* * *
Henin spent over five years at the Culinary Institute of America, in Hyde Park, New York. There he worked as Chef/Instructor for several units: Classical Cuisine & Banquet Service (The Stage); Classical Public Restaurant (Escoffier or “E-Room”); Seafood Kitchen (“Fish Kitchen”); and Continuing Education. He also served as student advisor/coach for national and international culinary competitions.
Henin’s talent fit the Escoffier Room perfectly, except for one major detail: design malfunction. The E-Room had a “fishbowl” window, exposing the entire kitchen works to dining guests. Chef Henin’s “instructional strategies” would frighten delicate diners. Apparently, throwing knifes and causing students to cry and flee the kitchen was not an “ambience promoter.” (This was before the heyday of reality shows, like Hell’s Kitchen. Who knew that Old School European Chefs were such media pioneers?) Metz had a chef of renown and ability, but E-Room was not conducive and maybe, a blessing. True to his word, Metz and Henin founded the Seafood Kitchen, in 1983. That same year, Roland Henin would take his CMC exam through the American Culinary Federation, earning the highest culinary honor attainable: Certified Master Chef.
David Burke
Author, Inventor, & Consulting Partner at ESquared Hospitality—Owner/Operator of BLT Restaurants
He threw you in the pool. At two years old. He chucks you in the pool and walks away. Even if he got an eye on you, but you don’t think he does.
DAVID: I met Chef Henin in 1981. I started at the CIA in October 1980, so I didn’t have him in classes until later in the second year because he taught the kitchens. I had him twice because someone had gotten sick and he was doing double duty. I had him in what they called the Stage, and then I had him in the E-Room. The first time I had him, he was more of a substitute for half of the block. Chef Saucy got sick or something happened. Chef Saucy was a plump, mild-mannered French chef, had his moments, blah, blah, blah … I was a pretty good student actually, because I had skills and confidence. I had worked in good restaurants before I came to school, and I was passionate about food. I knew more than my fellow students about French food and food in general. Also, I worked two externships, so I was probably one of the best cooks in my class, if not the best. I don’t say that in a cocky way. That’s just the way it was.
We had Henin in the second half of the Chef Saucy’s block. Henin came in, and he just … commanded respect. And fear. We all feared him. He didn’t play games, didn’t sweet talk. He didn’t care if you liked him. He was the boss … military-ish, the way he operated … he was a general in the army, man. I tell you, the CIA was a lot tougher back then, as far as discipline, and the whining, and all this other stuff: You went to CIA; you went to work! You went to school, but you went to work! Especially in Henin’s class. He was borderline mean—people were afraid of him because you actually had to work. You had to produce.
Henin comes in, and Saucy was out. Right off the bat, he had a different way of doing French service, doing this, that. I gotta tell you something: whether his way was better or not, I don’t remember. But I got to see another way. He didn’t care about the other guy’s way. That was the other guy’s kitchen, and that’s not how you do it. He just came in and turned that class upside down. I don’t know if it made sense, if it was harder or easier, but the final product was better.
SUSAN: Can you riff on that, a bit?
DAVID: Let’s talk about poaching quenelles or timbales—fish mousse in cups. He wouldn’t let us cook them ahead of time and let sit. They had to be cooked and then served. There was no paranoia, it wasn’t Hurry up, and get it ready, and then we’ll wait to plate. He took more chances, but he also didn’t hold your hand. He told you what you had to do, and you would do it. He threw you in the pool. At two years old. He chucks you in the pool and walks away. Even if he got an eye on you, but you don’t think he does. He creates nervous energy.
So we get through that class, and then we had the Sheraton dining room with a great chef named Elliott Sharron who liked me—I got a 99 in his class. We saw eye-to-eye. I was one of the leaders in the classroom. He came to me and said, “Burke, you got great hands. I like your style. Your classmates respect you. You’ve got instincts. You’re a natural. If you need a job in New York City, you let me know.” I appreciated that. I was the team leader or whatever you called it. We put out nice food with Elliott. I was boning out salmon, did butchery for the class. I cut a salmon in a certain way, and it came out fine. I’m not saying it was great, but I could get it off the bone.
