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Sous Chef: 24 Hours on the Line
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Sous Chef: 24 Hours on the Line [Format Kindle]

Michael Gibney

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Descriptions du produit



The kitchen is best in the morning. All the stainless glimmers. Steel pots and pans sit neatly in their places, split evenly between stations. Smallwares are filed away in bains-marie and bus tubs, stacked on Metro racks in families—pepper mills with pepper mills, ring molds with ring molds, and so forth. Columns of buffed white china run the length of the pass on shelves beneath the shiny tabletop. The floors are mopped and dry, the black carpet runners are swept and washed and realigned at right angles. Most of the equipment is turned off, most significantly the intake hoods. Without the clamor of the hoods, quietude swathes the place. The only sounds are the hum of refrigeration, the purr of proofing boxes, the occasional burble of a thermal immersion circulator. The lowboys and fridge-tops are spotless, sterile, rid of the remnants of their tenants. The garbage cans are empty. There is not a crumb anywhere. It smells of nothing.

The place might even seem abandoned if it weren’t for today’s prep lists dangling from the ticket racks above each station—scrawled agendas on POS strips and dupe-pad chits, which the cooks put together at the end of every dinner service. They are the relics of mayhem, wraiths of the heat. In showing us how much everyone needs to get done today, they give us a sense of what happened in here last night. The lists are long; it was busy. The handwriting is urgent, angry, exhausted.

But now everything is still.

On Fridays you get in about 0900. As you make your way through the service entrance, a cool bar of sunlight shines in from the loading dock, lighting your way down the back corridor toward the kitchen. Deliveries have begun to arrive. Basswood crates of produce lie in heaps about the entryway. A film of soil still coats the vegetables. They smell of earth. Fifty-pound bags of granulated sugar and Caputo 00 flour balance precariously on milk crates. Vacuum-packed slabs of meat bulge out of busted cardboard.

You nose around in search of a certain box. In it you find what you desire: Sicilian pistachios, argan oil, Pedro Ximenez vinegar, Brinata cheese. These are the samples you requested from the dry goods purveyor. You take hold of the box, tiptoe past the rest of the deliveries, and head to the office.

The office is a place of refuge, a nest. The lights are always dim inside. It is small, seven by ten feet maybe, but it’s never stiflingly hot like the rest of the kitchen. A dusty computer, its companion printer, and a telephone occupy most of the narrow desk space, while office supplies, Post-it notes, and crusty sheaves of invoice paper take up the rest. Below the desk is a compact refrigerator designated for chef use only. It holds safe the chefs’ supply of expensive perishables: rare cheese, white truffles, osetra caviar, bottarga, fine wine, sparkling water, snacks. Sometimes, there’ll be beers in there; in such cases, there’ll also be a cold cache of Gatorade or Pedialyte for re-upping electrolytes. Alongside the refrigerator is the all-purpose drawer, which contains pens and scratch pads, first aid kits, burn spray, ibuprofen, pink bismuth, and deodorant, as well as a generous supply of baby powder and diaper rash ointment, which help keep the chafing at bay and stave off the tinea. At the edge of the desk is the closet, overstuffed with chef whites, black slacks, aprons, clogs, and knife kits. Shelves of cookbooks adorn the walls’ highest reaches, and below them hangs a mosaic of clipboards fitted with inventory sheets, order guides, BEOs, and SOPs. One of the clipboards—the one with your name on it—holds a near infinity of papers. On each sheet is a list of things to do: things to order, things to burn out, people to call, emails to send, menus to study, menus to proofread, menus to write, menus to invent. . . . You try not to look at your clipboard first thing in the morning.

