XIV. Read, translate and discuss the story. Use a dictionary if necessary.Notes: brasserie, — пивная debrouillard, — сметливый, находчивый se debrouiller, — выходить из затруднения
WHEN THE CHIPS ARE DOWN You've got 300 diners to serve in the next 30 minutes, the sous-chef has lost it and the broiler's on the blink1. There is only one answer. New York chef Anthony Bourdain lifts the lid on «System D». The first thing I think about when I open my eyes in the morning-and the last thing I think about when I collapse into bed at night — is food, and the smooth operation of my kitchen. Number one on my 'Things to Do' list, as my wife, my friends and my editor have found out to their dismay, is my kitchen: Are my cooks happy? Do I have enough fish on hand to make it through the weekend? Will the New York dining public go for the shad roe special I put on — or will I be stuck with 10 Ib (pounds) of rapidly ageing seafood when I come to work tomorrow? My restaurant, Les Halles brasserie on lower Park Avenue, prides itself on being authentic, old-school, unpretentious, working-class French. We serve a defiantly heart-clogging repertoire of bistro classics-most of which are loaded with duck fat, animal blood and butter. And we are very, very busy all the time. In recent months, «brasserie» has become an extremely 'hot' concept in Manhattan. So the pressure is on. When our customers start stacking up, we have to be ready to turn the room fast. We have to be good. Manhattan's diners are notoriously fickle. Today they may love us — but tomorrow? Who knows? I worked hard during my long climb to the top, surviving tyrannical bucket-head chefs, overextended investors, and my own dark periods of self-indulgence. I've been around the block a few times, made three-star food and no-star food, opened restaurants to popular acclaim, and closed them to whimpers. Whether familiar with the term or not, I have always assigned great value to debroflillards — and at various times in my career, particularly when I was a line-cook, taken great pride in being one. «A debrouillard is what every plongeur wants to be called. A debrouillardjs a man who, even when he is called on to do the impossible, will se debrouller — get it done somehow» George Orwell
System D reached its heyday in the Victorian-era railway hotels. where menus were huge, and it was not unusual for an extra 200 guests to show up3 wanting, say, the fricassee of lobster Thermidor — for which only 50 portions were available. Suddenly. Thermidor for 50 was transformed into Thermidor for 200. Don't ask how. You don't want to know. As the golden age of mammoth hotels began to wane, banquet facilities were faced with the necessity of serving grande luxe meals and bloated menus with ever-shrinking staffs and more stringent economising. I suspect that some of the classic dishes of that era reflect the System D philosophy, particularly the efforts to get more from limited ingredients. The ability to think fast, to adapt, to improvise when in danger of losing your face and reputation, even if a little corner-cutting is required, has been a point of pride with me for years. When I was the executive chef, a few years ago, of a stadium-sized nightclub / supper club near Times Square, it meant 600 or 700 meals a night — a challenge which called for skills closer to an air-traffic controller than a classically trained chef. When you're cranking out that kind of volume, especially during the pre-theatre rush, when everybody in the room expects to wolf down three courses and dessert and still be out of the door in time to make curtain for 'Cats', you better be fast. They want that food. They want it hot, cooked the way they asked, and they want it now. God knows, we all — all chefs — want to make perfect food. We'd like to make just 65 to 75 absolutely flawless meals per night, every plate a reflection of our best efforts, all our training and experience, only the finest, most expensive, most seasonal ingredients available — and we'd like to make a lot of money for our masters while we do it. But this is the real world. It's where the money is: «turning and burning* as we call it in our more cynical moments. If that 'cote de beef for two was maybe a little under-cooked, I'm grateful the lights are down in the dining room — it means we might get away with5 it. And at times, under fire, in battlefield conditions, the kitchen reverts to what it has always been: a brigade, a paramilitary unit, where everyone knows what they have to do, and how to do it. Officers make fast and irrevocable decisions, and damn the torpedoes if it isn't the best decision. There's no time to dither, to waffle, to ponder, to panic when there's incoming fire threatening to bring the whole kitchen and dining room crashing down. Move forward, Take that hill. (adaptedfrom «The Independent Magccinea)
Notes: to be on the blink – sl. В плохом состоянии; не в порядке; при последнем издыхании plongeur ф.р. (a dishwasher) — мойщик посуды в ресторане to show up — неожиданно появиться to wolf down — заглотить, проглотить, жадно съесть to get away with smth — остаться безнаказанным Take that, hill. — зд. Возьмите эту высоту. XV. Questions for discussion:
· What experience has the writer had in the restaurant business? · What kind of a restaurant is he working at now? · Why does he have to work under pressure? · What does he know about System D? What does «D» mean? · When did the system start? Why? · What does he write about the difference between what all chefs want and the real life? · Why does he compare the kitchen to battlefield? · What do you think of this comparison?
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