Next block! I get Henin in the E-Room. We weren’t supposed to have Henin. He switched from days to nights, and now I wind up getting him. By mistake. Twice. Since we had Henin once before, he knew our class a little bit. He might have failed people in our class already. I did okay with him in Saucy’s class—I don’t think he paid much attention to me. E-Room is our last class before graduation, and we’re getting excited. We’re popping the cork a bit early … but now we got Henin, and everyone was scared, including myself.
The first day of his class, my car breaks down on the mid-Hudson bridge. I used to have a green Gremlin. I had to park it on the top of a huge hill—walk about a mile and a half to get to it from my house I rented. I’d push it down the hill and pop the clutch to get it started. And it worked, it worked. So this is about April. The thing worked all winter through the snow. I mean, I’ve had this beast since high school. And all of a sudden, today … it doesn’t fucking start. I get on the bridge, and my car breaks down. I got a hairnet on, I have the yellow necktie—we were the last block of the yellow neckties and the white pants. I break down, and I see Henin’s face in my head. I don’t see the truck behind me. I don’t see the blinker, the motor, the radio … all I see is his face. I shout, “Oh, no. Oh, no!!” I’m like, “Holy shit!” I leave my car there. I just left it! No note, nothing. I jump down on Route 9 and start hitchhiking. I am not gonna be late.
And anyway, I’m late. I gotta walk into Henin’s class late—and I’m late by forty-five minutes—half an hour, at least. I got my knife roll and my hairnet, I’m huffing and puffing. And I get in there, and he starts in … and I’m like, whoaaaah …
He says, “Do you think you can walk into my class late?” He was like Jack Nicholson in … what’s that movie? When he says, “YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!!!”
SUSAN: A Few Good Men.
DAVID: A Few Good Men! That’s what it was like! I’m not arguing with him, but he goes on and on for like, three minutes. Finally he says, “What’s your excuse?”
I’m like, “My car broke down on the bridge.”
“THAT’S THE BEST YOU CAN DO!?!!”
“No, I could make up a great story! But that’s what happened! What do you wanna hear? You wanna hear that—”
He screams, “That’s ENOUGH! SIT DOWN!!”
He’s pacing around. He says, “I got to tell you something.” (I can’t do his accent.) “I asked the whole class about you. They said you’re a good guy, and this and that, and blah blah blah…. So, I’m gonna let it slide. Everybody—the class you’ve been with for two years—they all basically stood up for you. They said it’s unlike you. You should be proud of that.” He said that! He says, “But, I’m not fucking proud of you.”
Anyway, so we put that aside. I kind of had a backhanded warm feeling about it. I was also scared shit. He goes, “I got my eye on you … you get one more mistake, and that’s it.”
The next couple days go by, and things are fine. Elliott Sharron is in the kitchen right next door. Elliott treated me like I was his little brother. So day one, day two … then, Henin demos a salmon. “When you cut a salmon, you got a big, slicing knife.” He did it in one fell swoop … impressive. He says, “That’s how I want the salmon butchered.” He takes another salmon, and in one fell swoop—like a samurai warrior would take his head off someone, like an archer would put an arrow five hundred feet into a bull’s-eye—that’s how he did it. It wasn’t even an effort. It was l
ike he was buttering toast. It was the best fileting I have ever seen. He goes, “This is the way you do it. This is the way I want it done. Am I clear?” I like, “Yeah, okay, I can do that.” I’m picking my jaw up off the floor.
I looked at it, and okay, that’s one way of doing it. I think to myself, It’s not the way I do it, but okay. I start butchering the salmon. I’m going to cut it the way I am comfortable. I know I can’t do it the way he did it because I don’t have the confidence to do it that way. If I think about doing it his way, I’m going to mess it up. So I’m slowly doing it the way anybody would, by going down the back and fileting it with a smaller knife, and pulling it. I’m gently easing the knife in as a first-timer would gently ease anything in … I’m being more careful not to make a mistake. I’m on the low diving board, not the high one.
