It was the best experience of my student career. On our first day, we filed into the lecture room. He took attendance. He’d call your name and size you up with an intent look. In that moment, I could see all of his intelligence, his intent as a teacher. In the classroom, he clearly communicated his expectations. You knew what was expected of you and what your role was to the team. He listened to us and challenged our ideas. We refined the dishes we were developing. He happily shared his work and knowledge with us. I knew the past two years of my culinary studies were going to be tested and his leadership helped make sense of it all.
He wrote a manual—a saucier guide he made when he was a teacher at Johnson & Wales. He mimeographed sheets of paper and gave copies to students. It was so detailed! In it, not only were there all the basic recipes of the mother sauces, but also ratios, stocks, and consommés. The book also explained that the recipes are not static; all recipes can be manipulated, varied, and improved upon. The things he stressed were selection of ingredients, reverence for technique, practice, and patience. He included little drawings. There was a hand-drawn diagram of a saucepot over the fire, to insure the proper cleaning of the impurities.
In the kitchen, he empowered us to take chances, test our abilities, and be in control of our stations. He forced us out of our comfort zones and prepared us for any situation. He seemed to know what our individual limits were and pushed us to perform well beyond them. He walked around the kitchen, watching, correcting, tasting a sauce here, testing a knife edge there. Was the walk-in swept and mopped? Sanitour! Each position was important, from saucier to sanitour. The kitchen was spotless, our stations organized. We truly learned what mise en place was and that it takes the entire team to have a successful kitchen.
As a student, you begin to realize what it means to open your peripheral vision. He was everywhere, saw everything, and demonstrated what it meant to be a chef. Chef was confident, indefatigable, passionate, knowledgeable, encouraging, empathetic, observant, organized, foresighted, and humble—a true mentor!
The Culinary Olympic team was practicing at the CIA and booked a dinner in the E-Room on our last night of class. What an opportunity to be able to express all that we had learned. Our assignment: develop the menu, simple as that! Each station chef—garde-manger, saucier, poissonier—came to class with ideas for dishes to serve. Chef vetted them, adding sophistication. He ensured they retained their original essence and made sense as a multi-coursed menu. He never made this about him; this was about us, the students. This was our experience.
That last night was amazing … one I will always remember. In just seven days, Chef helped me realize that my dreams were attainable. Through hard work, I had the ability to accomplish and conquer any obstacle. I saw the potential he saw in me and that was powerful! After we finished cleaning the kitchen, put all the pots away, took out the garbage, and sanitized the cutting boards, we ended our night and class sharing a cold beer with Chef … a “real life” restaurant experience!
SUSAN: What do you think he saw in you?
LOU: I hope he saw a bit of himself. I imagine he recognized my cooking ability, my passion and focus. I was respectful, hardworking, curious, and indefatigable, and wanted to learn everything I could. He chose to recommend me for a job that set me on a path for success. It was my first job in New York City, with Christian Delouvrier at the Maurice Restaurant in the Parker Meridien Hotel. “Roland has told me that if I didn’t hire you, it would be a big mistake. When can you start?” I’ve always felt that, whatever position I held, I never wanted to let him down. Wherever I’m working, I always imagine he is in the dining room and I’m cooking for him.
SUSAN: What advice do you have for up-and-coming chefs?
LOU: Show up to the job on time and prepared. Have a great attitude. Be patient, passionate, and willing to work hard. Also, focus on a few people who are of a generation ahead of you. See what they’ve accomplished. Stay focused on them and what you admire about them. Don’t get caught up in what your peers are doing (this is a distraction that keeps you from accomplishing your own goals).
SUSAN: What is your legacy?
LOU: That’s hard to think about. I hope that if I am remembered, it will be because I have left the same mark upon many young cooks and chefs that Chef Henin has made on me and my career. I hope I am able to encourage their curiosity, explore their passions, and help them to become complete chefs.
