Did you count the fennel? By Jason King

Sometimes you miss the big picture because of the details involved. The forest goes unseen, as you focus on the tiny sapling or tree.

In the kitchen, we may be a little rough around the edges. Had most kitchen lifers been born 150 years ago, we'd have sought a living via robbing trains, or some other fringe occupation.

As willing as the industry is to give a chance to anyone, it's not for everyone. Sure we don't get paid like doctors or lawyers, but people like those are our clientele. Our mistakes are magnified if we ruin a couple's anniversary night out, a business lunch, or wine dinner.

At the hotel I worked at in the early 2000's, we transitioned to a new executive chef after I started. He was the behemoth company's Chef of the World in 2002. He was brought to our property as a liaison to the new culinary school opening a few blocks away.

He was good. He knew it. I knew it. He told me too, in case I hadn't  noticed. A few days in, and with a captive audience, he confidently demanded a large chefs knife and a button mushroom. He performed a super precise fluting of the mushroom cap.

An old school, but none the less impressive, garnish technique. Usually done with a paring knife, he did it with a 10 inch French chefs knife... "We get it bro, you're good."

As on point as every cook and chef were in the kitchen, prior to the new exec's arrival. Most were taking it up a notch. New chef was eager to prove he was all he had said to upper management as well.

The crescendo was to peak, at a mid-week wine dinner. My job was to cook crusted lamb chops. Some other cooks were on sauces or starch. Our chef de cuisine and the exec were in the wheel house, doing final plating. The sous chef had braised some wonderful baby fennel bulbs.

Let's revisit mistakes in the kitchen real quick. We have to bat as close to 1,000 as possible. You can't fix some things on the fly. Braising or slow cooking are one of those things. When a main ingredient is time, there is no substitute.

Back to the wine dinner. Our sous chef was on braised baby fennel. Our food and beverage director watches everyone's move, flanked by the general manager. As each of my racks of lamb are split, revealing a succulent medium rare, I breathe a sigh of relief.

Then I notice the pan they are retrieving the fennel bulbs is nearly empty. There isn't another either. Perhaps the sous has another pan. The exec calls to the sous for the next pan of fennel.

I brace for the shrapnel about to fly.

The sous informs the kitchen that there isn't another. He had lost sight of the forest: the wine dinner as a whole. During this blindness he hadn't actually counted the bulbs of fennel.

Upon hearing this the exec angrily asked... "Did you count the fennel?"
He asked five more times, before screaming... "Did you count the FUCKING fennel!!!?"

Though part of me was cool knowing I had not dropped the ball, I did feel bad for my boy.
From that day forward, going into any crazy dinner or event, I replay that statement chef angrily screamed... And I count the fucking fennel.