As the opening sous chef, the first thing you do is check for callouts. In good restaurants, these are rare. A good cook almost never misses a shift. He takes ownership of his work; he takes pride in it. He understands how important he is to the team and he will avoid disappointing his coworkers at all costs. Regardless of runny noses or tummy trouble, regardless of stiff necks or swollen feet, regardless of headaches or toothaches or backaches, regardless of how little sleep he got the night before or what fresh hell his hangover is when he wakes up, a good cook will always show up for work in the morning. But things happen, of course, and sometimes even the most high-minded cooks must call out. And when they do, it’s up to you to find someone to cover for them. Given the limited roster of cooks in most restaurants, this task is often extremely difficult—something of a Gordian knot. So, if the problem exists, it’s important to diagnose it as early as possible.

If there aren’t any callouts, you get a cool, peaceful moment in the shadowy office to take stock. This moment is a rare encounter with tranquillity that must be relished. You chomp on a hunk of the morning’s freshly baked bread and click through your email. You fire up a few eggs over medium, trade morning text messages with your girlfriend. You duck out and smoke some cigarettes on the loading dock, step over to the corner store for a seltzer and a paper. You do as little as possible for as long as you can. For now, for just this very moment, the kitchen is yours.

Eventually your attention turns to the box of samples. It is fully within your purview—in fact it’s your charge—to inspect them for quality. The executive chef has made this clear. He trusts your instincts and expects you to act on them. Nevertheless, an adolescent excitement stirs in you when you open them up.

The Sicilian pistachios, forest green, are soft in your hands, succulent in your mouth. They are rich and sweet, like no nut you’ve had before. You twist the cap on the argan oil and a sumptuous perfume fills the air. Drops of the golden liquid trickle down the neck of the bottle onto your knuckles. Wasting it would be a sin. You lick it off. It is robust, plump, nutty. The PX vinegar counters the sultry fat with a sharp burst of sweetness. Unlike most vinegar, this redolent nectar is thick and syrupy, with layers of flavor.

The Brinata—the queen piece, wrapped in white paper with a pink ribbon—summons you. You gently lay the cheese in the middle of the desk and begin to undress it, slowly peeling away the wrappings to reveal a semihard mound with delicate curves and moon-white skin. To use your fingers would be uncivilized. You trace the tip of a knife across the surface in search of the right place to enter. In one swift motion, you pierce the rind and thrust into its insides. You draw the blade out, plunge in again. You bring the triangle to your lips. It melts when it enters your mouth. Your palate goes prone; gooseflesh stipples your neck.

This is the life, you think.

Afterward, you smoke another cigarette out on the loading dock and ready yourself for the day.


Time to get changed. You riffle through the office closet until you find a freshly pressed coat with your name on it.

Good whites are designed to be comfortable for the long haul—the hot, extended blast. Your coat, fashioned of high-thread-count cotton, buttons up around you like a bespoke suit. Unlike the standard issue line cooks’ poly-blend, the material for the chef’s coat is gentle on the skin, with vents in the armpits to let in air when it gets hot. Your black chef pants, in contrast to the conventional, ever-inflexible “checks,” are woven of lightweight, flame-retardant fabric meant to keep your bottom safe when hot grease splashes and fires flare. They slide on like pajamas. Your shoes, handmade Båstad clogs, conform to your feet like well-worn slippers. They’re ergonomically designed to reduce joint and back pressure, with wooden soles lined with a special rubber that’s engineered to withstand chemical erosion and to defy slippery floors. When properly dressed, you’re clad in custom-fitted, heat-resistant armor that’s light as a feather and comfortable as underwear.

Also in the closet is your knife kit. This kit represents everything you are as a cook and as a chef. Not only does it contain all the tools you need to perform the job, but its contents also demonstrate your level of dedication to the career. Certain items define the most basic kit: a ten- or twelve-inch chef knife, a paring knife, a boning knife. Other additions, though, might indicate to your colleagues that you take your involvement in the industry a little more seriously: fine spoons, a Y peeler, a two-step wine key, cake testers, forceps, scissors, miniature whisks, fish tweezers, fish turners, rubber spatulas, small offset spatulas, a Microplane, a timer, a probe, a ravioli cutter, a wooden spoon. . . . While these items are typically available for general use in most kitchens, having your own set shows other cooks that you are familiar with advanced techniques and that you know what you need in order to employ them. Also, having such a kit at your disposal means that you are ready to cook properly no matter what the circumstances.

