Every cook has walked into a kitchen for the first time. Day one, FNG... Fucking new guy. You have to be confident, not cocky. Seem experienced, but ready learn. Hide your fears, by comparing your previous conquest to the battles that lay ahead in this kitchen.
In every kitchen there's one common denominator. "The Guy." He's not the chef or even the sous chef. His level of prowess commands a different respect.
He's Friday night grill at the steak house. Saturday night sautée at the Italian joint.
He doesn't need to see a ticket, he probably can't read anyways.
The chef may be the orchestrator, but "the guy" sits first chair. He doesn't make mistakes. If he did, it's your bad for pointing it out.
"Walking in.. Filet medium, four times, two chickens, three add shrimps, one tail... Need an all day?"
"The Guy" never needs an all day, unless you messed up.
The first cook I met who was "the guy", reminded me of the lead singer of Anthrax. Bald, with a long goatee. He was big, but moved fast and light. Barely any real estate was left on his grill or flat top, and he seemed cool.
I was saddled up next to him on a Saturday night. My instructions were simple. Drop burgers, fajitas, and plate meatloaf. Kind of a side note he added was for me to plate a more involved entree.
When asked by one of the other line cooks why I was plating that, I told them. "The guy says I do."
They laughed, telling me he just hates that plate, that's why I had to do it.
The guy doesn't stop being the man with cooking.
His parties are the wildest. He sleeps with the most servers. He gets the best drugs. He's been arrested the most. To a 19 year old line cook, he's the man.
On a professional level, I have met the the guy many times, in several kitchens. They are a source of great knowledge. Tricks no book can teach, methods not endorsed by culinary schools. Things that will save you one day.
One day, I was in the shit, on a small fine dining line in a large hotel. I'm banging out plate after plate, in what seems like an impossible scenario. I momentarily looked up and saw a wide eyed intern staring at me. I then looked around for "the guy." He can help me out of this. I scanned the kitchen. Fry guy. Nope. Salad guy. Nope. Where is "the guy?"
I had a heat of battle, quick epiphany... I am "The Guy."
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