A London Chef's Favourite Late Night Snack

This week we talk to East London chef and sandwich extraordinaire David Bard who gives us the lowdown on how chefs get down and what they snack on when they get home.

Let’s start at the end - of the night - with what you want to eat when you get in at 1/2/3/4 am (delete as appropriate).

There are many delectables that could fill your hole here, but I’ve plumped for one that is, first and foremost, accessible.

You probably don’t work in places that might send you home with say, a loaf of bread, a few end-pieces of beef sirloin, a takeaway box full of pasta or a slab of focaccia. In return, you probably earn quite a bit more than a chef, and your perks and bonuses take the form of dough rather than mere bread.

Moving on. Getting home, however sloppy, the thing that hits every spot that needs a’ hittin’ is a banana and peanut butter sandwich with - if you’re feeling particularly naughty - some bacon.

It’s very easy. Heat up a pan with some butter. Slice your banana. Get it in the pan and hit it with a little ground cinnamon and nutmeg. Toast your bread. When the bread pops and the banana’s caramelise and start to break down, generously peanut butter on one side, top it with the banana (and bacon if, like Elvis, you swing that way), add the other slice of bread and tuck in. 

If, like me, you’re disgusting, you should probably butter at least one but probably both slices of bread.

Working backwards, you’ve stumbled home from a late night service, that wraps up around half 11 (if you clean down fast enough, having slopped industrial cleaner on the floor, scrubbed the stovetops, wiped the surfaces and written the prep list for the poor sod in tomorrow morning who - on this merciful occasion - isn’t you), via a couple of drinks at the bar next to the restaurant with the other chefs, where the staff know you and give you a free shot for every drink you actually buy. 

I exaggerate, but that’s pretty much the gig - finish late, drink as much as you can reasonably justify on a Tuesday night (maybe the staff beers are a humble Heineken, maybe you work somewhere fancy and are friends with the bar staff who will sort you out) with whoever is around (which is always at least one colleague and, if you’re lucky like me and have a partner who freelances and can meet you late on a weeknight dressed to the nines while you’re sweaty and feel like trash), get home, SNACK. 

Of course, you could do the sensible thing, and sometimes I even do! Go straight home, get a decent night’s sleep and wake up tomorrow ready to tackle a day of important life admin (do a wash, send an email, maybe get to the gym if feeling particularly ambitious)… but where’s the fun in that?

Going further back, you’ve had a tough old night. Customers made weird requests, front of house made mistakes, the last table took forever to order and the head chef was annoyed because you plated a dessert on a starter plate (which is infinitesimally larger) and a couple of your dishes weren’t the right height (no, I’m not joking - in true Black Books style some chefs get very wound up if your salads aren’t towering).

Setting up your section was a ball ache because there weren’t enough containers for your salt and pepper, dressing, spoons, or meticulously picked crab. Name a tool or ingredient, there weren’t enough containers for it. Or gastros as we call them, because you were definitely wondering.

Before that, things weren’t so bad. You had your break between morning and evening shifts napping in green park from 4:04-4:56. Head on a bag, in the sun, sunglasses on, subconsciously counting down the seconds until you have to return to that hot, cramped, intense basement kitchen where you’ve been since 8:32.

You were 3 minutes late today and unusually, no one mentioned it.

Lunch service was quieter than dinner. It always is. But that means you had to prep during service, making shortcrust pastry on a bench where you barely have space to plate three dishes. But the pastry came out fine, and service came off without a hitch, and you were even set up by 11:45 so could sneak out for a fag before the first customers arrived.  

But it was a pushy morning, Get in, pack away the day’s orders, make a coffee for the kitchen (you are a junior chef and this is one of your most important jobs), talk through the day’s menu (it changes daily so this is an important chat), divvy up the jobs and get cracking. 

You arrived at work not hungover per se, but having had a couple after work yesterday, slept less well, for less time than you would have liked, and slightly bleary-eyed. As you do most days. But within half an hour of setting up the kitchen - turning on the gas, the lights, checking the fridges, and reading the handover notes from last night’s team - and getting your jobs, the adrenalin’s pumping, you’ve got a modest sweat on, and there’s no time to waste. 

Until 11:45 you’re working flat-out.

One thing to recommend kitchen work is this: it is an extraordinarily reliable way to blow out the cobwebs, and only the most monstrous hangover/comedown can’t be addressed by several hours of rushing around at top speed with a tight-knit team of people you like and trust, who are capable of raising your spirits, and will help dig you out when you’re in the shit. (This isn’t every kitchen, mind, but definitely the ones where you’d want to work). 

Also, stay hydrated! And if hungover, remember to snack constantly.

Kitchen life is one never-ending exercise in organisation and time-management, and it’s an environment you don’t have to be in for very long to realise this. When I started, I would get my jobs for the day, and immediately go for the quickest and simplest. ‘Easy wins’, you might call them, so by an hour in, half your prep list is done and you can chill.

HA!

‘Mate, why are you chopping chives now you fuckin’ idiot? That’s a 12 second job, do that right before service. Those globe artichokes - they’re gonna take at least an hour, then you need to strain them, then they need to cool before service, so if I were you I’d leave the chives and get on with that.’

I paraphrase, but those were pretty much the sous chef’s exact words.

Point taken. 

Get the big, time-consuming jobs working first then smash out the smaller ones after. In an office, you might want to fire off a couple of emails first thing to get them out the way before starting that slide deck that’s gonna take the rest of your day, but in a kitchen you do the opposite. 

Get your chicken stock on first thing cause we’ll need it for service in three hours, get the pumpkin prepped and in the oven before you start making salsa verde, get your section ready with time to spare ‘cause you’re also the one who has to drain that stock just before service, and if that means chopping chives when people are already sitting down for lunch…well, fine. 

It’s a 12-second job.

‘Hark work, long hours, low pay’ is how my very talented but sometimes grouchy (read: psychotic) first head chef described kitchen life. But this is to miss the point. 

It’s fun. It’s vocational. It's a community. It gives you random Wednesdays off, even if you’re working both Friday and Saturday night. You eat well, drink well, can chat, laugh and listen to music through much of the day, and when you walk out - probably sweaty, possibly greasy, probably feeling knackered yet adrenalised - you’re done for the day. No emails, no irritating requests from clients, no boss expecting you to work into the evening cause we just need to hit this deadline.

When you’re done, you’re done. And you can go out and have some fun.

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Dave’s Rec’s: 

Venues:

1. 40 ft Brewery, Dalston - great beers and run by lovely people

2. The Victoria Pub, Dalston - open till 1ish, nice crowd and good events

3. Voodoo Ray’s, Dalston - London’s late night food options can fall pretty short beyond kebabs which will repeat on you tomorrow, but a hefty slice from Voodoo Rays usually hits the spot

Areas: 

Pho Mile/Little Hanoi - whole stretch of Kingsland Road dedicated to Vietnamese restaurants - do your research on cheap and cheerful BYOB vs fancier end. Find the restaurants here.

Either way, no one leaves hungry!