What I find ironic is that Delaware North just purchased our company. Chef Henin brought a certified program to DN, which brings the focus to chefs. This continues his legacy as a teacher and lets them be something more than they imagine. I haven’t yet had opportunity to meet with Chef. It seems to have come full circle for me. When I do speak to him, I don’t know if he’ll remember me. When I think of the people who have pushed me forward and challenged me, he was my first serious person. I owe him everything, because he saw me.
Pamela Williams
Hospitality Instructor, Miami Dade College
No job is smaller or less important; everyone is equal in the kitchen.
PAMELA: I started at the CIA in the fall of 1983. During one of my first classes, Safety and Sanitation, I noticed some chefs sitting in the back of the lecture hall. One day this booming voice asked a question to the instructor. I have no idea what the question was, but the voice and the accent were hypnotizing! I turned around and saw Chef Henin for the first time. He was a tall man who spoke French. He had long legs. I timidly spoke a little high school French to him during one of the breaks, and he was gracious, as you might expect. That was the start of our friendship.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, these chefs were in the midst of preparing for their Master Chef exam. Chef Henin was “bucking up” on Sanitation and Garde-Manger. Several days later, their buffet catering platters were set up in the main hallway. I had no idea what I was looking at, exactly, but I will never forget the garnish of hard-boiled eggs Chef Henin had decorated to look like little fish. There were tiny carrot pieces cut like dorsal and tailfins, maybe a piece of truffle for the eyes. The whimsy of it all made me smile.
SUSAN: What qualities attracted you to each other?
PAMELA: I could understand him—his good work and good heart. He was alert, enthusiastic, and prepared. He stressed the basics, the foundations. He’d say, “Do those well, everything else will fall into place.” I understood French and, therefore, his temper, and was able to come to his aid. I think he was grateful that I took the effort to speak with him in his native tongue. “Bon jour, mademoiselle.” He was gracious and humble. When I realized he was a professor at the institute, I looked forward to working with him. Chef Henin ran the Fish Kitchen. He was “not so great” with my classmates—kept losing his temper. He had a great French temper! Half the class didn’t know what was going on! We received our grades before externship. Chef Henin took me aside and said candidly, “Mademoiselle, you have a heart of gold—but switch groups.” I was kind of shy, so he made a point to show me. He had a gentle manner and a charming way … the girls all had a crush on him. He spoke in a pleasant way, never condescending.
He’s a regular guy, but he’s not. In a word: un-pretentious! He’s so gracious and humble. When you speak to him on the phone, it’s as if he’s in the room. As busy as he is, it’s as if you’re the only person that matters. Wherever I have worked, Chef Henin would come and eat dinner. He would not tell you he was there, and then later, send a note. He is no fame-seeker, his work is never about the glory. He is all about the outdoors—fishing, hiking, nature. He’ll retire somewhere with no phone or TV.
SUSAN: What are moments you recall from his mentoring?
PAMELA: Several years after I graduated culinary school, Chef was trying out for the Olympics and invited me to be one of his commis during the actual competition. I flew to Chicago. When I arrived, the kitchen was a beehive. The work at this point was all about the glazing. Glazing food in aspic is a specific skill set, one that I learned over the c
ourse of that weekend. Each item that goes onto the competitors’ platters and plates must be coated, at least three times, in an aspic solution. The method of application is different for each item: meats and pâtés are laid out in numbered slices and dipped in the gelatin with a fork; similar small items, such as peas or beans, are individually skewered on picks and lined up neatly on a Styrofoam block. This way, you can dunk a dozen or more beans at one time. The aspic has to be at a certain temperature, so there is a window of time you can work before you have to stop and re-temper your aspic.
This aspic is sticky stuff. There are to be no fingerprints or drips; that counts against you. Here we are, a small group of commis, working nonstop in the cold walk-in, working against the clock as we dip beans, baby carrots, and little vegetables. It is a rhythm: one tray in the walk-in, another one out; one team dipping, while another team irons off the gelatin drips. Through it all is Chef Henin, guiding our work. Peas! On toothpicks! I was so chilled, but you didn’t sit down, and you didn’t complain. Sleep was not an option; we stayed up for over twenty-four hours together. He was going for the gold, and you wanted to be part of that.