Most important, though, your knives themselves tell how much the job of cooking means to you. A dull knife damages food. We are here to enhance food. Extremely sharp knives are essential for this purpose.

No one makes knives better than the Japanese. Every Japanese knife is perfectly balanced to perform a specific function, a specific cut. Its precision in this respect is unrivaled. Its sharpness, too, is unmatched. The metallurgy is most refined, a coalition of hardness and durability. No sophisticated kit lacks Japanese blades.

You take a moment in the office to examine yours, reflecting on your level of dedication. You know these knives as you know your own body. Their warm Pakkawood handles have shrunk and swelled to fit your hands; each blade welcomes your grip the way a familiar pillow welcomes the head at day’s end. You could cut blind with any of them. Their individual features, their nuances, are so entrenched in your muscle memory that even as they sit on the table, you can imagine how each one feels when you hold it.

The nine-inch Yo-Deba is bulky in the hand. She is top-heavy—a bone cutter, built to cleave heads and split joints. Beside her is the seven-inch Garasuki, a triangle of thick metal, meant to lop apart backs and shanks. She’s heavy, too, but more wieldy, with a weight that’s balanced at the hilt. Her shape tapers sharply from a hefty heel to a nimble nose, delivering her load downward to the tip. Honesuki, Garasuki’s miniature sister, sits beside her, similar in shape but lighter and more agile, for dainty work among tendons and ligaments. Even more ladylike is the Petty. Her slim six inches slither precision slits deftly through the littlest crevices. She works tender interiors, snipping viscera from connective tissue. Next to Petty is Gyutou—“Excalibur,” as you like to call her. She is the workhorse of the pack, trotting her ten inches out whenever heaps of mise en place need working through. And at the far end, finest of all, is the slender Sujihiki. At eleven inches she’s the longest of the bunch, but despite her size, she’s the most refined. She’s not built for the brute work of the other blades—she’s made to slice smoothly. A one-sided edge optimizes her performance. While her outward lip traces lines in flesh with surgical exactitude, the convex shape of her inward face attenuates surface tension, releasing the meat. Cuts go slack at her touch; fish bows beside her.

Here they lie before you, not reflecting light but absorbing it. They don’t shine like the commercial novelties on television. No, they are professionals—hand-folded virgin carbon steel. A bloomy patina colors each of them, nearly obscuring the signature of their maker. To some people, this gives the kit the tatty look of disuse. For you, it does the opposite. You see care and commitment in their dusky finish. You see a decade of daily work: a farm’s worth of produce cut, whole schools of fish filleted, entire flocks of lamb broken, thousands of hungry mouths fed. You see their maker’s hand in crafting them so well that they would last you this long. And you see a lifetime more in them, so long as you remain committed to keeping them clean and rust-free and razor-sharp.

Stefan, the closing sous chef, is due in shortly, and Bryan, the executive chef, won’t be too far behind him. You’ve been here almost an hour; the real work must begin. Espresso jolts you into action.

You start by greeting anybody who might be in the kitchen. There aren’t many people in at this hour—an a.m. prep cook, a baker maybe, a dishwasher or two—but you must see them and shake their hands. It’s an opportunity to confirm that anybody who is supposed to be in is in, and that everybody is working on something constructive. It’s also an opportunity to let them know that you are here, in case they get the idea to mess around. Moreover, it’s a signal of respect. A handshake in the morning is an important mutual acknowledgment of the fact that outside our work, we are all human beings, not just cooks or chefs or dishwashers.

“Dimelo, baby,” you say to Kiko, the senior dishwasher.

“¿Que onda, güero?” he says, turning from the slop sink to greet you. His hands are perpetually wet; he extends one out for the shake.

“Where’s Don Rojas?” you ask. “He’s here?”

