Richard Neat is one the world’s greatest living chefs. His memoir continues in a serialisation open exclusively to paid subscribers. I LOVE THIS CHAPTER!! Sign up to “Guerre and Shalom” today to read it yourself. - Daniel Clarke-Serret (editor).
Book Launch:
Introduction:
Chapter 1: Ambition
Chapter 2: Faith
Chapter 3: Loyalty
OBSERVATIONS FROM THE KITCHEN by Richard Neat
Chapter 4: STRUGGLE
Pigeon with Confited Neck and Liver Sauce
“The slave recovers his humanity, the humanity he lost on account of the fear of violent death, through work. ….he begins to do it out of a sense of duty and self-discipline” (Fukuyama)
“Start the next table,” roared The Cook with sweat pouring over his glowing face, his uniform covered in various juices and debris from the previous tables. He orchestrated this maniacal ballet whilst screaming orders and gesticulating wildly, knowing that he alone had to keep the momentum of the service at fever pitch.
The Cook was convinced that by manufacturing an anarchic environment he could expect his team to function at its best. By creating the impression that catastrophe was imminent, or that the arrival of one more table would prove disastrous, it focused the minds of his assistants, allowing no time for their thoughts to wander to distraction and error. Twice a day, for two-and-a-half hour sessions at a time, he drove himself and his team into a frenzy of production.
It was his hell. It was his heaven.
Reservations were deliberately taken at the same time, orders were allowed to build up and preparation was forbidden before the very last moment. This is how it had to be!
B2-B4
You need to constantly occupy your opponent.
“Give me a casserole, quickly” barked The Cook, in the direction of nobody in particular.
“We don’t have anymore” replied Ginger.
The Cook took one large stride to his right, the furthest distance he was willing to travel during this period of mayhem and grabbed a saucepan lid. The sixteen tiles he occupied were the epicentre of all the subsequent madness that occurred. The space between the stove and the tiny table, only big enough for four plates at a time, represented his pedestal, his podium, his personal asylum.
The Cook knew there were only five casseroles. He had never bothered to buy more and the subsequent pressure had proven to be a good lesson. Five casseroles for fifty customers. It would have to be enough! Comfort and plenty were their enemies.
He started to seal the pigeon on the saucepan lid, which would have to do in the absence of the right equipment.
A5-C7
At this point, White is not actually playing, just denying his opponent the opportunity to do so.
“Don’t make an effort then” spat The Cook in the direction of Ginger.
He felt contempt for that certain young assistant, who had recently arrived from the cosiness of a hotel, working in an environment where notions such as organization, preparation and practicality were the soulless mantra of the management. It was a language as unintelligible to The Cook as his own dogma of passion, will and chaos were to them.