When the time came, we brought his mise en place upstairs to the competition hall. We watched in awe as Chef put his table together—the way he laid the food on the platters and placed the sauces on the plate. It was poetry, the ballet, and what a Master Chef is.
SUSAN: What did Chef teach you about life?
PAMELA: Care for my tools. Keep knives sharp. I’ll always remember him throwing students’ knife bags in the trash. If they didn’t care for their tools, they didn’t deserve to keep them. I learned to properly set up my station. I’ll always remember the tourney demo. The lesson was a sauté Trout Doria. These kids were not doing a good job. Chef comes in, snatches the cucumber with his big hands and lays it out so clearly. He broke it down, step-by-step—the mechanics. We were so mesmerized. He would tourney six potatoes in thirty seconds. To this day, I love teaching tourney and I’m good at teaching it, because of him. Finally, he taught me to be a gracious loser.
We did fish together once … went out on the river together on a beautiful fishing boat … it was fun, and I just let him fish. He might have cast the reel for me a couple times. It was a leisurely kind of day. Let me just take the girl out. He caught a few big salmon. Roland has a fond expression: If it’s not wiggling, it’s not fishing.
SUSAN: What is your mentoring style?
PAMELA: I’ve spent the past twenty years as a professional educator at the Art Institute of Fort Lauderdale and just recently switched to Miami Dade Hospitality. I give back to young culinarians. Attitude reflects leadership! I am the first to arrive and last to leave. I walk the walk and lead by example. I’m the head chef. I do my demos and they produce tastings. Students respect me, because I’m in the trenches. I’m on the line. I show them how to do things individually. I make a point to do multiple demos and to correct their technique. At the end of the night, I’m the first one out with broom. I make it fun! I love having new students, value my friends and time with loved ones. I like to set an example for today’s culinary field.
Everybody is so excited to be at culinary school! They arrive early. Some students are more challenged, so they make an effort and shine! For instance, some young women raise children and have a job, all while attending school. They know what they have to do to better their lives. They love their children, have such heart, and are so excited to have an opportunity. I will connect with them and learn their names … connect individually and in groups, develop groups and teams. I remember his un-pretentiousness … everyone has a part to play, a job to do. No job is smaller or less important; everyone is equal in the kitchen.
The Coach: Team USA, Culinary Olympics
One of Chef Henin’s first assignments for me in training for the 1988 Culinary Olympics was to create a Styrofoam display of eight hors d’oeuvres. This entailed making an exact visual replica of real edible hors d’oeuvres—their exact size, shape, dimension, and color. When I accepted Henin’s apprenticeship, the amount of time and commitment it entailed was beyond my comprehension. At the time, I was a newly promoted executive chef of my first hotel chain and I was a new father to my first child. When Chef Henin came to review the work I had done, I had only six of the eight completed. He turned and looked at me with a piercing, deep-to-the-core, angry gaze. He said to me, “So, I’ve done my homework. I’m going to go out and play now, while you finish yours. I’ll be back in a few hours.” The mood in the room, the pitch in his voice, and Chef Henin’s character translated those words to mean that, if the assignment was not done in the next two hours, I was forgotten and it would be as if I never existed to him. This would become the Chef Roland Henin that I would train under: All in, or not in at all.
—Brad Toles, Chef/Owner, Savoury’s Catering
RGH: I was always involved in the American Culinary Federation. I competed, but in an old-fashioned way. My real exposure to competition came when I was at the CIA, where the Olympic team practiced once a month. I wanted to watch, clean pots, take it all in and be part … this was where my teams started.
