Chương 31: A Disaster Rehearsal Before Service

Under Chris's forceful restructure, the chaos in the Blue Team kitchen was finally brought under control. In the last half hour of prep, everyone worked at their new stations, following Chris's clear instructions — tense, but in order. Jack still wasn't sold inside, but when he found he only had to focus on grilling steaks and no longer had to worry about anything else, his taut nerves did ease considerably.

As Chris had asked, he wrote the times for each level of doneness on a whiteboard and hung it above the grill. Jessica could finally concentrate on the salmon and pork. She even had time to fine-tune the pork's seasoning, giving its flavor more layers. With clear division of labor, Sarah and Owen's efficiency rose sharply too. Sarah quickly prepped enough wings and patties, and Owen, under Chris's guidance, learned to use the salt-water soak to keep vegetables crisp.

The whole kitchen, like a machine reprogrammed and debugged, began to run smoothly. Five-thirty. Half an hour to open. The Blue Team had miraculously finished all its prep.

"All right, everyone." Chris clapped his hands and gathered them at the pass.

"We've got thirty minutes. Now we run a mock-service drill."

"A mock drill?" Jack asked, puzzled.

"At a time like this, what's there to drill?"

"We're testing whether our system throws any bugs under real pressure," Chris explained.

"I need to know the true time, from ticket to plate, for every dish. I need that data in my head." He picked up a blank ticket rail and began calling mock orders.

"First ticket! Table one, one strip steak, medium; one seared salmon." He hit the stopwatch and looked at Jack and Jessica. The two moved at once. Jack threw a steak onto the scalding grill with a sizzle. Jessica melted butter in a skillet to sear the salmon. Chris's eyes followed their every motion like a hawk's.

"Jack, your grill's too hot! The steak'll char outside and stay raw inside! Drop it ten degrees!"

"Jessica, your pan isn't hot enough! The skin won't crisp! Crank the flame to max, now!" Like the strictest quality inspector, he ceaselessly flagged the smallest deviations in their work. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. A few minutes later, the steak and salmon were near done.

"Jack, your steak needs a minute to rest! Jessica, your salmon can come off the heat! Now, hand me the plates!" The two scrambled to pass the components to Chris. He swiftly spooned on sauce, set the sides, and finished the plating. He glanced at the stopwatch.

"Ten minutes thirty. A minute and a half slower than I projected. Where's the problem?" He looked at Jack and Jessica.

"Your two stations are too close. The plate resting the steak and the pan searing the salmon interfere when you pass them. Jessica, move your station half a meter left. Jack, hand me the rested steak from your left side — don't reach across Jessica's zone." He'd factored in even centimeter-level flow-line conflicts. Jack and Jessica looked at each other, shock in their eyes. They'd never imagined kitchen work could be refined to this degree.

"Again!" Chris gave them no breathing room.

"Second ticket! Table two, two BBQ burgers, one Buffalo wings!" This time it was Sarah and Owen's turn. The drill went on. Like a cold machine, Chris ceaselessly issued tickets, logged times, found bottlenecks, and gave optimizations.

"Owen, your salad's coming out too early! Don't dress it until thirty seconds before the burger's assembled, or it'll weep!"

"Sarah, no more than eight wings in the fry basket at once, or the oil temp drops too fast and they won't crisp!"

"Mia, your lava cake needs twelve minutes, so when the mains have fifteen minutes left, I'll call you to the oven! Be ready at all times!" Through drill after drill, the Blue Team members began to truly understand what Chris's "systematic thinking" actually was. They no longer took him for a lucky guy who could only do potatoes, or an opportunist who'd climbed on cleverness. They began to realize Chris's mind might really be different from theirs.

The way he saw a kitchen was more like a god commanding the whole field. At the end of the drill, Chris found the most fatal "timing" crisis. The sauces. He'd prepped all the sauce components ahead, but during the rush they had to stay at the right temperature. Too hot, they'd scorch; too cold, they'd set. As expediter, he couldn't stand guard at the sauce pots the whole time. If, during a dense run of tickets, he was spread too thin and the sauce went wrong, all of everyone's earlier effort would be wasted.

A steak with no sauce was a failed dish.

"Owen," Chris called him over.

"From now on, besides prep, you've got one more task. See my three sauce pots here?" He pointed to the black pepper, lemon butter, and wing sauce on the warmer.

"Every five minutes, you come check them. Use the thermometer, make sure they stay in the range I've written on them. And stir the bottom gently with a spoon to keep them from clumping. Can you do that?"

"Yes! No problem!" Owen nodded hard. He was glad to be of more help. Chris had solved the last known hidden danger. He glanced at the clock. Five fifty-five. The whole kitchen was quiet enough to hear only the low hum of the warmer and everyone's heavy breathing. Every Blue Team member stood at their new station, like soldiers about to take the field, waiting on the commander's order. The bewilderment and dejection were gone from their faces, replaced by a tension and focus they'd never felt before.

Chris stood at the pass and drew a deep breath. He knew he'd done all the preparation he could. Next came the live-combat test of his system. He looked at the cold ticket printer above the pass. Six o'clock exactly. The printer let out a soft beeping and spat out the first ticket. The war had begun.