A foray into the kitchen of a Michelin-Starred restaurant.

Marco Rodriguez with pastry chef Andrea during his stint at Country.

“Perfection is about discipline. If you have discipline, consistency falls into place.”
–Marco Pierre White

The room evokes a sense of luxuriousness. The clinking of wine glasses and silverware, as well as the din of good conversation, is the prevailing melody. Diners are captivated by their own intimate company, enraptured by the superb quality of the food at hand. The mood is relaxed, as set by the effortless service of the waitstaff gliding from table to table with their mission: to establish the perfect dining experience. The maître d’ keeps a watchful eye on the evening’s proceedings. Everything is running smoothly on the floor, just like soft butter on their pillowy brioches.

This is a typical evening at most Michelin-Starred restaurants anywhere in the world.

Elsewhere, the kitchen is ablaze with the fury of an irate chef maniacally excoriating his crew of line cooks slaving over hot stoves and boiling cauldrons of beef and veal stock. The tickets pile up. Sweat pours and nerves fray; an accidentally cut finger or a scalded hand is part and parcel of a normal evening’s exercise. The biggest challenge for these workers is making certain that every dish that’s hammered out of the kitchen meets the stringent standards of the man who’s got them by the very throat in a vise for those four intense hours: the chef. The stress level mounts as the evening wears on, with no end to the laborious task in sight . . . and it’s only 7 o’clock.

AMUSE BOUCHE

I love to cook. What I lack in professional experience, I more than make up for in passion and zeal. My friends regard me as a food geek and true student of the craft. This manifests itself especially in my preferred bedside reading material—food publications, which clutter my bookshelf, rendering it a dangerous tilt. I’m addicted to Iron Chef America, Hell’s Kitchen, or any other food show. I’ve never had any formal culinary training and look up to these kitchen heroes as my virtual mentors.

The biggest challenge for these workers is making certain that every dish that’s hammered out of the kitchen meets the stringent standards of the man who’s got them by the very throat in a vise for those four intense hours: the chef.

I’m always up for a challenge, always looking for the next opportunity to better my skills and inch up the culinary learning curve. Be it cooking for my family (a very opinionated lot that has helped me through honest advice and scathing critiques), planning dinners for friends eager to sample my latest menu, or preparing a multi-course meal for a special woman. Back in 2006, I planned a month-long vacation to New York, one of the world’s centers of gastronomic activity. Apart from spending time with my sister Yvette, a Manhattan lawyer, and visiting long-lost friends, my goal was to make this a food-centric trip. To soak in the arts, culture, and vibe of this fantastic city . . . and to eat in as many renowned restaurants along the way. I enjoyed flavorful ramen and meltingly soft Berkshire Pork at Momofuku; relished bold, straightforward tapas at Casa Mono; experienced a wild, hyper-futuristic meal at WD-50; and savored farm-raised, seasonal fare at Blue Hill at Stone Barns in Pocantico Hills. The list goes on. In retrospect, the highlight of this trip was a rare chance to visit a world nobody outside of the industry gets to normally see. I had the opportunity of “trailing” (an industry term for apprenticing under a chef for a given period) in the kitchen of Country, a Michelin-Starred restaurant.

Country is owned by Chef Geoffrey Zakarian, who gained acclaim after successful stints at legendary restaurant Le Cirque under Chef Alain Sailhac; then as Executive Chef of 44 at the Royalton and “21.” He later opened Town in midtown Manhattan followed a few years later by Country. Situated in the mezzanine floor of the Carlton Hotel, a 1911 beaux-arts building on Madison Avenue, the formal dining room at Country was restored to its Belle Epoque splendor by Zakarian and renowned architect David Rockwell. The restaurant retains its original historic features from the era. Such as the ornate ceiling mouldings, Tiffany stained-glass dome, and mosaic tiled floors. From anywhere in the dining room, you had a perfect view of the state-of-the-art open kitchen, which directly faced the long Chef’s Table. Since its opening two and a half years ago, Country has received lots of praise (1-star Michelin, 3-stars New York Times) for its European American menu with a strong emphasis on seasonal ingredients.

Working in a New York kitchen, let alone Michelin-caliber, without solid references and credentials is not an easy gig to score. Most kitchens are unionized and not open to outsiders (I tried at Jean-Georges and was unsuccessful). Luckily for me, my good friend and high school buddy, Jay Poblador, was the Maître d’ at Country. I set off to tell him about my request. After months of email and text correspondence, I finally convinced him to pull major strings, vouch for me, and take me in. In the meantime, I received a similar referral from celebrity chef Rocco Dispirito (whom I met on his visit to Manila) to trail at Cafe Gray. “Tell Chef Gray Kuntz I sent you.” was his instruction. Although I was honored by the offer, seeing that this was uncharted territory, I felt more at ease slinging pots with a trusted friend watching my back. My flight path was charted and its course set. I was to start the week after Thanksgiving.

ENTREE

As I took a leisurely walk from the apartment on 27th Street three blocks up to Madison Avenue in time for the 7 A.M. shift, my first day at Country was marked with anticipation. The breadmaking/pastry section was the perfect launching pad for a greenhorn like me. I used the service entrance at the side of the building and dressed into my kitchen whites after logging in. My first hour involved manual labor: hauling sacks of flour, egg crates, and milk cartons from the pantry downstairs to stock the kitchen. I was then tasked to assist the pastry chefs in measuring the dry ingredients. Since baking is all about precision, the only challenge posed for me was getting the weight down to the last decimal point. Hardly a daunting chore, but I wasn’t about to flub this up. Afterwards, it was off to rolling dough and forming brioches needed for that day’s breakfast service. I was given a reprieve past noon and made my way home after joining the kitchen staff for a family meal of fish and chips. My shift went fairly easy, but I needed an early night’s rest in preparation for my progressively more difficult schedule in the coming days ahead. I needed to be at full attention for my 3 A.M. shift the next morning.

My name in klieg lights, a celebrity chef catering to his adoring throngs as he welcomed them to his latest red carpet opening. One thing’s for certain though . . . all my dreams of owning a restaurant were immediately dashed.

It was chilly, in the low 50s, as I made my way to The Carlton at this ungodly hour. The streets were empty, as people lay in their beds in deep repose, their day hours away from unfolding. Propelled by two strong cups of black coffee, I trudged along, clearing away the cobwebs as I reported for work. The kitchen was nearly empty with only Nancy and Andrea, the pastry chefs I worked with the day before, dutifully manning the station. The quiet was reassuring, although the pace would quicken in a few hours; I needed this lull to prepare my mind for what I had hoped would be a very productive shift. I immediately made myself useful by hauling the requisite dry ingredients to stock the kitchen upstairs as was expected of me. Meanwhile, Frankie the head baker made his early morning appearance. After a brief introduction, he handed me a warm, freshly glazed doughnut as a quick picker-upper. This was exactly the fuel I needed to function as kitchen slave . . . with a few more helpings, I was off to the races.

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