your job is customer service and perfection (michelin part 2, the first service, it's not about you)
This is a re-sharing of a culinary experience that I had back in 2022, working at a 2* Michelin restaurant, Birdsong SF. I posted an eight-part series on Twitter at the time, but it was never formalized in a longer format. I'm doing this to sort of immortalize the experience here since it was some of my earliest beginnings of living according to my values, doing what I found interesting, and finding beauty.
It's an experience that helped shape my first sabbatical and I'm revisiting some of these learnings as they mix with conversations and readings in my current sabbatical.
Each part will be about the same with some grammatical and intonation fixes, plus an updated reflection at the end.
This is part two. Enjoy 😌.
the first service
My first service was a whirlwind of information. Despite my inexperience, I felt that I could catch on pretty quick. The truth was probably somewhere closer to the middle, since I was only managing about 1% of the things necessary to keep the entire restaurant from burning down.
I was paired with a saucier who was managing two stations. Two. One station was a lot to handle already. This guy was boldly in charge of everything sauce-related, a bunch of main dish accoutrements, and also the restaurant's prize dish.
The saucier was 11 years my junior, just past the legal drinking age. He had been cooking since 14, with 7 years of experience. His tenure was just as long as mine in my own "career" (whatever that was 😂), and I only started working in my twenties. Talk about early investments.
My first task involved simple retrievals, understanding when to bring out plates, and tweezing up garnishes for a couple of dishes.
Within the first ten minutes, my anxiety was palpable. The only thing I was consistently good at was announcing where I was ("Behind! Hot! Passing!") and moving out of the way for people, removing dirty pots, and retrieving plastic delis.
Despite my flustered look, my saucier seemed pleased.
"I love that you're here Frank! Come here and look at what I'm doing."
He'd lean in and whisper in his Turkish-Spanish-American accent about what he was doing and why. I would come to love these moments.
"You see how I'm stacking these uni? I'm creating a base. Let's put a couple of these meh-looking ones on the bottom, and a nice fat one on top. It has a flat surface to grab the sauce. Yes. But we don't want this one - see this black spot? It's fucked. We're not serving that. Now, a nice slick of this crack sauce on top, a little dust, and we're off!"
His movements were like water. Surely, he had done this before (😂).
I got punted across the pass to another chef who instructed me on how to layer oil-infused herbs as garnish over some prawns. She was smiling, obviously not as anxious as I was.
"Arrange them like a tortoise shell, layered like shingles, but not so monotonous."
My hands were trembling from the micro-movements. As I was finishing my plate, she polished off three, glanced over, and rearranged a couple of my herbs.
"Try to make it look more natural - hands, please!"
Two waiters appeared, ready to whisk away the dishes.
The head chef slipped behind me and glanced at our work. He had a distinct look of dissatisfaction. Looking at me straight in the eye, he said "do exactly as the chef does for this dish. Watch her carefully." He gestured towards the waiters behind me - "go for table 27." My face was slightly flush from reprimand, but there was no time for that. My saucier gestured for me to return.
"Four cod fired, Frank, let's get those plates up."
This was something I could do. I acknowledged and put the plates on the pass.
"Whoa, whoa hold up Frank, come here and look at this. See the striations on the plate? Let's have them face the same direction, parallel. This bowl is slightly cold, pop it in the oven."
There were details to everything. I was learning that there was a way you carry and arrange plates. Fingers on the side, never in the plate. Separate the plates only when ready to preserve their temperature. If the plates weren't hot enough, use the oven. But not all types of plates, only certain ones.
The level of purposefulness in every movement and every dish, from conception, to plating, to timing, to walk out, to serving, was impeccable. There were details upon details that even the best documentation can't capture (I tried 👇). These learnings took place in the the moments of whisper and over-the-shoulder observation.
I saw that every (good) chef had this intuitive timing, a mind octopus 🐙 that tracked everything - peas on the stove, sauce for the plate, plates on the pass, commands from the expediter, cautions from the chef, and of course, mistakes from a pesky intern.
There's an indescribable satisfaction when it all clicked and everything was pure flow. The presence of mind required was incredibly refreshing. There were no phone distractions, excuses, or time to ruminate. You executed because that was your job to the customer.
it's not about you
My reflection is simple. It's easy to glorify service and view chefs as demi-gods. I did it. I think that's kind of the draw for those who are on the outside looking in.
The reality is that service is about hitting a standard over and over, and never forgetting the fact that it's not your ego you're serving, it's a real person. It's not about you and how well you can keep up. It's focused customer service, an enduring state of mind that will serve you in any endeavor going forward.