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Michael Ruhlman’s classic book on professional cooking—winner of the IACP Cookbook Award

In his second in-depth foray into the world of professional cooking, The Soul of a Chef, Michael Ruhlman journeys into the heart of the profession. Observing the rigorous Certified Master Chef exam at the Culinary Institute of America, the most influential cooking school in the country, Ruhlman enters the lives and kitchens of future Iron Chef Michael Symon and renowned Thomas Keller of the French Laundry. This fascinating book will satisfy any reader’s hunger for knowledge about cooking and food, the secrets of successful chefs, at what point cooking becomes an art form, and more. Like Ruhlman’s The Making of a Chef, this is an instant classic in food writing—one of the fastest growing and most popular subjects today.

“A hold-your-breath while you turn the page thriller that’s also an anthropological study of the culture of cooking.” –Anthony Bourdain, The New York Times Book Review
 
Michael Ruhlman is the author of many books, including The Elements of Cooking, Live to Cook (with Michael Symon), Bouchon (with Thomas Keller), Charcuterie: The Craft of Salting, Smoking, and Curing (with Brian Polcyn) and Ruhlman’s Twenty.

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The Soul of a Chef

Penguin Books

Chapter One

Certified Master Chef Exam (or the Objective Truth of Great Cooking)

Chef Dieter Doppelfeld leads the way to kitchen station four, followed by twomen in lab coats with clipboards. Brian Polcyn stands before these men attentivebut at ease in a paper toque and chef's whites. He has set his stainless steeltable with cutting board, slicing knife, bain-marie insert filled with hotwater, and latex gloves.

         Ron DeSantis glances at his clipboard and says, "Chef, would you pleasetell us what you have prepared?"

         "Duck terrine," Polcyn answers. "Straight forcemeat with seared duck andshiitake mushrooms."

"And the sauce?"

"Orange-ginger."

         Polcyn then begins the presentation, first submerging the terrine moldfor several seconds in water simmering on the stove-just enough to warm andloosen it-then upending the terrine mold on his cutting board and lifting it offthe terrine itself. Dieter Doppelfeld, who has run this test for the past nineyears, Ron DeSantis, and the third master chef judge, Fritz Sonnenschmidt, anauthority on terrines, watch silently. Polcyn's movements are unnatural andstiff, almost robotic; clearly he doesn't stand this straight while moving fromstovetop to workstation at his restaurant or breathe so audibly. It's harder todrive a car perfectly when there's a cop on your tail.

         Having successfully separated the terrine from its mold and pulled onthe gloves, Polcyn removes the slicing knife from the bain of hot water, driesthe blade. He places his left hand on the terrine, rests the knife on its centerin preparation for the first cut, and for a moment holds still.

         Polcyn measures five feet ten inches between his laced black shoes andhis toque, which conceals abundant, wavy black hair. He is thethirty-seven-year-old chef-owner of Five Lakes Grill, a popular restaurant inthe hamlet of Milford, Michigan, forty-five miles northwest of Detroit. He hasbeen cooking professionally since high school and run the kitchens of some ofMichigan's finest restaurants. He is a food consultant for Northwest Airlinesalong with such luminary chefs as Waldy Malouf, Nancy Silverton, and ToddEnglish. He has twice been a guest chef at the James Beard House in New YorkCity. He has appeared three times in the prestigious Bocuse d'Or competition. Heonce prepared a private meal for twelve for which the host, at a charityauction, had paid twenty-four thousand dollars. But never before in histwenty-two-year cooking career has he been as nervous as he is at this moment,his knife blade paused above this duck terrine, which he has seasoned with aMadeira reduction, inlaid with mushrooms and whole duck breast, and roasted toan internal temperature of 145 degrees.

         Polcyn inhales sharply, strokes once through the terrine, once back, andhe cannot believe his eyes. The knife has veered right. Polcyn stares at hishands as if they were not his own. The error ensures that the second slice willbe slightly thinner at one end as well.

         But the interior garnish of the seared duck breast is pink andglistening; he has cooked the terrine perfectly. He places the slices on a whiteplate, spoons his smooth bright orange-ginger sauce onto the plate, and sets iton the cloth-covered rolling cart for the judges to taste. Each judge samplesthe terrine and the sauce. Fritz Sonnenschmidt, a man who is very nearly aperfect sphere, asks, "Were you to do this again, what would you dodifferently?"

         "I might have added some pistachios for color," Polcyn says. But otherthan that, he thinks it's pretty good.

         Sonnenschmidt nods and looks to his left, beyond DeSantis, and says,"Chef Doppelfeld?"

         "I thought it was very pleasant to eat," Chef Doppelfeld says. "Nicecolor, nice flavor."

         There are some discreet clicks of pencil tips on clipboards. Beforeleaving, Ron DeSantis, a certified master chef like the others, a CulinaryInstitute of America instructor, and a former head chef of the United StatesMarine Corps based in Okinawa, says, "The major thing is your knife skills." Helooks Polcyn dead in the eye and says, "You really need to have good knifeskills."

         "Yes, Chef," Polcyn says. He swallows at the insult and cannot hold histongue. "Actually Chef, I do have the knife skills. It's just that sometimesthey don't come out."

         DeSantis leans into Polcyn's face and with quiet menace says, "Duringthese ten days they have to come out."

"Yes, Chef."

The day before the Certified Master Chef examination began I arrived at theoffice of Tom Peer, food and beverage director at the Culinary Institute ofAmerica, the nation's most prominent cooking school. Peer was for years theexecutive chef at the Duquesne Club in Pittsburgh, and he was now thecertification chairman for the American Culinary Federation, a tradeorganization representing tens of thousands of chefs. Peer oversaw the masterchef certification program.

         Peer had asked Dieter Doppelfeld to join us; Doppelfeld was aninstructor at the CIA and the man who had managed the daily operations of thecooking test for the past nine years. He wore thick glasses and spoke with amellifluous German accent. Doppelfeld wore chef's whites; Peer dressedcorporate.

         The Certified Master Chef examination meant different things toeverybody who knew about it, the first clue to me that the test had some kind ofgenuine power. To Tom Peer it was a simple accreditation. "If you want anelectrician to wire your house, would you rather have an electrician who wascertified or one who wasn't?" he asked. Same thing with a chef; this test meantto certify that a chef had a specific range of skills and knowledge. But forothers the test carried a mystique that had less to do with skills than aconfirmation of some innate talent. For still others it was a like a mountainscaled, a solo ocean crossing. "There are two dates you never forget," RonDeSantis told me. "Your birthday and the day you earn your CMC." This from amarried man with two children.

         Depending where in the industry chefs work, the CMC title can result ina higher salary, and in some circles it is a title of respect. But a large andvocal segment of the industry denigrates the test. There are clearly two camps,the public and well-known chefs who own popular restaurants and thecompetition-style chefs who teach in schools and compete in food shows. Theprominent chef-owners of successful restaurants and celebrity chefs dismiss theCMC test as being out of touch with reality, a waste of time and money, andabsolutely without meaning. Some well-known...