The lessons learned in competition, or perhaps their magnitude, can never be replicated in a teaching kitchen or restaurant. You can never put the pressure on, like in competition. Even in a dinner service or catering, the pressure is different. Competitions are about you and your team. You have to care as much about you and your team as you do your hundreds of guests. Self-motivation can be more difficult. It is easier to do something for someone else, and this is where our motivation grows. Say what you like about culinary competitions or the American Culinary Federation, but at the end of the day, they still provide a vehicle for the serious chef to be challenged and recognized.
I was on the competition circuit for many, many years. Competitions definitely improve the breed, whether they are cats, dogs, horses, chefs, or anyone else. I did impact a lot of people, mostly young and upcoming. They were totally “brainless” and had no idea what the hell they were getting themselves into … or they would have never done it. But at the end, after all the aggravations and tribulations and “black” nights spent dealing with monster gelatine and no sleep for over forty hours … after some rest and upon reflection … they definitely found themselves much better cooks and certainly better human beings.
These were certainly some of the best years of my life. Most of these kids ended up with gold medals in national and international competitions and wound up getting somewhere in their professional lives.
Larry Banares
Chef, Sharp Grossmont Hospital, CBS/LA
Chef Henin has an interesting style of teaching. He makes you learn by answering your own questions.
LARRY: My dad joined the US Navy in the Philippines. Many Philippine immigrants came through the Navy as stewards and cooks. My dad parlayed his experience in the Navy to a culinary career when he got out and worked his way up to executive chef. He was at the La Jolla Beach and Tennis Club when I began working with him in summers. After he figured out that I could do it and wanted it, he arranged an informal apprenticeship for me. I spent about three years working with different chefs who were his friends in the area and then wound up taking supplemental courses at a community college. I’ve been blessed, but this was an entirely different story, one of those love/hate relationships. As a dad and my boss, he expected me to know everything by genetics or osmosis. I wasn’t successful at the beginning. I couldn’t cut a club sandwich straight. Many times I was dragged physically into the storeroom and told I better do it, or else. That was back in the old days.
At this time, I was the executive sous-chef at the Disneyland Hotel in Anaheim. There would be kind of a circuit of shows or competitions, “culinary salons.” If you wanted to get outside of your comfort zone, you’d go to the local shows and compete. I was a young executive sous-chef of a large hotel property, and around that time, we had an ACF Regional Conference that put Master Chef Raimund Hofme
ister in our hotel for a number of days. He saw me in action, running the operation, and told me, “You would do well at competitions. Consider going out for one of the teams.” That inspired me.
I first met Chef Henin at the early formation stages of the 1988 ACF Western Regional Culinary Team. We were put together as a team to compete in the Culinary Olympics in Frankfurt, Germany, in 1988. It was a unique team because, at the time, it was the first team to be sanctioned by the ACF, other than the official national team. This was Raimund Hofmeister’s idea, formulated to create a regional presence on what was, at the time, a national US culinary team heavily represented from the East Coast. We’d represent the Western region in the national competition and also create a template for future regional teams. He, Chef Henin, Walter Leible, and another CMC began to look for talent. I worked hard competing and winning local competitions. They wanted me to try out for the new team—the new ACF 1988 Western Regional Culinary Team.
When you’re in competition, up for forty-eight, seventy-two hours without sleep or food and trying to get it just right, to be put on display, critiqued and picked apart by three normal ACF judges is nerve-racking, but knowing that you’re being considered for a culinary team to represent your region and the United States in an international arena, and to have three Master Chefs critique you … that’s a tense situation. Chef Henin critiques you directly. He addresses the mistake—the issue on the plate—but he’ll also offer a bit of comic relief. If your food is too big on the platter, he’d say “That’s a beautiful platter for eight people, if you’re serving sixteen.” Little things would put you at ease: This guy is hard, but I can work with him. They were picking team members who would be working with them over the next two and a half years, for competition in Germany. It was an honor to be the first person named. Collectively, they thought I had what it took to be on the first team. They traveled around to all the local competitions and finally put a team together.
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