Roland G. Henin

by Susan Crowther

  The Certified Master Chef is the highest and most demanding level of all ACF certification levels. It is the pinnacle of culinary achievement. Interestingly, the CMC exam is a cooking test, plain and simple—not easy, but simple. While the US CMC examination is the best, its success rate might be the worst. Based on the diminishing number of chefs who pass, the question must be raised: why?

  As more chefs enter the industry, fewer seem qualified to earn this title. On the surface, the logic is reversed … or is it? Has their training diminished? Has their motivation waned? Is the CMC exam still valid in today’s culinary culture? Is the Certified Master Chef a dying breed?

  Roland Henin has struggled with these tough questions throughout his life, as have all the Master Chefs. As the man who holds the record for one of the highest cumulative CMC scores, someone who has devoted his life to implementing certification and has personally coached hundreds of chefs through various certification tests, Henin sees little light at the end of the tunnel.

  Chef believes it goes back to the backbone. The typical US chef attends culinary school and is hired into the system with the elevated label of “chef,” skipping the gradual progression of line cook and then sous-chef and then finally achieving chef status. More and more executive chefs start in their twenties. Chef Henin and his CMC colleagues advocate pacing and respecting growth. Premature advancement is steroidal; without proper support, the candidate is a house of cards and will collapse.

  It’s not only backbone; the entire landscape of culinary arts has changed. Culinary arts is no longer a cook’s game, as Randy Torres discussed: “What is culinary school for, now? Are we teaching people about working in a restaurant, or are we teaching people about cooking? It may sound funny, but those are two different worlds.”

  Despite these changes and obstacles, about a dozen candidates arrive from each CMC examination. How on earth are they getting there? How does the CMC value survive?

  To answer these questions, you’d have to ask those candidates who make it through, who endure the eight days and 130 hours of examination, plus the thousands of hours, days, years of preparation … the ones who master, not only their techniques, but also their bodies, and the biggest obstacle of all … they master their minds. There may be little light at the end of the tunnel, but the light shines brightly for those who insist on swimming upstream.

  Certified Master Chefs

  Dan Hugelier, CMC

  Owner, Wildseason

  Wow, I’m in chef heaven! Henin, Sonnenschmidt, Elmer, Corky—all those guys, they were the Culinary Institute. They wove the fabric of cooking in America into these kids.

  DAN: I’ve always had a level of respect for Roland that comes from admiration. He’s one of those European chefs that came to America and helped enrich our culinary scene.

  I met him at the CIA when I was first trying out for the Culinary Olympic team. It was around 1980, and he was an instructor at the institute. I was on three national teams, flying from Michigan to New York twice a month for like, twelve years. I would see Roland at lunch or in his classroom. He would always visit and interact with the team while we practiced.

  Roland was always viewed by other chefs at the school for his expertise. His culinary genetic makeup is such that he was a Farm-to-Table guy long before it became our industry’s latest buzzword. Farm-to-Table is not a fad; it’s simply what good chefs do—take the best ingredients from the earth when it’s time, at prime seasonal harvest. The franchises in the restaurant industry, the bistros and the bars, are claiming to do this Farm-to-Table thing as if it’s brand-new. [Laughs]

  If you go to Alain DuCasse’s website, he says clearly up front, 60 percent of what we do as chefs is dependent on the raw product, and 40 percent is what we do with it. That attitude has been ingrained in Roland throughout his cooking experience. For instance, someone will ask him: What’s the proper, classical way to cook a breast of veal? It might be another judge during the Master Chef’s exam. Roland will say, “Well, what type? Is it Parisienne or Alsatian-style? What is the time of year, a winter braise or lighter version with spring vegetable?” He understands little pocket regions of culinary influence that escape the notice of most! I mean, not just in Europe and in our country, but globally, too. Most American chefs are only looking from one perspective: “Oh, I gotta cook the breast of veal.” There are hundreds of ways you could cook that breast of veal. Which style? Which method? We’re only limited by our experience.

