A NIGHT AT THE RIVER CAFE
BY JEFF FLIEGLER • JUNE 2001

Everything in the Big Apple is the same as usual. Work, sleep and play, when I can. Sometimes there are hot nights and sometimes I can't wait to go to bed. The difference between New York and California is the best times are better and the bad times are worse. It more fun to have times with friends here because I don't have as many friends and the ones I do have I don't get to spend much time with. Most of my time is spent on work, getting to and from work, actually working and then thinking about work during my off time. I'm really proud of work right now, probably more so then ever. No one ever looks down on you in the slightest when you tell them you work at the River Café. The only thing I find frustrating is that it is really hard for most people to understand what my journey on the road to being a chef entails. I've just finished reading a book by George Orwell called Down and Out in Paris and London. Most of the book is about traveling in poverty (which I feel I can somewhat relate to), but there is a part of the book where he works in a hotel. This is very interesting because even though it takes place many years before my existence, a lot of kitchen standards haven't changed much. In the book George writes that there is absolutely no way he can write anything that can give you a true feel for restaurant life. Well, I'm going to try. I wake up around eleven or twelve. I'm always a little sore from the previous night and it sometimes takes me a little while to get out of bed. I try to get to work by one but that never happens. I don't technically start work 'til two-thirty, but there is always so much to be done. I walk past the St. George Hotel down Old Fulton road. I pass Gimeraldi's Pizza, which is supposed to be the best pizza joint in New York. That is saying quite a bit too. It is like saying the "best Burrito in San Diego." I walk up the cobble stone driveway where all the flowers are neatly manicured and the grass is well groomed. The Restaurant actually lies on a barge that Buzzy O'Keefe, the owner, is rumored to have leased the adjacent land for a hundred years at one thousand dollars a month. This was at a time when New York was a bit rougher and a hell of a lot cheaper. The Restaurant itself is made up of glass walls so you can really take in the view. The view is quite incredible, I must say. You can see the Manhattan skyline that is made up of some of the most famous buildings in the world and to the left you can see the Statue of Liberty. I personally like it much better at night, but it is nice in the day too. My workday really starts when I go to the shack where our freezer, one of our walk-in refrigerators, our dry storage, and our linens are. I ask Mark, a Haitian man, to open the door to the linen room. Mark is kind of an everything guy. I see him checking in orders, polishing silver and taking inventory. He is nice to me, although many Haitians in The Restaurant have the reputation of being thieves and quite sneaky. I always call Mark Boss and he calls me Chef. I tell him how I'm feeling involuntarily and he always gets a chuckle if I say I'm hung over from the previous nights events. Then I search through the hundreds of jackets until I find one that is about my size. I grab an apron and four purple table clothes. The linen company dies old table clothes purple so they don't get mistaken for nice ones. Almost like when my mother used to die my father's undies pink if they were in the midst of a quarrel. I go to the locker room which has been named the smoke shack. Back in the old days that is where the employees went to smoke. Now you can get fired if you're caught smoking in the locker room. I usually see one or two of my co-workers and we exchange a few words, always small talk. I then make my way into the kitchen. I pass through the pastry part first. I used to get excited to see a girl named Linda because I thought she was hot. She lost a crown a few days ago and is missing a tooth now which totally turns me off. I say hi as I walk by and say hello to the chef who is almost always at his stand up front. I make my way back to my station and set it up for prep time. This entails yelling at Ishmael, the seventeen year old Mexican prep cook, for making a mess, wiping everything down, getting out my tools and setting up a cutting board using one of the purple table clothes to keep it from sliding. I then grab a huge bucket filled with peeled potatoes submerged in water. This is quite heavy and is one of the jobs I do that gives me my awesome muscles. I cut the potatoes in half or quarters and think of what I need for the nights service. It nice for me to start with the potatoes because it is somewhat brainless and it gives me a chance to loosen up a little. While I do this the rest of the crew comes trickling in. On a Saturday night we have what I like to call the A-team: Ryan, the twenty year-old prodigy on grill; Ian, the soft spoken, super hip, half-Jamaican half-Scot, in the middle; Bobby, the kid who still loves heavy metal and sports a necklace made up of all skulls, on hot app.; Big Dan, the heavy Puerto Rican, on pans; and me, the kid from California, on fish. Almost everyone does their prep work in the back because lunch service is taking place and it the only spot that there is room. The weather and how many stoves and ovens are in use are the variables that make up the temperature. This also comes in close relation with temperaments of the team. There is a big black Haitian prep cook, that I'm just now starting to warm up to, at the beginning of the line. Then there is Ishmael, myself, Ryan and Big Dan next to him. The counter then makes a corner and Ian and Bobby work along the ledge. After I cut the potatoes I throw them in to the steamer for about an hour. The steamer at our restaurant is an awesome piece of machinery. It has two huge steam kettles attached to an oven-looking thing with a particle inferno powering the whole thing. The two steam kettles are what we make our stocks in. Stocks are bones covered by vegetables and water. They cook for hours and later become sauces. I use the oven part or the machine to steam the potatoes. An hour is much too long to cook the potatoes, but I use them to make mash potatoes and the longer they cook, the more starch is released. This is good because starch mash the