Knives at Dawn (20 page)

Viola also made a very dramatic show with his hands, holding them in the air like the pans of a scale. “If you have one platter that's here [low] and one platter here [high], you lost. The one platter that's here [low] will not let you win.”

In just a few short minutes, Viola had revealed himself to be the very personification of the vagaries of the Bocuse d'Or: he understood the competition in his bones, and while he was trying his best to transmit his knowledge, it was an almost impossible task, full of contradictions (taste is all important … but your food better look perfect; keep it simple … but not
that
simple) and, of course, delivered in French.

Then the group broke for a lunch from Bouchon Bakery, delivered by Carey Snowden at 12:30 p.m., sharp.

A
FTER LUNCH, THE CHEFS
gathered in the living room and watched Canadian filmmaker Nick Versteeg's documentary
The Bocuse d'Or 2007
, about that year's Canadian team, on the flat-screen television mounted in the wainscoted entertainment center. The documentary follows the Canadian effort, from platter development through competition, and features interviews with other candidates, including Kaysen himself.

Viola and Kaysen, the two guys in the room who had been to the Bocuse d'Or, watched platters float by on the television screen and critiqued them as only insiders could. (“There's no work on that chicken.” “Stripes everywhere.”) To Hollingsworth, it wasn't just that they were conversing in French, they were speaking an even more foreign language, competition-speak, the patois of the Bocuse d'Or.

At one point, as Hollingsworth checked e-mails on his iPhone, Viola began talking to Kaysen about him as though he weren't there: studying Hollingsworth's face, Viola said, “
C'est bien qu'il soit jeune
.” It's good that he's young.

“
Il a vraiment une tête d'américain
,” said Kaysen. And his face is very American. It was a reminder of the shifting times against which the 2009 Bocuse d'Or would play out. President-elect Obama would be inaugurated just one week before the competition began; the days of President George W. Bush, with its unfortunate slaps at Europe in general (for example, Donald Rumsfeld's “Old Europe” dig of 2003) and France in particular (remember Freedom Fries?) were fast being forgiven. The continent that played home to the Bocuse d'Or was becoming more infatuated with an American politician than they had since the days of JFK's Camelot.

As the documentary reached its conclusion, and the audience cheered on the television screen, Kaysen shot up in his chair. “That takes me right back,” he said, sounding violated by the force of the flashback.

A moment in the video had brought up another memory as well: the Canadian team was ready right on time, their fish platter in the window,
but the Norwegian team before them was ten minutes behind schedule. (Each team has a five-minute timeframe in which to present each platter although, curiously, the Bocuse d'Or technical file—the guidebook provided to candidates that includes the rules and regulations—does not specify, or even indicate, a penalty for going over.) By the time the Canadians' food was served, seventeen minutes after completion, it was downright frigid.

“Ice cold,” Kaysen said of the Canadians' platter. “Once their platter sat and it went out it was no good. It was no good at all.”

Norway did not medal that year, but it was awarded Best Fish, while Canada went home empty-handed. The episode illustrates a sore point among many longtime Bocuse d'Or observers, who feel that favoritism is showed to France and the home countries of frequent protein-providing sponsors, such as Norway.

Kaysen didn't think that there would be a moment like this at the 2009 competition. “I do believe, knowing Daniel and how he is, I don't think that will happen this year.… I don't think our food will sit this year at all …” Kaysen couldn't say what exactly he thought Boulud would do, but he firmly believed that the irrepressible chef would have no problem rising from his chair on the competition floor and intervening to ensure fair play.

“He wouldn't just do that for the USA,” said Kaysen. “He would do it for any team. If it happened to Singapore, he would say something.”

As these conversations unspooled, Hollingsworth came and went. On some occasions, it was to check on something at The French Laundry. On others, it was to go to The French Laundry but not to check on anything; it was because he needed space, a break from all the people around, trying to advise him on how to cook and serve a menu that he hadn't finished devising yet. At one point, Hollingsworth returned as Viola, Kaysen, and Henin (who had just arrived and would be staying in the House's second bedroom) were discussing the schedule. Hearing their anxiety, he averted his gaze and smiled a bemused grin. Though he knew he was in deeper water now, he had changed one of his platters mere days before
Orlando and come back with gold, so the fact that he was a bit behind the assigned schedule didn't concern him.

“
Tout se joue pendant la première heure et demi
,” said Viola. Your first hour and a half is the most important.

“After that, it's a shit show,” said Kaysen. “Shit show” is one of Kaysen's favorite expressions. “That first morning was a shit show.” “That event was a shit show.” That practice, the one we thought would go so well? “Total shit show.”

As they spoke, a Thomas Keller Restaurant Group associate, in a button-down blue Oxford shirt and khakis, appeared at the door with a Rosetta Stone box under arm. “I've been instructed to install this on a Macintosh over here,” he said.

“Yeah, this would be the place,” said Kaysen.

In addition to training for the Bocuse d'Or, Hollingsworth planned to take his French to another level before heading to Lyon. “You do the DVDs,” he said, reciting the company's promise, with a touch of skepticism in his voice. “And you are fluent.”

Of course, it wasn't quite that simple. Nothing in front of him was.

T
HAT EVENING, THE GROUP
, joined by Adina Guest, headed to dinner at Ken Frank's restaurant La Toque at the Westin Verasa Hotel in Napa. The restaurant is hard to miss, with a giant toque hovering like a foodie mirage above the open-air corridor that runs along its exterior.

In the dining room, after orders were taken, Viola began dispensing his seemingly bottomless pit of Bocuse d'Or wisdom with Henin translating: “Do not overtrain in Lyon. Do it once, and discuss.”