  Ferdinand Metz was our team manager. Metz promoted this “whole new concept” called American Cuisine. He promoted food and wine in America much like Escoffier did in France. Metz is a German-born chef at the helm of an American institute with around 120 chefs from every background you can imagine—heavy European influence—teaching thousands of American kids, trying to put a mindset, a school of thought as a seed that they might grow in the right way. Roland was part of that history. He’s French, so he’s a passionate perfectionist, to say the least, about everything he does.

  SUSAN: I had him in Fish Kitchen in ’83, so would agree.

  DAN: So you were a student there? Awesome. Well that’s nice; you know what you’re writing about.

  SUSAN: A little bit. [We laugh]

  DAN: I was the Detroit Athletic Club chef for twelve years and had carte blanche. We had the three big auto companies and other executives when the industry was in its heyday. Tax write-offs were the norm, so we did fine cooking there, in different styles, in different venues. That was the biggest part of my education: having those years to exercise my craft and discover. I continued my study of Escoffier and Alain DuCasse and following Frédy Girardet, Daniel Boulud, and Joël Robuchon. These guys know how to cook! I thought, That’s how I want to cook, what I want to do.

  During that time of my career, Roland was always someone with whom I could ask questions about food, our conversations taking endless pleasant detours as we both displayed our curiosity and knowledge with each other. We became friends over the years through those exchanges. When Roland is in charge of something, he fills the room. He melts back into a statesman’s mold among his colleagues and has a quiet presence. Everyone knows he has wisdom and answers and that this man would state them.

  We did a Master Chefs’ dinner … we did them all over the country, but we did several of them over the years at Hartmut Handke’s place in Columbus, Ohio. Hartmut’s a fellow team member and Master Chef. Tim Ryan might be doing a course, or Victor Gielisse, or Peter Timmins, myself … we would have like ten or twelve Master Chefs. We would converge on Columbus, and we would do a kick-butt dinner, to help Hartmut, to see each other, and I guess to make an excuse to have a grand event. They were wonderful.

  I’ll give you an example about Roland in this scenario. One year, he did beautiful poached baby turbot filets in a fish consommé, with Beluga caviar, and little pluches de cerfeuil. The poached filet lay right in the middle in the rich fish consommé. Simple. It was a fish and soup course served simultaneously. The poached fish fit on a bouillon spoon, the piece of filet. I don’t recall what the starch element was; he may have had a pastry fleuron at the service time. He asked me to taste it when he was plating during service.

  We often offer each other a taste as we’re going. When Roland was doing the fish course, he handed me a bouillon spoon. I tasted it. “Roland, did you use veal stock for the fumé?”

  And he just smiled, didn’t say anything.

  After he finished dishing up, he approached me. “Why did you ask that?”

  I replied, “Your fish consommé has rich viscosity and adheres to the palette. There are not enough glutinous qualities in the fish alone, especially in baby turbot bones, to yield that gelatinous element. Besides, you’re French. I know a lot of the old French classical dishes. Escoffier describes putting a ribbon or a border of glace de viande around Paupiettes of Dover sole, or dipping a slice of black truffle into glacé and butter to glaze or adorn fish dishes. I just figured that when I prepare it that way a
nd when I taste it that way, it makes sense to make a veal stock for the fumé.”

  Roland smiled and he said, “I did. Not too many people understand or can taste that.”

  At that dinner, I made a ballotine of wild Scottish wood pigeon with foie gras and figs … he loved the course. Those birds were shot in Scotland by hunters and dog-retrieved, aged, and shipped over to me. They were small pigeons, and I boned the entire bird, then put inside a fig, with cognac, minced shallots, lemon rind, and fine herbs. That was cut, as I served it open partway. I had a crisp potato galette, fresh duck foie gras, and red wine Jus Lié with that course.

