Free The Making of a Chef by Michael Ruhlman

he told me that it looked good, bright, not overcooked, but the flavor was a little flat. “Take a ladleful out and salt it,” he told me. “Then compare the two. It’s a big difference. It’s a good test. It keys you into the effect of salt.” Not the taste of salt—a food shouldn’t taste of salt—but rather the effect of salt.
    He made Erica do the salt test as well. She would approach Pardus, her face scarlet and glistening from effort, trying to blow a stray bang that had snuck out her toque and down her forehead, a look approximating terror on her face. Her onion soup had not been hot. Her vegetable soup had been underseasoned. Her cream of broccoli would be too thick, her consommé cloudy. Each day she seemed to return from his desk, hyperventilating and apparently on the verge of tears, her whites becoming less and less so with each class.
    You couldn’t not like Erica. She tried so hard to no avail, and she did so with such visible effort that one absorbed the pathos of her predicaments. She had the foulest mouth in the class, but she was also sweet-natured and endearingly ingenuous. When we got to the front of the line at K-9 for dinner and Erica was asked if she would like one of the two soups, she responded, “Split pea, please.” She turned to me, cranking her head all the way back. She said, “I. Love. Split pea soup.”
    After dinner we’d return to cool the stocks, clean the enormous kettles, wash the pots, wheel three large bins of garbage—compostable garbage, recyclable garbage, and worthless trash—down a flight of stairs, through a hallway, out back doors, and down the drive to the Dumpsters. And then we would sit for lecture. On Friday night, Day Four, everyone was looking forward to the weekend.
    â€œThis is nice,” Chef Pardus said, pacing before us, spoon spinning in the air. “It’s quarter to eight. If we’re doing this in three weeks, I’ll be real impressed.” He went over Monday’s products. Roux, first of all, then the soup. “The big one on Day Five, we do consommé. Now keep in mind, six o’clock is still our deadline. All of a sudden you’ve got extra things to do.
Some of you were right up against the wire today. On Monday, you have to be developing a sense of urgency. You’re going to have to be very well organized. You’re going to have to have a good equipment list. You’re going to have to have a good prep list. Walk yourself through your day. What are you going to do when you come in? Set up your station. Start your bones, whatever you’re going to do. Make sure you’re going to have enough time . Consommé’s going to take at least an hour, probably an hour and a half to cook. Might be one of the first things you want to get done as soon as the demo’s done.”
    He paused, picked up his daily grade sheets, and flipped to today’s page.
    â€œToday—was a good day. I think. Everybody came in on time, the kitchen was pretty clean.” He spotted some low numbers on the page and said, “A few people lost some points on sanitation. Again I want everybody to be clean, I want everybody to look clean, I want everybody taking care of their hair, O.K.? Look at yourself in the mirror before you get to class. People with long hair and people with pony tails, you need a heavy-duty hair net. People with hair that’s getting borderline, make sure that it’s under your hat, no stray edges; I don’t want to see any bangs coming down the front of your hat. Check your sideburns; they’re supposed to be half way, no farther down. Hey, I had to cut my hair and shave off my beard. If I have to give up those things, you guys gotta toe the line too. Make sure your tables are clean and neat. I don’t want to see wads of paper towels sitting on cutting boards after you’ve finished degreasing a consommé. Please. You’re