time to introduce a dish was on a Tuesday or Wednesday night, when things were marginally calmer than they were on the weekendâbut he knew he was in trouble as soon as he looked at the reservation list for what should have been his second manageable Tuesday night. Luke had booked five large parties at the same time for the menu del dia, three groups of six and two of seven, using all three booths and two of the dining-room tables. It didnât matter if the kitchen was on top of things as thirty-two people took their seats at once, and he took little solace in the fact that someday theyâd be able to handle this kind of rush. Two weeks in was not someday, and this wasnât one of Alyssaâs shifts, which meant that Jenni would be doing more cooking than plating.
Jenni was responsible for all the back-room dishes at her station, but the only way to get fourteen egg courses out simultaneously was for the line cook to help her out, which meant that she, in turn, had to stop making pintxos. The runners could keep circulating the cold pintxos that were already prepared, but the croquetas and the homemade potato chips were on hold. As the orders hit, Nate helped run plates to the dining room, while Luke stood at the host stand to greet the guests and keep an eye on the book. No matter what they did, though, service was a nightmare that they could have avoided if only theyâd staggered the reservation times.
On a night with a better rhythm, Jonah might have time to encourage a hustling cook or acknowledge a server who jumped in to run plates or clear dishes at a table that wasnât in his section. Not tonight, which made for a new problem. When the shift ended, Nate reported that some front-of-house staffers had started to complain: Jonah was difficult to approach, they werenât getting constructive feedback, he seemed so disapproving. A couple of them came up to Jonah the following day toapologize for whatever they thought theyâd done wrong, a preemptive confession of failure before he got around to criticizing them.
He came to the afternoon front-of-house lineup meeting to say that apologies werenât necessary, he appreciated how seriously everyone took their work, and he wanted them to understand that a one-word reply wasnât him being curt. It was him being focused in the middle of a difficult service. As Huertas got busier, there would be more one-word replies. Everyone had to get used to it and not take it personally.
It was not yet time to pass out compliments. The worst thing they could do, he told them, would be to believe their early press.
âWe havenât done anything yet,â he said. âHype is hype. We have to continue to get better.â
â¢Â   â¢Â   â¢
Jonah was happier in mad-scientist mode, a paper coffee cup in one hand and a whipped cream canister in the other, huddled with Jenni in front of a microwave oven they were about to use for the first time. He wasnât satisfied with the rice pudding dessert on the menu del dia, and he had seen a recipe for an almond cake developed by Albert Adrià when he was the pastry chef at his brother Ferranâs famed El Bulli on the coast of spain northeast of Barcelona, which had drawn pilgrims lucky enough to get a reservation until it closed in 2011. The cake was a good fit for Huertas because it was a spin on a more traditional cake, and it would work with a range of other flavors; if it came out well, he could put his own stamp on it. Jonah aimed for plates that looked appealing, not aggressively artful; he wasnât going to serve an aerosol-powered, microwaved almond cake unless it tasted better than a basic almond cake. Still, he liked the idea of a new technique with a weird edge. He was all for experimentation if it yielded something that was delicious, first, and fun on the plate, second.
Jenni made a batter out of sugar, egg white, ground almonds, and a little bit of
Jenni was responsible for all the back-room dishes at her station, but the only way to get fourteen egg courses out simultaneously was for the line cook to help her out, which meant that she, in turn, had to stop making pintxos. The runners could keep circulating the cold pintxos that were already prepared, but the croquetas and the homemade potato chips were on hold. As the orders hit, Nate helped run plates to the dining room, while Luke stood at the host stand to greet the guests and keep an eye on the book. No matter what they did, though, service was a nightmare that they could have avoided if only theyâd staggered the reservation times.
On a night with a better rhythm, Jonah might have time to encourage a hustling cook or acknowledge a server who jumped in to run plates or clear dishes at a table that wasnât in his section. Not tonight, which made for a new problem. When the shift ended, Nate reported that some front-of-house staffers had started to complain: Jonah was difficult to approach, they werenât getting constructive feedback, he seemed so disapproving. A couple of them came up to Jonah the following day toapologize for whatever they thought theyâd done wrong, a preemptive confession of failure before he got around to criticizing them.
He came to the afternoon front-of-house lineup meeting to say that apologies werenât necessary, he appreciated how seriously everyone took their work, and he wanted them to understand that a one-word reply wasnât him being curt. It was him being focused in the middle of a difficult service. As Huertas got busier, there would be more one-word replies. Everyone had to get used to it and not take it personally.
It was not yet time to pass out compliments. The worst thing they could do, he told them, would be to believe their early press.
âWe havenât done anything yet,â he said. âHype is hype. We have to continue to get better.â
â¢Â   â¢Â   â¢
Jonah was happier in mad-scientist mode, a paper coffee cup in one hand and a whipped cream canister in the other, huddled with Jenni in front of a microwave oven they were about to use for the first time. He wasnât satisfied with the rice pudding dessert on the menu del dia, and he had seen a recipe for an almond cake developed by Albert Adrià when he was the pastry chef at his brother Ferranâs famed El Bulli on the coast of spain northeast of Barcelona, which had drawn pilgrims lucky enough to get a reservation until it closed in 2011. The cake was a good fit for Huertas because it was a spin on a more traditional cake, and it would work with a range of other flavors; if it came out well, he could put his own stamp on it. Jonah aimed for plates that looked appealing, not aggressively artful; he wasnât going to serve an aerosol-powered, microwaved almond cake unless it tasted better than a basic almond cake. Still, he liked the idea of a new technique with a weird edge. He was all for experimentation if it yielded something that was delicious, first, and fun on the plate, second.
Jenni made a batter out of sugar, egg white, ground almonds, and a little bit of
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