potatoes get hard by the end of the night. It also allows me an hour to get everything else started for the night. After I get the potatoes taken care of I go and talk to the chef and see what he has in store for me. We have a tasting menu which is made up of six small but very elegant courses and it changes almost every day. Chef usually tells me what he expects out of the fish station, what he or one of the sous chefs will take care of, what I should look out for as far as inventory and spoiling goods, and any special guest I should be aware of. It absolutely amazes me that the chef has such a grasp on every thing in this kitchen. There is so much going on, he must have four billion wheels in this head turning at once. I then check with the banquet chef to see if he has a party or needs any extra prep from my station done. I usually know about parties the night before so I can get a head start on extra prep I'll need for the night. Then I write my prep list on a ledge in my station with a dry erase marker. I usually cut shallots first. Shallots are like miniature onions, but a little sweeter. I do this every day because they are much better fresh. I cut them in small little squares slightly bigger then a pin top. I use all the scraps for my sauces. You see there is a lot of prep to be done and you need to do the things that take the longest first. Sauces always take a long time so by cutting the shallots I'm getting some of my easy prep done and at the same time I'm starting on stuff that takes longer. I'm killing two birds with one stone. One of the most important things and hardest thing about cooking is organization. The trick is to work smart so you don't have to work hard. The more stress you can avoid the clearer you head is so you can take your time and do a better job. After the bases for my sauces get started I ask Mark, the everything man, to bring me some Crepe oil, and three cans of Coconut milk. I have to be careful with my coconut milk or else the Haitian dude will drink it. I then get out all my butter to bring it up to room temperature, cream and milk for the potatoes and start cooking all the vegetables that take along time. While all this is taking place I have to hear Big Dan Complain about something or other, help Ishmael lift any stocks or sauces he is working on and avoid the rapid traffic of the kitchen. Sometimes Dan is actually pretty funny and Bobby always says something like, "SAVE THE DRAMA FOR YOUR MAMA!!" That, for some reason, makes me laugh every time. Dan always does the lobster which takes forever sometimes, Ian is always doing weird stuff with vegetables, and Ryan and Bobby are doing their normal prep -- whatever that may entail that day. I then finish the mash potatoes, which is on the other side of the kitchen. It's nice to get out of the back (we call it the dungeon) because it gets so unbelievably hot. I don't always realize just how hot it is until I get somewhere cool and I feel damp from the sweat. Anyway, I always make a lot of friends who want to taste the mash potatoes. After the mash is done I feel really relieved usually. It just seems to be a big pain in my ass. Sometimes though I am totally in the weeds (a term used in the kitchen for being behind) I don't feel relieved at all. It's sometimes a struggle to get my station set up and it is always a struggle to get it set up just the way I like. If everything goes as planned it's not hard, but that never happens. There always something that happens during the prep time that throws you for a loop. You just have to pray to God that it's nothing that you've been working on all day, or something that takes more time then you have. About four-fifteen the dishwashers clean the floors. This is the one break I try to take. It's hard to work when some greasy dishwasher is at your feet trying to lift the mats that you're standing on. So I try and get out of the kitchen for five or ten minutes. I sit under the Brooklyn Bridge which is right outside. It's quite a sight. The Bridge is made of rocks and one can only think about what hopes and dreams took place around this little area. I usually see wedding pictures being taken or some type of modeling shoot taking place. It is kind of cool. I then go to the kitchen and finish my sauces and do whatever needs to be done to get ready for service. From four-thirty to five everyone sits and eats, but I never do. It is so quiet in the kitchen and I get so much done in that half an hour, it is really not worth it for me. Mark, the everything man, then brings big laxon of ice for our station and gives us about four or five hand towels for the night. That's not a lot considering we wrap our hands with them so we don't burn the shit out of our fingers. If a towel gets wet it no use to me. You have to be smart with your towels -- your hands depend on it. I always beg for extra towels and sometimes just flat out lie and tell him we have an extra man in the kitchen so he needs extra. Sometimes Mark bros me out and give me two or three extra towels for the night. After Mark brings the ice and the towels I know it really time to bear down, because service is coming soon. I never wear a watch in the kitchen because it is irritating and by the people's actions around me I know what time it is. It irritating to wear a watch on my wrist for the simple fact they almost always have a burn or two and I know that at three o'clock lunch service cleans up, at four the dishwashers start work and at five Mark brings the ice and towels. In the city time is irrelevant to me. I always do the same thing no matter what. Even on my days off I drink the same amount. When I start early I go home early, it's just that simple. The time between five and six I clean and set up my station just the way I like it. Sometimes I have time to spare, sometimes I don't. When I have time to spare there is a dead calm before the storm. It is one of the most peaceful times in my everyday life although it always goes by much too quickly. It's kind of like those first few moments before you kiss a date -- it seems like forever but once you look back it seems like a millisecond. All of a sudden I hear a cha ... cha ... cha ... cha and my life changes. No matter how hard I work to make the fish station perfect or no matter how set I thought I was I second guess every thing for a moment. I haven't died yet, thank God, but I