I’m late, and not just a little bit late. The end of November morning that I made my way over to Reynolds’ development kitchen in Waltham Cross, a snow storm descended on the UK, just as the London rail and Tube network chose to exercise the right to strike. So with what seems like the whole world working against me, I’m very late. By two hours, to be precise.
But here I am, approaching Hertfordshire, glowing with panic and echos of a past life churning over in my mind. “You’re not on time unless you’re in the kitchen, in your whites and ready to work,” I can hear my first head chef say in an antagonised tone.
But thankfully, Reynolds’ chef director Ian Nottage let me get away with only minimal ribbing, although my lateness remained a constant theme of conversation through the day. Not that I can blame them: Glenn Evans, the development chef, had been in the kitchen since 5am that morning and had even come in over the weekend, marinading and slow roasting in preparation for today. But I realise all has been forgiven when they present me with personalised chef whites: I’m already part of the team.
So what’s on the menu today, I’m keen to know. After a well earned coffee break at 10.30am (it had taken me three and a half hours to travel 33 miles, after all), I realise that this assignment is going to be very hands on. Having met Nottage a couple of times before, he knows I trained as a chef before becoming a journalist and he’s keen to see if my money is where my mouth is. We have a prospective client coming in and, as well as an eight-course taster menu to prepare - which, by the way, is a fraction of what they would usually offer - we have a presentation on the various products Reynolds is to recommend to this client to prepare, all for 1pm.
“We thought you might like to do the presentation,” says Nottage with a smile. I laugh along with them, and agree whether he is totally serious or not, to jump straight in. Well, how hard can it be?
First I’m brought up to speed with the planned menu that Evans had devised and prepared with his prospective clients in mind. Reynolds’ development kitchen, which officially opened last year, sits on top of the company’s distribution facility, where fruit, vegetables and additional catering products go out to chefs throughout the country.
If there’s anything new on the scene then Nottage and Evans are going to know about it, and the warehouse beneath them is like a chef’s paradise. That said, Nottage is keen to remind me that to be a development chef you have to “leave your ego at the door”. “These chefs coming into our kitchen are dealing vast numbers of covers a day and really know their stuff; no one responds to a know-it-all and we want them to go away with ideas about different fruit and veg products, not feel patronised,” he tells me.
They explain to me that today’s client runs a particularly high-profile Anglo-Indian restaurant, which is looking to spice up some seasonal produce and subtly introduce new tastes. For this presentation, which has taken nearly a week to perfect, the chefs are showcasing certain products that can be used throughout the menu, as well as on a day-to-day basis. This time we’re looking at Minus 8 vinegars (distilled at -8°C), Clarence Court eggs, Thiercelin spices and micro cresses. By this time, I’m scribbling away on my menu handout like I’m cramming for an exam. The presentation involves explaining the concept and versatility of these products, while poaching each of the quail, hen and duck eggs at the demonstration booth, and that was even before the taster menu.
The menu consists of spiced quail leg with a marinated mixed beetroot carpaccio; blue potato and pickled lotus root salad with Marzanino tomatoes; coconut-fried salmon with a chow chow and oba leaf salad; Balinese slow roasted shoulder of suckling belly pig with Bombay spiced Yukon Gold fondant; Malay lamb curry with a coconut and lime braised rice; spiced confit duck leg with braised Puy lentils and quince; roasted tamarillo with Manna syrup and chargrilled pineapple with a chilli and ginger toffee sauce. The pressure is mounting a bit by now.
“First and foremost at Reynolds, we are greengrocers,” Nottage says, as we get chopping. “We introduce our clients to new products and different ways of using traditional ones.”
“At the moment it’s all about seasons and new products,” adds Evans. “It’s important for us to get it right. The client usually travels out of their way to see us, so we have to hit our brief.”
So I get to work, prepping veg, making the loot root crisps and putting together the two desserts. Getting back into the swing of things, I’m right in the fray and spouting about hygiene regulations before you could say, “she’s out of her depth”.
Of course, most of the hard work has been done earlier; everything is under control and it is just a matter of presenting the information and products at my fingertips and familiarising myself with the order of the meal. It is clear that you need to have your wits about you, or as Evans puts it “strong shoulders”. While making the roasted tamarillo dessert - it didn’t bode well for the presentation that I couldn’t even pronounce the name of the fruit (“Just sing ‘Is this the way to...’ in your head before you present it,” they told me, which just made me want to say Amarillo), I realised that I wasn’t really listening and following precise orders was a bit of a challenge, which nearly resulted in the use of vinegar instead of brandy. A triumph in the waiting, we all agree.
And then the time was up, and I welcome two representatives from the client and sit them down at the demonstration booth, where dining places are set out. I must admit that what with all the preparation and the sheer energy spent talking about the various products, answering questions and generally being engaging and informative, the presentation is completely draining. It takes until 4pm to present the menu.
I realise that I have forgotten what it feels like to be absolutely physically and mentally exhausted when you go home. Having said that, although I’d only been at Reynolds for a snippet of time, walking down the corridors, going between the warehouse, to the chefs’ office and to the kitchen, it was like I’d been there for years and I felt so welcome I hardly wanted to leave.
After the cheerful kitchen porter clears everything away, I stay to pluck and gut my first partridge with glee. And when I get home, having spent another three hours on public transport, I still feel that it was all more than worth it.
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