“Sí, papito, ahi atrás.”

“Bravo,” you say. “¿Todo bien contigo?”

“Sí, güey. Siempre.”

You make your way to the back prep area—the production kitchen—to greet Rogelio, the a.m. prep cook. He’s loading split veal shins into a fifty-gallon cauldron. His forearms are thick and rippled from decades on the steam kettles and tilt skillets. You shake his hand and leave him to his work.

After the greetings, it’s time to do the rounds. First is a walk-through of the line.

The line is the nexus of the kitchen—the main stage, where thrills reside. It’s where the cooking gets done, where mise en place is transformed into meals, moment by moment, hour by hour, day by day. The three-hundred-square-foot section of the kitchen where half a dozen cooks and chefs work long into the night, straying seldom but moving much.

Revue de presse

“This is excellent writing—excellent!—and it is thrilling to see a debut author who has language and story and craft so well in hand. Though I would never ask my staff to read my own book, I would happily require them to read Michael Gibney’s.”—Gabrielle Hamilton, author of Blood, Bones & Butter

“Gibney has the soul of a poet and the stamina of a stevedore. . . . Tender and profane, his book will leave you with a permanent appreciation for all those people who ‘desire to feed, to nourish, to dish out the tasty bits of life.’”The New York Times Book Review

“A terrific nuts-and-bolts account of the real business of cooking as told from the trenches. No nonsense. This is what it takes.”—Anthony Bourdain
“A wild ride, not unlike a roller coaster, and the reader experiences all the drama, tension, exhilaration, exhaustion and relief that accompany cooking in an upscale Manhattan restaurant.”USA Today
“A vibrantly written guide to terminology and process, with plenty of real-time detail and a dash of kitchen gossip.”Entertainment Weekly
“Sizzling . . . Such culinary experience paired with linguistic panache is a rarity.”The Daily Beast

Sous Chef reveals the high-adrenaline dance behind your dinner.”—NPR
“Fascinating and fun . . . Gibney is both a gifted observer and supremely knowledgeable about his craft and the inner workings of a professional kitchen.”The Boston Globe
“Gibney has a fine ear for language and delivers an extraordinary amount of information about ingredients and techniques.”The Wall Street Journal
“Experience one exhilarating day in the shoes of a New York chef in this enthralling book.”Parade
“Michael Gibney’s you-are-there Sous Chef is one of the most informative, funny, and transparent books about the restaurant biz ever written.”—Bret Easton Ellis

Sous Chef is a marvelous, superbly written, intelligent, and accomplished book. I know no other book that so vividly renders the experience and complexity of life in a big restaurant kitchen. The sheer amount of knowledge demonstrated here of the particulars of cooking is immense, and the dynamic, seesaw relationship between chef and sous chef is especially well achieved. I was gripped by the author’s culinary passion and literary sophistication. Bravo!”—Phillip Lopate
“A good cook chooses ingredients carefully, just as a writer must select the right words. Michael Gibney is a word cook of the highest order, and this book will leave you licking your fingers.”—Gary Shteyngart

“Gibney is as skilled with words as he is with his 11-inch Sujihiki knife.”Publishers Weekly (starred review)

“Sumptuously entertaining fare . . . [Gibney] breathes life into the mix of outsized personalities inhabiting the confined, hot, noisy space of the kitchen.”Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

From the Hardcover edition.