here stories of when you do your life passes through your eyes. This is how I feel when I here the cha ... cha ... cha of the first ticket of the night. Everything I've worked so hard for the past few hours and, in some ways, the past few years, is all about to be put on the line. There is so much of everything that I love and stand for that goes through my head when that first ticket comes through. It gives me such a rush of excitement and fear both at the same time it is hard to control myself. Usually the first ticket is very anti-climatic. It's something like a salmon and a bass. That is something that anyone, including most of the helpless wait staff, can do in their sleep. It is just a prelude of what is to come and everybody knows this. Dan puts the Bass in the Salamander. The Salamander is a machine that has a fire on the top instead of a stove where the heat comes from the bottom. I think the proper name is a broiler, but to any cook on whatever coast it is a salamander. I then take out a vegetable cup, which is the garnish that goes with the salmon, and put it on the counter. This is good for two reasons: I can see how many salmon I need, and, when it comes time to cook the vegetables they are right in front of me. Everything is still somewhat chilled. Then again I hear cha ... cha ... cha ... cha and it goes on for quite a while. These are all the tickets coming in. One lobster, three bass and a yellow-fin tuna, then two lobster a bass and so on and so forth. Dan gives me a look and I give it back. It is a look you give someone the instant before you jump. We both know the dance so there are no more words of conversation spoken. Now it's time. Everything from now to about nine o'clock can go one-way or another. One of the ways is where we get in a zone. The Zone is what Kobe feels when he can't miss, or what a marathon runner feels on the twentieth mile. It is a feeling of euphoria where nothing can get in your way. This is what I live for now. You see I work so much my social life is non-existent, so I live for this feeling of invincibility. The other way is when everything goes wrong. I don't like to talk about this much, but it does happen. Things need to be re-plated and you hold on for dear life and just hope nothing goes to bad. Those nights you get out of the kitchen a.s.a.p. and think of everything that you can change so this doesn't happen again. Our vocabulary is reduced to four or five words. These words are: fire, that means get ready on the table; ready, which means you have everything ready and you can go on with plating the order; drop it, is what you say to all the guys cooking the meat to let them know you're ready; One minute, which means you need time before everything is ready; and your bad word or phrase for the day. (You don't like to hear this because it means someone made a mistake of some sort.). About ten to fifteen minutes after the orders come pouring in the chef starts calling for them. Pick-up 35, 11 and 34 he will yell. Dan or I will call back the numbers to make sure everyone is on the same page. Since we work in the back of the kitchen it is sometimes hard to hear the chef and we have to run to the front to make sure everything is right. Sometimes the chef says do you guys need miracle ear or something he thinks is cute. That is about a rude as Chef gets. Dan or I then take the tickets called from the ticket hanger and put them on the counter. We'll figure out what we need to get picked up. Sometimes it's one or two dishes sometimes it is ten or fifteen. We get everything cooked so it is ready to be plated. Then we look at Ryan, Bobby, or Ian and call "drop!" We took the liberty to make cute hand signals sometimes instead of calling drop. The hand signals come out more when things are good. If the front line calls drop back or makes a signal to go we then plate and run the dishes up front. No matter how many times I plated the Salmon, Lobster, Tuna, or Sea Bass, probably in the thousands, there is still a challenge to put out the perfect dish. Sometimes the butter glaze on the Salmon vegetables isn't just right or the mash potatoes for the Lobster isn't piped perfectly on the plate. These are small things, but things that Dan and I notice and the chef always notices. The hardest thing is getting the plates to the right temperature. You want the plates hot, but not too hot. This is my and every chef's pet peeve. It is definitely a science. All this sounds insignificant but is the small things that matter so much in the kitchen, and in life for that matter. The first seating at our restaurant takes place from about six-thirty 'til about nine or nine-thirty. It goes amazingly fast and efficiently on good nights when you're in the "Zone". We usually feed anywhere between seventy-five and one hundred twenty-five people. Then we usually have about a half hour to reload our station and use the urinal if need be. Then the sound of cha ... cha ... cha ... and it all happens one more time. Around ten thirty or eleven the tickets stop coming in and the chef calls for a fish count. That is when Dan or I count all the fish in the house. Our station is responsible for doing the ice too. Doing the ice means to empty all the excess water form the ice bins in the walk-ins and restock then with fresh ice. We also have to cook an employee meal for the management and the dishwashers. We trade off with the meat station. One usually cooks for the "boys"(the dishwashers) or the "officers" (the management). It is always better to cook for the dishwashers, because there are never as many and we like them more. The dishwashers are on our side of the ball, kind of like an offensive line. Sometimes it is hard not to taint the officer's meal on a bad night, but I find it in my heart to refrain. After the employee meals are over with we scrub the kitchen and drink our shift drink and enjoy the few minutes of down time with our co-workers. Then we all go to locker room change make fun of each other and go home. Sometimes I get a ride home which is always nice, but usually I take the subway. I usually get home anywhere from twelve-thirty and one-thirty and finally fall a sleep around three - on good nights. I wake up and do it again. I hope this gives you an idea of a night at The River Café. More importantly give you an idea of a cook's life. Hope you enjoy and don't be afraid to write back.