Refreshed.

Some chefs teach their cooks by dropping them into the weeds head first, hands tied behind their backs. I have an expression for this:

Setting someone up to fail.
It's a shaming method.

And you know what? Sometimes it works.

I don't say this because I'm a horrendous despot. A leader without conscious.
On the contrary.

There are people whose pride is so great that even when they are deep in The Weeds and not only sinking their own personal ship, but also the rest of The Line, they refuse to raise a white flag.

Just so we're all clear: SURRENDER does not equal pathetic.
         Sometimes bravery is quiet. Saying you need help is actually stronger than pretending you're Superman.

Every kitchen is a team. A team is made up of individuals, yes, but if the individuals do not see themselves as a Part of the Whole, all that happens is a lot of slam dunks and very little proper basketball playing. The cream will rise to the top. And if a chef is smart she can see who does what best and who needs to be pushed. How hard.

Managing is about bringing out the best in people.
It is about seeing the whole picture. It's about forecasting. Planning ahead. And taking the inevitable challenges into account.
Managing well is about turning problems into solutions. Plural.

And sometimes the whole team is being obscured by the mug of a cook who will not see her place. Be blind to how his actions, or inactions (as is the case in the point I'm making here) affect others, namely his team.

Sometimes a cook will be pushed into The Weeds. Sacrificed. Shown and shamed into seeing how it takes The Whole Line to push out the orders.

To be an effective manager, though, one must recognize one's own weaknesses. Otherwise it = the problems, will always be someone else's fault.

Otherwise known as: Absence of Accountability.

AKA Scapegoating. Or, "The Blame Game," and "Not my Job." Yes, even Restaurant Owners and Chefs and Sous Chefs can have this ailment.

And if the buck stops with no one, or everyone (which is the same problem really), then the final result is doomed. And because cooks produce edible results, this is a problem. A problem for the cook, the team, the chef, the diner, and the looming bottom line.

The Weeds.

It's an expression for line cooks by line cooks, but it is also something much larger. A euphemism. It's an in-the-moment, during service expression but it can also refer to your whole career.

The Weeds

can take a whole department. A station. A restaurant. A person and their career.

On The Line the weeds will usually let you out of its stranglehold after the last table is out.
But if you're really stubborn, The Weeds might have a lesson for you that takes a week, or five years.

When I train cooks I say the same thing over and over.

There are no cowboys on islands in kitchens. If you can be smart and honest enough to see The Weeds getting near, and you can ask for support before The Weeds claim you altogether, I and we can help you push through. But if we don't know you need help until you're drowning, not only is it too late to help you, it's too late to save the food from merely being banged-out. And I don't know about you but I have more pride in my food than to allow it to be banged-out.

Banging-Out is for Shoemakers.

Most people are not being set up to fail by others

they are being to set up to fail by themselves.

Most people are in their own way. This is an off shoot of The Weeds, another swamp, if you will.

{Communication is The Most Important Thing in professional kitchens.}

I am calling out to all cooks, all chefs with these words. While I understand that the recipe for success in kitchens is a strange concoction for which there is no standard recipe, ingredients include this contradicting mixture:

humility (definition of humility: the quality of being humble and modest), pridefulness, cockiness, deference. One must be: an independent, team-player, idea maker, idea executer, teacher, student, and apprentice.

Like an alchemist, cooks mix potions daily, for each job, with varying proportions of all these ingredients and descriptors. A pinch of confidence and a splash of humility; saute, and deglaze with liquid courage and hope the plate reads 'Believe in me. I believe in me.' Each cook dons a new persona, ever increasing in confidence, but attempting not to reach too high, too far, too fast. Or so I hope.

Because with each leap, each promotion, each new station and position learned, a cook's ego has been battered and bruised, but not broken. The hope is that said cook will drag themselves out of bed and want to do a better job the next day. Show her chef what she's made of, show his sous chef he means it when he says he wants to learn a new station next menu change.

It's a precarious line we cooks walk because if one enters a kitchen meek, quiet and unassuming, one might very well leave that kitchen much the same. And if said cook is working their way up; with a goal in mind to one day be a chef, a manager, an inspirationalist, an overseer, an idea maker, a mover-and-a-shaker, a difference maker, he and she must take risks, speak up, push to learn more, and enter The Weeds not like a sheep going to slaughter, but like a goalie taking it for the team.

Cooks support fellow cooks. Cowboys on islands become clueless chefs who lead their team into The Weeds every night single-handedly. For every one celebrity chef there are hundreds, and maybe thousands of cooks and sous chefs that have given over their lives to perfect that shiny person's food. Not a single chef is a chef alone.

On every team there are Rock Stars, yes. If it's you, shine on. But know this: even rock stars need back up bands, producers, record contracts and fans who help rock stars meet bottom lines. Even if it's art is for art's sake you're creating, it cannot be seen without an audience.

I beg of you, raise that flag before it's too late. During service yes, but more importantly, or as training for the bigger picture: your career.

Get out of your own way. If you can't ask for support until you're drowning, remember this:

It is more arduous and embarrassing a prospect to be drug out of the swamp by an emergency call than by your own admission to being human.

And if you disagree, I have one question. How's that working out for you?

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