Roland G. Henin

by Susan Crowther

  I recall him being hard on me, thinking, Why was my critique so rough? Then, the award ceremony would come up: Jill Bosich, Gold Medal. It was just his way of … the velvet hammer. He sensed talent. I see that now. That’s one of the reasons I respect him so much. He beat me up with purpose. You don’t see it in the moment, because you’re young. In 1991, I was twenty-one years old, trying to figure out the industry, learning about classical cooking, and linking it all together.

  His persistence led me to try out for the Olympic team. I saw their videos. That team was fortunate to have a tremendous amount of sponsorship. They traveled all over the world and documented their experiences on being on Team USA. In one of the videos, Henin said, “This is the first day of the rest of their lives.” I had been apprenticing for chefs Larry Banares, Brad Coles, and the members of the 1992 Olympic team (which Henin advised). After working with these guys, seeing the videos was profound. It provoked me to try out for Team USA myself. In 1993, at the American Culinary Federation National Confederation in Orlando, there I was, twenty-three years old, naïve and green, but so motivated. There I was, trying out with thirty or forty guys; I think I was the only woman. I never would have thought I’d be ready in such a short amount of time. There are chefs who try for years. It’s sad. Maybe they don’t have the guidance, support system, or access to the right people. I was blessed to have the chance to be polished by people like Chef Henin.

  Because he was an advisor in ’92, they used Henin as a floor judge in ’96. The Orlando tryout was just one phase; we had to go to the National Restaurant Show in Chicago for the second phase. He patrolled the kitchens, marking what we were doing. He made sure we didn’t have an abundance of waste. He comes up with his clipboard, looking at me with his face, his Henin look.

  “Where’s your trash, where’s your waste?”

  “Right here, Chef.” They were in these little bins I labeled, usable waste and non-usable waste. “But there’s nothing in them.”

  “Well, there’s a little bit, you can see what’s there …”

  He looks in all my trunks, coolers, and equipment, lifting lids, rifling through all my stuff, overturning everything, not believing me, claiming I was hiding trash and venison trim, and finally saying, “Wow, you did well.”

  Ha-ha, I’ll never forget that. You’re so nervous, in the middle of a National Restaurant Show. There are thousands of people watching you, in a fishbowl kitchen. You don’t dare hide anything nor do something that’s not on point.

  We had around seventy different ingredients and had to incorporate more than half into our menu. It was a challenge, because the ingredients weren’t immediately compatible: venison, Arctic char, and red cabbage. I received a massive venison leg that wouldn’t fit in my pot. Red cabbage with venison would be enjoyable, but red cabbage with Arctic char is incompatible. You had to think through what they gave you. It was challenging being younger in my career, having to think on your feet. This was during the dawn of reality shows like Chopped and Master Chef. People now have that mindset of thinking fast on their feet, but back then, it was just intense. You’re looking at those ingredients, and they don’t seem appetizing together. That’s the challenge of the Mystery Basket; they want to know that you’re going to put the venison with the cabbage, versus the Arctic char. These are decisions you have to make in a quick moment.

  We only had to do several portions. It wasn’t like we were serving fifty people. We had to butcher what we needed and return the rest. That venison leg was huge, and to get that size of a protein was daunting. We needed some of the bones to make stock and then, sauce. Had it been leg of lamb or something conducive to our number of portions, it would have been less challenging, but this thing was massive. That was the victory—those curve balls. They wanted to know that you weren’t going to keep the entire thing, because it would have been wasted. I guess that’s what he was looking for in the kitchen. Where’s your waste?

  Competition presentation weaves well-prepared, technically executed food, taking “concept” into consideration: Where was the food grown? What season? If it was a rabbit or deer, what might that animal have eaten? What would have been in that environment? The ’92 culinary team adopted a vision of holistic experience around food and preparation: what foods naturally go well with particular cooking methods; which foods came from the environment that the animal lived in. If nouvelle cuisine was born of that era, then this had a distinct look and feel to it, as well. The foods and presentation style of the nineties were designed in the Culinary USA ’92 team. A lot of people copied it, because it was beautiful—food that not only looked good, but tasted great.

  You know this big craze now, Farm-to-Table? Local sources? They were already taking that into consideration. The Western Region is so fortunate, with access to food. Chef Henin was from the Northwest. We weren’t East Coast; we were the West Coast. The West was always known for being more edgy and daring, less traditional. We had so many influences: Asia, the Southwest … bright, flavorful cuisine. Team USA used these concepts. Whether chefs were running country clubs or more like Thomas Keller, on the forefront of a retail side, dealing with customers versus hotel chefs who were more in the back, Henin had a broad brush.

  Once he was arguing that there are not five mother sauces. He was arguing that espagnole sauce was not a mother sauce. His argument was so sound, we left the room believing that everything we’ve ever known about the five mother sauces—béchamel, velouté, espagnole, tomato, and hollandaise—was wrong. It was like he was rewriting history. He can argue it till he’s blue in the face. One time hanging out with Hofmeister and Henin—it’s one of those things you probably shouldn’t put in a book—they were so upset with one of the culinary team guys. They called them those “bronze medalists.” Those guys can’t earn anything better than a bronze medal. They were so competitive. I’m like, “I never want to earn a bronze medal.” Ha-ha. Don’t say I’m a bronze medalist!

