Lesson learned

My new chef instructor is 29. This is remarkable given his talent, presence and command of our station (don’t get me started on the 23-year-old chef of pescados…Lord, I feel old). It’s clear that the guys in our partida want to be like him, please him, and gain his trust. I feel exactly the same.

In the middle of making our eighth batch of seemingly improved huevo caldo, (Canario’s 40-something), our chef instructor came downstairs, looked at my pan and immediately removed it from the fire. It was an incredibly inconvenient and perilous time for him to do something like that—I had just finished deglazing with sherry and was about to add the caldo. I was frightened that the hour’s worth of work it took to brown the meat and develop the fronds in the pan would be wasted—the sherry continuing to cook and then burn in the very hot pan that was now off the fire with no liquid to bring down the temperature.

The next thing I new, our chef instructor was barking at someone about going upstairs and Luis and within a minute, Luis, a Mexican man my age appeared downstairs. I looked at him quizzically, nervous that he was going to replace me in helping Canario, not able to determine why he would be needed until he replied to my look, “I’m here to translate.”

I couldn’t believe it! I was so happy I almost cried. Honestly. Our chef instructor wanted me to understand. He wasn't going to talk around me, through me or over me. He was going to talk to me and I couldn’t have been more appreciative.

Had I tried the caldo?

No.

Why not?

And my brain immediately leapt forward. I knew where he was going before he even started going there.

This is the base of the new caldo, he exclaimed. How can you not know what it tastes like?! Did I taste the caldo yesterday? Did I know how much the caldo could differ from day to day depending on Monday, his mood and his attention span? How would I be able to control the flavor of the resulting caldo if I didn’t know what my flavor base even tasted like?

And he said—via Luis—I don’t care if you use 12 liters or 20 liters of caldo to get two liters that tastes right. And during that process, I want you to taste the caldo over and over and over again so that you know it, know how it’s changing and know when it’s right. And today, when you think it’s right, I want you to bring some upstairs to me and we will taste it together. Do you understand? I want you to stay here and reduce this and taste it until it’s right—until it will make the perfect caldo. Do you understand? Because if you add this caldo to your pan right now, you are going to have a really sh!tty sauce when everything is said and done. And if you can’t identify when the caldo tastes exactly right, you’ll never be able to make a consistent caldo from day-to-day. Do you understand?

Oido, oido, oido. Yes, I understood. I also understood that this was what I came here for. I wanted to make the best caldo I possibly could.