Hollingsworth and Guest nodded.

“During the day of the event, your stomach will be upset. You will be nervous. So make sure everything, even salt, is measured.” Viola's point was that you can't trust senses that are affected by stress.

In the dim light of the restaurant, Viola, and in turn Henin, assumed
an almost spiritual tone, suitable to a séance: “All of us who work around Tim and Adina leave them the room to think about food. We are here to remove any problems and concerns. Starting today, we cannot talk to you about nothing but the platter. Not the hotel, the lodging. You cannot be bothered. Just eat, drink, sleep, dream your platter.”

Chef Henin paused before relaying the next sentence from Viola's lips. He tilted his head forward slightly, and looked up, delivering advice that he wholeheartedly agreed with: “And, honestly,” he said, “We are late.”

Hollingsworth jumped into the abyss left by that proclamation: “Good,” he said. “We work well under pressure.”

Chef Henin translated for Viola: “Good! Sometimes it's good to have fire in your ass.” Henin smirked devilishly: “Well,
he
didn't say
ass
.”

Next, Kaysen took a turn translating for Viola: “When the jury tastes your food, it's one bite.” Kaysen, who has a penchant for catchphrases and go-to one-liners, editorialized: “It's like I say, you live and die in eight bites.”

Over dinner, Viola—with Henin back on translating duty—offered some advice about the realities of the competition world. “In a competition, you need to be smart.” Henin, recognizing more counsel he believed in, took a few liberties with the translation, and added: “Not be a goomba, naïve asshole, fuck up something stupid.

“You have to be a little bit slick … a lot of these people are sharks. Open cheating is not allowed, but there are tricks—”

“Street smart?” asked Hollingsworth.

This elicited nods from the elders. He got it. But then Hollingsworth jumped in with a joke: “Bring your protein in a wine bottle?”

It was a sly reference to an occasionally alleged aspect of the Bocuse d'Or that you won't find in the press materials, but which are a part of the oral history of the event: the question of whether or not cheating has occurred.
The most outlandish drama
transpired in 2007, when gold medalist Fabrice Desvignes was accused by representatives of the German and Denmark teams of sneaking in already-prepared ingredients. According to eye-witnesses,
two metal containers were delivered to Desvignes' kitchen after the competition began, a violation of the rules. Contest Director Suplisson told
The Times
(of London) that the containers arrived two minutes before cooking commenced due to the snow storm that morning, and contained foie gras and silverware.

Henin told a story about how he once Crazy-Glued some pastry wings to a figure in a competition, probably not a moral offense, but not exactly a textbook maneuver. Sometimes a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

After a brief silence, Hollingsworth said, “Integrity is important to us. If we can't win with integrity, then we can't win.”

Guest nodded. Though she and Hollingsworth barely know each other, they were in perfect sync on this point.

Integrity was also on Hollingsworth's mind because he was concerned about whether or not it was aboveboard that Viola was even there. Earlier in the day, Viola had revealed that he had just signed on to again serve as an organizing committee member for the Bocuse d'Or, though he had not yet made that commitment when he agreed to counsel Team USA. Was this a conflict of interest?

As Hollingsworth got up to go to the men's room, he said, definitively, “I don't want anybody saying the American team cheated.”

A MOCK-UP OF
T
EAM
USA's Bocuse d'Or meat platter—pieces of cardboard held together with clear packing tape—sat on one of the rolling prep tables in the center of the Bocuse House kitchen. It wasn't a gaudy platter. If anything, it was excessively understated: rectangular with a wide lower berth for the main protein, and two narrow tiered shelves at the back for garnishes. The platter had been envisioned by restaurant designer Adam Tihany, whom Boulud had arranged for Hollingsworth to meet with in New York City when the candidate was there to shoot a Bocuse d'Or related
Food & Wine
magazine story in October. The platter would be realized by Custom Designers & Silversmiths, a start-up concern spearheaded
by Daniel J. Scannell, a certified master chef and member of the United States Culinary Olympic team since 1998, who was the managing partner, along with Richard Rosendale. The two worked in conjunction with third partner, the actual silversmith, Olle Johanson, to bring Tihany's platters to life. Because metal-crafting is painstaking, time-consuming work, the facsimile was all Hollingsworth could use to help plan his presentation; the actual platters would not be available until just before the competition. The showiest flourish was unrepresented on the facsimile: the two elevated tiers would feature a total of twelve illuminated circles on which the smoke glasses would sit, creating a dramatic visual effect.

It was Tuesday morning, and Hollingsworth, Henin, Viola, and Kaysen stood over the platter examining it, trying to imagine it rendered in silver. Viola and Henin shook their heads. Not good enough.

Viola sighed, then launched into one of his pocket lectures, pointing out, with a photograph of the 2005 French fish platter as an example, that the protein is almost
always
elevated, a pedestal effect. Hollingsworth's platters had none of that—the meat platter, represented by the three-tiered cardboard prototype, had some height, but not in the conventional sense, and the main protein would actually be situated
below
the garnishes. And the fish platter would simply be a porcelain rectangle, with no levels at all to speak of. There wasn't even a cardboard version of that one, because no imagination was required to picture it. The understated design was an apt reflection of Hollingsworth's personality, and of The French Laundry aesthetic he had absorbed over the past seven years. But it was not in line with the classic Bocuse d'Or sensibility, and this concerned the elders in the room.

Henin inverted a fluted casserole dish onto the top shelf of the cardboard meat platter to make Viola's point for him. He began riffling through photographs, searching for something specific. “Centerpiece …” he said.