  Another year I did a mushroom garnish inspired by my friend Fritz Gitschner, CMC. He did a version of this for the Bocuse d’Or completion, a few years earlier. It looked like a wild cep mushroom, but it was a baby onion filled with mushroom quiche with a mushroom cap from a shiitake, a golden oak mushroom sautéed with lemon, seasonings, and Madeira wine. This was put on top of a bulging onion. Then I did a calf’s sweetbread and duck foie gras with Zingara garniture—smoked tongue, ham, truffle, and white mushroom cut real fine, as a garnish. Helmut’s restaurant was a German Ratskeller-type environment. It looked like a Hobbit might peek out from behind that mushroom.

  Roland Henin is, without question, a foundationally solid cook. I don’t like these chefs who are always overly-promoting themselves as the next guru of cuisine. They say, “This is my presentation of food”—Chef So-and-so’s food, like they invented it. Right? Everything we do at a higher level is technically correct. It’s not my food or Roland’s food. It’s the right way to do it.

  I spent twenty-two years at Schoolcraft College. I wrote the curriculum for Butchery Charcuterie and oversaw Savory Cooking. Over the years, we served our students with the help of so many friends, past team members, and associates. I am so thankful. We always had great graduation speakers! I used to line up Noble Masi, Fritz Sonnenschmidt, and Ferdinand Metz. We had Charles Carroll … I could go down a long list. In my last year, we invited Roland Henin to be our guest speaker.

  We plate service for the graduates and their guests, hundreds of people. Each kitchen and chef wants to create outstanding plates, and it was in the springtime, so everybody put on the dog. I had a plate with a wild mushroom variety, wild mushroom ravioli, some veal jus and one dish of duck foie gras sautéed throughout the service. Brian did a charcuterie. Jeff baked his best breads. Everybody wants to do well when you bring in chefs of that caliber to speak, right? It was outstanding—one of the best displays of food our faculty and students ever did.

  Roland calls us out to this big granite bar in the dining room. “Dan, can you get all of these faculty members together? The food, the food’s fantastic.”

  And I said, “Sure, Roland. Thanks.”

  I got everybody together and he said, “I thought before we speak to the students toward the end of their education, we could talk about our basic cooking thing, among ourselves, for fun.”

  Everybody says, “Oh, sure, Roland.”

  He asks, “Can you name the basic sauces—the proper mother sauces for classical cuisine?”

  You learned that when you were a student, Susan?

  SUSAN: Yes, and I think I know where you’re going with this story. Chef doesn’t believe that espagnole sauce is one of them. He thinks that there’s just the four, right? [Full disclosure: I had only just learned that days before, when interviewing Chef Jill Bosich. Thanks and good timing, Chef Jill!]

  DAN: Exactly. We all got that wrong. I said, “No way, Roland!” So I go into the office, I pop open Escoffier, LaRousse, and Herings … Son of a gun, he’s right. Espagnole is a component of braising. It can yield a demi-like sauce, but it is not a mother sauce. I still, today, make my demi with espagnole as part of the process. I don’t simply just reduce the stock; I clear it of its impurities as it reduces, replenishing sometimes with water so it doesn’t get too meaty, too out of balance. I spent several years as saucier, so I love that part of it. I like flavor that’s left behind in the demi even after it’s clear. It’s a different type of taste.

  Author’s note: After consulting with Chef Henin, he declared that there are four Mother Sauces: Demi-glace; Béchamel; Tomato; Veloute.

  RGH: Those old giants of cooking developed the mother sauces out of necessity and practicality. Old kitchens were in the basement, and space was limited on the stove. Certain sauces take a long time, so they needed to make a large quantity at once. These sauces have a roux binder and are therefore stable. They maintain their quality for seven to ten days, sometimes longer. They were also the base sauce for compound sauces. These stable, long-cooking, high-quality building sauces were named the mother sauces.

  Mother sauces have both the quality and quantity. These guys would make a sauce and put it in the cooler, and a week later, it was the same quality as when they put it in. To use, they simply remove some from the cooler and bring to a boil. These sauces take a long time to prepare. Béchamel is the quickest, taking approximately three hours. You don’t make these sauces á la minute. You can’t, by their very nature. These guys would make a big amount and also stagger the sauces: Béchamel on Monday; velouté on Tuesday; and so on.