Henin sees one of the filets. I’d say it was pretty good … I’d give it a four. He gives it a zero. He comes over, and he just starts bashing me. I gotta tell you something … I can still hear it. He’s tall—about a good foot above me—yelling with the accent. And let’s face it, he’s not the softest looking guy. He doesn’t look like … what do I wanna say … he doesn’t look like Michael J. Fox. I’m looking up and he’s beating down on me, and he’s screaming and F-bombing and Fuck you and bap bap bah, and what the fuck are you thinking, and get the hell out of my class! I’m like, “Holy guacamole! What the fuck?” It’s a fucking disaster.
The whole class stops because he’s borderline … what would be harassment these days. Elliott Sharron hears him from in the next classroom down the hall and comes in to my defense. He goes toe-to-toe with Henin, like an umpire and a coach of a baseball team. Elliott’s no joke, either. He is a highly respected instructor, got more tenure there, and is more of the All-American-likeable guy, although strict. Anyway, he comes in and he goes right up to Henin. I’m standing at the cutting board, and he says, “What the hell is your problem? Leave him alone. He’s a great kid and bap bap bap …” Henin’s defending his class. It’s his class, and Henin throws Elliott out of it. They go into the hall and they’re going at it, they start having an argument. It was like a husband and wife that just needed a catalyst to fight about something else. I think there were other things they wanted to get out in the open, and I just happened to be the excuse. I don’t know what to make of it. They’re out in the hallway, and this goes on for a couple minutes. Henin comes back. He showed me another salmon, and he showed me slowly. I did the third one his way.
SUSAN: How’d it come out?
DAVID: It was okay. The way he did it, he must have done thousands of fish, no exaggeration, that good. I don’t do it that way today because I don’t cut a lot of fish. If I was a butcher, I would do it that way. It’s a technique you have to master. But you know what? I got to see it.
Boy, he embarrassed me. He was actually disappointed in me more than anything else. That’s what upset him … because he knew I could have done it. At the moment it was happening, I didn’t know he was disappointed in me. I was just thinking, This guy’s a fucking mad dog. As I have gone through my career, I realize he would have never yelled at me that much if he didn’t know I was gonna be great because he wouldn’t have wasted his time. He would have walked away and said, “There goes another schmuck.”
Anyway, we calm down, we get the service done, yada yada, anyway, fast forward. I did well in his class after that. We had some jovial moments, especially toward the end. Later I found out, he’s just a puppy, a nice guy! He had a human side, but didn’t want anyone to know that. He was the kinda guy that would laugh without smiling—you know what I mean? You’d have to get to know him a little. He’d look at you without opening his mouth. He’d be laughing, but you didn’t know it.
I have to choose my words carefully…. After the class, I’m still intimidated about him. When I left Elliott Sharron’s class, he patted me on the ass, roughed me up on the shoulder, and said, “Good luck, kid. You got a great future ahead of you. You got good hands, good instincts. Call me anytime, with any questions. I’ll help you get a job in New York. Keep in touch.” To the rest of the group he said something like, “Good-bye, good luck,” or whatever. Or, “I’ll see you guys in the unemployment line.”
Just before graduation, there’s a job fair. I’m walking around and get approached by a few guys. This one guy comes up to me named Jean LaFont, a big-time recruiter hiring for a hotel group down in Texas. He says, “May I speak to you, Mr. Burke?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Are you interested in moving to Texas and joining our team?”
“Well, I was in Dallas for my externship …”
“We’ve got some big developments there, a hotel group. I’d like to offer you a job.”
I said, “Why?”
“Roland Henin says you were the best student he’s seen in a long time.”
“What? You mean Elliott Sharron said that.”
“No. Chef Henin. Sharron said it, also.”
I was like, “Reeeeallly?” I got this warm feeling. Henin must’ve pointed him to me.
I looked across the room, and Henin was there. I saw him out of the corner of my eye. I kinda gave him this look, like, you son-of-a-gun. He just looked at me and smiled, nodded his head, and walked away. It was one of those things. I’ll never forget that moment. I was beaming with pride. He didn’t say a word, and it meant a million words. He said to me, without saying anything: I’m proud of you. You’re a good kid, and you’re gonna do well.