Détails sur le produit

  • Format : Format Kindle
  • Taille du fichier : 1567 KB
  • Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 241 pages
  • Editeur : Ballantine Books (25 mars 2014)
  • Vendu par : Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
  • Langue : Anglais
  • Synthèse vocale : Activée
  • X-Ray :
  • Word Wise: Non activé
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: n°218.976 dans la Boutique Kindle (Voir le Top 100 dans la Boutique Kindle)
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Commentaires client les plus utiles sur (beta) 4.2 étoiles sur 5  186 commentaires
23 internautes sur 25 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 THE AUTHOR HAS A WAY WITH WRITING. I'M WAITING FOR A MEAL 3 février 2014
Par Schuyler T Wallace - Publié sur
Format:Relié|Commentaire client Vine pour produit gratuit (De quoi s'agit-il?)
In his illuminating book SOUS CHEF, Michael Gibney grabbed both of my vulnerables, reading and eating, and I enjoyed every minute of it. Who knew of the wild rumpus I created in the kitchen when I placed my food order. I didn’t know my arroser from hot pommes until I read this book that describes a busy night in a starred NYC restaurant. Bravo to a true artist and thanks for inviting me to dinner. Incidentally, an extensive glossary is included in the book to acquaint the reader with culinary terms in case you’re not familiar with your own pommes.

Behind that swinging door to the kitchen is a community of white clad lunatics. The only redeeming feature they all share is their dedication to providing quality food to the customers gathered out front. Unlike Denny’s, where a couple of gum chewers grill hamburgers, fry hash browns, and dip soggy spaghetti, the fine restaurant has a strict hierarchy of many employees with a myriad of complex tasks. The failure of a single duty spells disaster with the possible downgrading of the restaurant’s standing. But the back staff is highly individualistic and slightly paranoid about their presence, making cohesiveness a real challenge.

So the big time cooks and chefs start planning, prepping, chopping, and slicing early. Fragile fish, unwieldy raw meat, temperamental fruits and vegetables, and fragile herbs and fungi must all be prepped. Delicate pan sauces, complicated confits, and large quantities of house-made pastas must be concocted. This entire bee-like bustle is aimed at making the evening dining rush manageable and smoothly accommodated. On a busy Friday night five hundred people will receive their orders and gasp at the looks and taste of the specially prepared meal set in front of them. In spite of the wild scene behind the doors, the patron is served calmly and speedily in his or her haven of pleasure.

Behind the austere dining room there is shouting, arguing, crude commentary and fighting for position. Hung-over kitchen staff members have been known to puke in a trash can, an act that does not bode well for the unfortunate miscreant’s future. Occasional kindness and helpful assistance is offered through the veil of bad behavior. After the last order is sent to the dining room and clean up time has arrived, an atmosphere of brotherhood and togetherness descends and post trauma arrangements are made for drinks, a little snack, and reflective conversation. As staff members stumble home after an exhausting day and heavy drinking night, the new day soon arriving is ill-prepared for with the few hours sleep they will get. An occupational hazard, it seems.

Michael Gibney has been there. He has worked his way through the stations to the position of sous chef, second in command, of the restaurant he describes and also has a MFA in writing from Columbia University. He is an excellent writer with great instincts about what a reader likes and what details need to go into a readable memoir. He has parlayed all this knowledge and training into SOUS CHEF, a great book that will catch the reader’s attention. I loved it.

Schuyler T Wallace
25 internautes sur 29 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 An Intimate Look at Life on the Line 10 février 2014
Par A. Silverstone - Publié sur
Format:Relié|Commentaire client Vine pour produit gratuit (De quoi s'agit-il?)
Although there have been an effusion of chef autobiography's as of late, Michael Gibney's fictionalized account of a single day in the life of a sous chef at a high end NYC restaurant is a fresh view of life in the kitchen. Gibney takes the reader into the tumultuous underbelly of the restaurant. Employing the uncommon the second person narrative style, Gibney places you, the reader, in the middle of the kitchen.

An amalgamation of people and restaurants, Sous Chef captures perfectly the stresses and triumphs of the eponymous role. Fortunately, for those of us not familiar with restaurant kitchens, Gibney maps out the landscape, people, and roles, both graphically (with diagrams), and with text descriptions. He also, helpfully includes an extensive glossary for equipment, people, food, and terms used in the kitchen, from cook to stagiaire and from LOI to Wondra flour.