  Hollandaise, being an emulsion sauce, is not stable … it breaks easily. It is not thickened with roux; it is emulsified with egg. It doesn’t take a long time to make, so it should be made in small batches. There are only a few compound sauces made from it. For all these reasons, Hollandaise is not a mother sauce.

  DAN: But we had a great time. We changed our curriculum. The ProChef, if you noticed, changed their curriculum, and it’s because of Roland. If you want to aspire to the highest levels working for food science and want to consider yourself professional at the level of a doctor, these types of refined debates are a step, all so basic, compared to brain surgery.

  If I see a chef from Johnson & Wales, I know he’s a great manager. He’ll be number one with the accountants. If I have a serious student from the Culinary Institute, especially back in the day when you went, I know they’ve been taught right. I know Jim Heywood, and Corky and all those guys; they did it right and brought finesse to cooking in America.

  SUSAN: Looking back, it was an amazing time to be at the CIA.

  DAN: Absolutely. I think I was twenty-four, Susan, the first time I tried out for the Culinary Olympic team. We had our first practice competition in Bruno Ellmer’s kitchen. We were to do a crab-stuffed chicken breast. I was wet behind the ears. I never went to school there. I was not in the group. I didn’t know anybody—Metz or any of those guys—when I started. I did a double supreme and removed that little bit of cartilage to peel without splitting the supreme. I ordered baby chickens, these little poussin. I did a lump crabmeat filling, but maintained the lump with spinach and shallot, and some toasted mie de pain. Mine was the last one to be tasted. Sonnenschmidt tasted it and threw the fork down. It slid down the side and hit the back of the table.

  I went, Uh oh. Maybe he got a shell or something.

  He tasted it with Elmer and they said, “This is the best one.”

  I didn’t know what to do; I turned beet red. I was very introverted.

  The other chefs, including Metz, were in there. Each one did their own version and were like [clears throat], “Ahem, ahem, okay then, ahem, we use that one.”

  And it’s like, Oh man. I’m happy to hang with you guys. I’m not trying to …

  But then, Elmer wanted to know, “Why was yours so juicy? Everyone pounded the shit out of their breast, and yours stood, it was juicy.”

  I said, “I like to pick the young chicken.”

  Everybody laughed after the practice.

  There were still Robot Coupe parts in the sink, so I stayed. It took about a half hour to finish cleaning the kitchen. I didn’t know Chef Elmer was still in the building and he came by, had been watching me. “Dan, are you hungry?”

  I said, “A little bit, Chef.”

  He said, “How about if we have a little
goulash soup?”

  He went to his region and heated up goulash soup and sautéed some spaetzles. I still do it the same way. I cook them like hash browns, let them get a crust and butter and flip the whole thing. But I got to have goulash soup with Chef Elmer.

  Whenever I go to the school and meet these guys, I’m like, Wow, I’m in chef heaven! I have people! I have brilliant people that I can ask questions, who themselves are embroiled in discovery all the time because they love to cook! That was a great place to be anyhow, but it was a great place to meet Roland. Roland Henin, Sonnenschmidt, Elmer, Corky—all those guys, they were the Culinary Institute. They wove the fabric of cooking in America into these kids. And then, I followed their curriculum that I helped them with to deploy at Schoolcraft College.

  Back in the day, we weren’t just competing for gold medals; we were competing for each other’s respect. On my first trip to Germany, I couldn’t believe it. Oh my God. I can get a better meal at the train station in Frankfurt than any restaurant in America! Our food sucks! We don’t even have good bread. What the hell are they doing to our sausage and hot dogs that makes them so pink? Weird pink. We were all caught up at a time when we could effect change in cooking in America. It wasn’t our goal, but it was just happening, and it was great fun.

  One other quick story is when we had tryouts for the ’88 team … it would have been in ’86. They didn’t have enough apprentices, so Mark Erickson and I had to share an apprentice for the tryouts. That’s huge. But we’re guys, we’d read that book.