That recommendation from him meant so much more than anybody else’s … without him even saying anything to me. He was thirty yards away, with a grin and a nod of his head, as if he was saying thumbs-up, and he had his hands in his pockets and he just kept on walking. It was all I needed. It was the seal of approval from the strictest and one of the most talented chefs in the school. Chef Henin was the School of Hard Knocks, and not everybody gets a trophy. I had goose bumps. I was like, “Cool.”
In past interviews, people always ask, Who do you remember? I always included him. That was the moment in my career that gave me confidence. That was what I needed the most. I was always a confident guy, but he gave me a confidence that was the punch in the arm I needed to take the job I did take. I didn’t take that Texas job, but I found a job going to Norway to be a chef in a private residence for a wealthy family. Without that nod of confidence from him, I wouldn’t have had the balls to go to Europe by myself.
SUSAN: What is your mentoring style?
DAVID: I was the same at the beginning. When I took over the River Café, I was a no-bullshit guy, My way or the highway, demanding. There was an old joke: If he yells at you, he likes you. If he really yells at you, he really likes you. If he ignores you, you’re in trouble. Maybe I should’ve been more complimentary, but people don’t respond to that. I give a guy a compliment, and he calls in sick the next day. Been out celebrating. I did take the good guys in my crew out to eat and drink. Then, times changed. I’m in the process of interviewing people right now, and as I’m older, I talk about what I’m looking for in somebody from the ground up. Not just like recruiting soldiers. I used to recruit soldiers like a Marine: I’d make a great man-chef out of you. Teach you and berate you, and Do it my way. That works for a lot of people. These days, it’s a little different. I like to have fun, so I’m a little bit of a wisecracker, and I do it in a way that creates an ambiance of fun, with team spirit, like Little League. There’s always going to be someone you pick on a little, always someone that leaves the pack.
SUSAN: What are you doing these days?
DAVID: I do everything. This morning I’m in the kitchen, believe it or not. I just made a filet mignon hot dog. No one ever knows what to do with the scraps … you can grind them, do this and that. I’ve finally come up with a way that saves the scraps in long strips, ’cause they’re strips, right! I wrap them in plastic like a hot dog, sous vide them, then brown it off and put it in a hot dog roll—best filet mignon hot dog ever. I
like taking scraps and making something great.
I’m in Maryland working with crab cake. I’m going to do a “Cake and Coffee”: crab cake made with onion crumbs, simple—no breading. I’m going to use my dried onions crumbs as a coating, and we’re going to bake it, so there are no carbs in the cake at all. But still, it’ll have a little crunch, a little texture. If you’re in DC and you want to put crab cake on the menu, you’ve got to keep it as pure as possible. “Bi-crusted this” … I’m sure everybody’s done everything. The creativity is, “Let’s go back to the basics.”
We’ll serve the cake with a Maryland crab cappuccino next to it. The espresso is made out of crab stock, and the foam is topped with Old Bay and lemon zest. These days, when you buy crabmeat, where is the shell? The real essence, the flavor in the crab is not in the meat, but in the shell. We’re going to make a reduced crab broth from the whole hard shell that nobody gets because they just buy picked crab meat. I get hard crabs year-round, so it becomes one of our signature dishes. Then I’ve got crab stock for minestrone, soup-of-the-day, and all that. We’ll make an intense amber stock, and that will be the “coffee.” We’ll put a little foamed milk on there, garnish, and we’re off to the races. Cake and Coffee, like grandma! I get to charge eight bucks more.
SUSAN: What life lessons have you learned from Chef Henin?
DAVID: What I’ve learned from Henin at a distance—and something I need to learn—is how to enjoy nature and life a little more. It seems like he’s having a helluva time in his fishing and his life, based on the note he sent me and his invitation to go fishing. I admire that. One thing I hate about him is I’m never gonna be able to be better at him at fileting a fish. I’d love to see him do it again. I do want to get together with him, but unfortunately I can’t go down in October because I’m opening three places.
Roland G. Henin Page 7