This behind the scenes portrayal of a restaurant kitchen is both a fun and educating read.
15 internautes sur 18 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Fast paced! Full of great tips and belly laughs! 30 janvier 2014
Par Richard Sutton - Publié sur
Format:Relié|Commentaire client Vine pour produit gratuit (De quoi s'agit-il?)
I cut my earliest employment chops in a catering hall, doing every kind of support job in a kitchen you can imagine. It was one of the hardest physical jobs I ever had, but also, the feeling that came at the end of an event, or a dinner rush, was a satisfaction like no other. High fives all around for the team! The restaurant business is like that, and so much more, as detailed in this great memoir. The author Michael Gibney, is writing from the heart and from an incredible range of experience. He's also a gifted writer. Who knew that cheese could be so alarmingly sexy, or that knives could inspire such devotion? From a sequence of situations where he's called upon to not just execute amazing culinary dexterity, but incredible forbearance and courage, the pages just kept turning. I was taken on a riotous ride through the most amazing kitchens filled with every kind of co-conspirator, high technology equipment and doubtful raw materials, to watch from the sidelines (where it's much safer) while the collaborative efforts produced fine art. Highly recommended to anyone who eats food, wonders how to prepare a salad Nicoise, or what the heck a Santoku knife is used for. A glass of wine on the side table is recommended. This book is gonna make your mouth water!
14 internautes sur 17 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 A great read for foodies and anyone interested in how fine restaurants are run 28 janvier 2014
Par Wine Teacher - Publié sur
Format:Relié|Commentaire client Vine pour produit gratuit (De quoi s'agit-il?)
This is a very fast read. It is a book from the perspective of a sous chef in a very fine upper end restaurant where perfection is the only acceptable outcome. Anyone who has been to places like that may wonder how they do it and do it so effortlessly. It isn't because there is so much behind what we see on the plate. Fine restaurant meals are pricy because of the tremendous labor, resources, high cost ingredients, waste and management that are all in the cost structure. This book reveals all those things that we have taken for granted. The book covers the design of a top notch kitchen and the various stations and functions. It also covers the entire management structure of the kitchen. The books covers the preparation for one day of service. The personality issues are very interesting but all in the context of how the operation of such a fine restaurant may be affected. There are also many food related insights as to how such fine plates of food is really put together. What are part of this level of perfected. The book also has various tips on food preparation for those adventourous foodies (or just curious one) as to how to butcher certain fish and how the skin is made crispy (weighed down for a few seconds while being fried on the skin). This is a book you can't put down. It is that good. Of course, it wouldn't be if one isn't interested in how a restaurant is run or food in general. It is a foodie read for sure. Highly recommended.
33 internautes sur 44 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
3.0 étoiles sur 5 Very Limited Audience 2 février 2014
Par Ogr8ys1 - Publié sur
Format:Relié|Commentaire client Vine pour produit gratuit (De quoi s'agit-il?)
I am the eighth reviewer of this book and the first to give it under 4 stars. First off, if you aren't interested in how a restaurant runs, there is absolutely no way you will get through this book. Through high school and college I had worked in restaurants (not fine dining as this book follows) starting a dishwasher (where I learned Spanish), prep cook, waiter, and finally line cook. The author nails the feeling down of disappointing Chef, but his character was the only one that I got a feeling I got to know.

The stories of the people you work with in the biz is more interesting than filleting a monkfish or how many cigarettes one smokes as he wishes he could quit. The book is written in the second person which sometimes works, but most often does not. For me, in this memoir, it does not. Memoirs for the most part only work in the first person and by writing this in the second person you are put quite a distance away from the true emotions of the experiences revealed here.

On the plus side it is a fast, albeit short read, with a glossary for non-foodies which they will use to play catch up to those who are familiar with all the terms.

Let me stress this to the potential reader. It is not Anthony Bourdain nor Augustus Burroughs you are picking up. There are very few witticisms that will have you smiling or crying. It is written more like a textbook, which is fine if that is what you are looking for, but I have a feeling most that read this will put it down a bit disappointed.

3 stars.
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