  SUSAN: How does your mentoring style compare to his?

  JILL: My mentoring style is true to how he was with me. I’m just as tough on my students, in a general loving way. I nurture, but also drive home the point and leave people hungry, wanting more. I tell my current students that I’m not an answering machine, I’m a provocation machine. I will provoke them to get the answers themselves. That’s how you learn best, and that’s what he did for us. He’d coach you along, trail you along just to the point where you wanted to know more and then that became up to you. At first people get frustrated, but then recognize, Wow, she’s leading me down the right path. It’s not like she’s leading me astray. People respect it. They know you’re not misleading them. The velvet hammer … I’m telling you, that is the ultimate thing. The hammer wrapped in beautiful velvet.

  My students need to structure their questions in a way that tells me they’ve already thought of what the possible solutions are. If they’re close, then we’ll have a conversation, and I will guide them. If they show me that they haven’t tried, they know I’m done. They might ask me if the texture on a dough is where it should be. I’ll ask: What does it feel like? Describe me the texture. Do you recall my dough’s texture, when I did the demonstration? They’ll say yes, and I’ll ask if their dough looks close. They’ll say it’s too dry or too moist. We get to that answer together, but I don’t tell them specifically, because they don’t learn that way. That’s how he is. Socratic.

  I recently saw him while judging at an ACF competition. I had a moment to break away to ask around where’s Henin, where’s Henin? It felt so good to see him. Wow, you haven’t seen someone in so long, your mentor. He’s helped so many people. That’s when he told me about the book, and I said of course, whatever I can do to be a part of it. I just adore him. Thank you so much. He makes me get teary. He’s such a cool dude.

  Susan Ettesvold

  Community Nutrition Advisor/Chef, “Eat Smart Idaho,” University of Idaho Extension

  Anyone who came under Chef Henin has that
same set of tools, if they were willing to accept them.

  SUSAN E.: We met in 1990, when I tried out for the 1992 Team USA Apprentice Team at the ACF Conference, in Portland. That is the most poignant moment to begin with. Tryouts consisted of a big written exam and two Practical exams [A “Practical” exam is a hands-on test of culinary skills which assesses ability, versus a written test which assesses only knowledge]. I made the team, and we had eleven practice sessions at Disney World, Epcot. He was there for each practice. Although my role was sanitour—glorified pot washer and floor mopper—at each practice session, he had something for all of us apprentices, even when it came down to washing a table.

  I started washing a table and he kindly stops me in the middle of it. “Please allow me to show you how to do this correctly.” I thought, Oh my gosh, here is this Master Chef who is showing me how to wash a table. He shouldn’t even have these tools in his hand! Right? He got all of us around and started washing this table, explaining each step. I thought he would start and then let me finish, but he continued from top to bottom. He got down on his hands and knees, covering every nook and cranny. That table hadn’t seen that attention since it was made. I don’t think anybody had ever seen those parts of the table. He spent thirty minutes impeccably cleaning this table, explaining each detail and why we needed to do that. That has stayed with me forever, and I pass that on to my own students.

  Now as a working pastry chef, all my crews have that same lesson—from-top-to-bottom-explain-why lesson. It was bigger than sanitation; that was an obvious first. It was about attention to detail, doing a task all the way and correctly, the first time. He had that same kind of attention with every little thing we did. We weren’t competing; we were there to wash their pots, melt their chocolate, and do their mise en place. It started with us. Our role was just as important, because it would follow through with them. He gave us validity. Anyone who came under Chef Henin has that same set of tools, if they were willing to accept them. When I pass that lesson on to my students, it takes some time to drive it home. Most young people just blow it off, but some people take that to heart, and I can see that later in the jobs they have.

  SUSAN: What is your mentoring style?

  SUSAN E.: “Everyone knows something you don’t.” That’s something I like to impart. Nothing I teach comes from me, because there have been mentors. At FENI—Foodservice Educators Network International—we come together and share ideas for teaching. All your classmates are teachers. Chris Kottke, a chef from Kendall College, held a class on teaching paste. I teach in Idaho, and a lot of the students here are not necessarily versed in flavors, haven’t had the opportunity to try new things. Using Chef Chris’s lesson, I teach them to build their flavor library. Once you understand how food behaves and you have that flavor library, you become more skilled.

  In my first year teaching, I realized some students here hated certain foods. Why would anyone go into the culinary world if they weren’t a complete foodie? I never understood, but thinking about the food library, maybe they hadn’t had the chance. On the first day, I have everyone stand up and raise their hand. They take an oath: vow to taste everything, at least once! It’s not my invention; I saw another chef do that in a cooking class, but it works well for my two years with them. When they say, “I don’t want to taste this. I hate this,” I say, “Oh, have you tried it?” “No, I haven’t.” “Well, then, you made an oath!” I’ve never had anybody back out. It’s amazing how many things they haven’t tried. It’s Idaho; they’ve tried dozens of potatoes. In their career, a flavor library contributes to their being indispensable because they can come up with something on the fly.

