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Sebastien stood at the heated pass of the restaurant , watching sixty orders hum through the electronic printer while a sudden clatter echoed from the fish station . The restaurant dining room was packed to capacity , an anonymous critic from the Michelin Guide had been seated at table nine ten minutes earlier , and his newest commis had just knocked an entire tray of poached turbot into the ice bin . Rarely had Sebastien witnessed such panic in a young cook's eyes . The boy froze , gripping a stainless - steel spatula as if waiting for a blow . " Step aside , " Sebastien said in a tone that allowed no hesitation . " Clear the ice , fetch the reserve cuts from the walk - in , and reset your timer . " Seldom does a brigade recover from a catastrophic error during the height of the eight o'clock rush without cascading delays across the dining room . What mattered most to Sebastien was the cadence of the service ; once that rhythm fractured , every table would wait twenty minutes between courses . It was Sebastien himself who seized the copper poaching skillet , tilting it over the blue gas flame to bring the court - bouillon back to an exact simmer . Not only did he portion three pristine fillets from the cold storage within forty seconds , but he also re - timed the garnish pans so the glazed baby leeks would not turn limp . " Garnish ready in two minutes , " called the sous - chef from the vegetable station . " Under no circumstances must that sauce overheat , " Sebastien warned , never lifting his gaze from the pale fish flesh poaching in the wine broth . " All I require from this station is absolute precision . " Scarcely had the words left his mouth when the timer chimed . With the curved tip of a plating knife , he lifted each piece of fish onto a warmed towel , blotting away the cooking liquid before arranging it on the wide porcelain rim . Little did the patrons in the softly lit dining room suspect the frantic recovery taking place behind the swinging double doors . Only when the silver cloche descended over table nine's plate did Sebastien release his grip on the counter . The order runner lifted the tray on his forearm and glided out toward the dining room . Sebastien wiped down the stainless steel with a damp cloth and turned back to his station . The young commis had returned with fresh mise en place , pale but standing upright , ready for the next ticket .
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