  Chef Paul Kasper, who recently passed away, was a pastry chef in Lake Tahoe. He proctored his final Practical, an eight-hour exam, in his sixties. He had this clipboard, taking notes on my exam. At the end, he asked me what I had learned. I said, “A ton!” There were so many mistakes and great learning opportunities. When I finished talking, he flipped over his clipboard and said, “This is what I learned from your exam.” How could this sixty-year-old pastry chef possibly learn from me? He said, “You never stop learning. You’ll never live long enough to learn everything you can, in pastry.”

  A few lessons I pass on:

  1. Set the bar high! I have arguments about this, with students. They don’t understand why, in Twin Falls, serving lunch to a crowd of math teachers, they have to do it perfectly. They can work however they want when they leave school, but while they are here working with me, they are doing their best and serving it like it was going out of a three-star restaurant. I think they remember that, when going to work. They don’t have fine dining in this area, and they report back, “Oh man, you won’t believe how they do this!”

  2. Indispensable is good: know all those little things and think ahead with what the chef is doing. I know Joe because every time I turn around, he’s ready with that tool I need, or I can count on him whenever I need a shift covered. If you become indispensable, then someone will call on you for that special job.

  3. Cook until it’s done. Students constantly ask, “How long do I bake this?” I’ll say, “Twenty minutes to check.” There’s never an exact time.

  That lesson started in my apprenticeship at the Bonaventure. In my first week, I burned two #10 cans of Blue Diamond almonds—two full sheet pans! That was bad. The Bonaventure has 1,500 rooms, eight restaurants, and banquet space for up to three thousand people. We made all the bread, pastries, and ice creams for everything, including the room service, and the restaurants—everything! There were no timers in the kitchen; you just had to sense it. Whenever I asked the chef, how long, he would look at the one clock on the wall, and he would always say that: Twenty minutes to check. Ten minutes to check. I had to bake the almonds again. I stood in front of the oven, waiting for them to bake and smell and … I didn’t do that again!

  Timing is everything—not so much in other industries: one second or minute can change everything. In my first job, I worked in a bakery with a carousel oven. I worked in the middle of the night with the cake baker. He had a full oven of sheet cakes, and I was trying to get an idea of how long they would bake. He’d say, “Two more turns.” I just couldn’t get it, that it would go around the oven one more time … and in one turn, it would be done. Really? One turn? Or two turns? You can see this? Now, I get it!

  I bake off a batch of palmiers and ask the students, “When do you think they should come out?” They always choose by looking at the golden color, right? I’ll pull some out—enough for all of them to taste. Then, I bake them until they are done and have them taste both. They smell them, pull them apart, taste them—the whole difference. Just because something is “golden brown” doesn’t mean you’re going to enjoy the flavor at all. It may not even have any flavor! They get so excited when they learn it! They have this understanding of what good flavor and aroma is. They can see it, then. I love seeing that lightbulb turn on.

  It’s a small town, and after students graduate, maybe because I had someone like Chef Henin take an interest in seeing me move forward, I feel like I have coached each one of them. I’m using the word “coach,” because we’re talking about Chef Henin. That’s part of your role as an instructor, to be a coach. I build relationships and follow where they’re working. They send me pictures. It’s fun to see. Over twenty-five years later, Chef Henin continues to coach and encourage me. Perhaps even more profound is Chef Henin’s kindness. To this day, his lesson is the importance of staying connected. He makes the kitchen feel like family.

  Randy Torres

  Chef Instructor, Oregon Coast Culinary Institute

  Chef had this regalness about him. It made me want to be like that—command that respect, when walking into a room. I don’t necessarily want people to be terrified when they hear my name, but I definitely want them to say “whoa.”

  RANDY: Chef Henin was judging culinary competitions in our area. He was known for being, politely saying, to the point. As a
first-time competitor, you hear stories about some of these chefs, so when you hear that Chef Henin is going to be there, you work a little harder to make sure things are at their best. At that point in his career, you prepare for the worst and it pretty much comes. At the time, you don’t know what it’s for. I see it now, in the later parts of my years. We’re told to focus on the positives, but the positives don’t always help us grow; it’s the negatives that help us grow. That’s part of the approach with chefs like Chef Henin; he focused on the negatives, to help us become better. I’ve followed in his footsteps and become a judge now myself, and I tell you, if we talked to competitors the way that Chef talked to us then, they wouldn’t deal with it now. I think the people have changed. However, I tell people these stories, and I’m so glad that he talked to me that way, because I think that was the best way for me to learn. Maybe that was just me as an individual, maybe I’m a little hardheaded or something, but definitely you can appreciate the honesty. You appreciate, if we dare call it, enthusiasm, to make a point and teach somebody about this great world of cooking. At the end of the day, even if you walked away with a lower score than you hoped, to even get something—a bronze medal with Chef Henin in the room—you knew that it meant something. For me, it’s about getting gold, and it’s going to mean a lot with him in the room as a judge. He’s not giving it away, by any means.