The grill line at Alinea (Photo: Michael Cirino)

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Michael Cirino. The frontman of traveling supper club A Razor A Shiny Knife got some serious ink this winter for his ambitious undertaking—a re-creation of chefs Grant Achatz and Thomas Keller’s 20-course bacchanal (read all about it here and here). Last month, in preparation for his Chicago dinner, Cirino was invited to stage at Achatz’s molecular temple, Alinea. We figured you’d want a peek behind that swinging door. Take it away, Mike:

I arrived in Chicago on the coldest day of the past 13 years—breathing hurt with a pain usually reserved for gunshot wounds. After squeezing in a quick slice of Chicago deep dish, I headed to my hotel, to stay up all night nervously sharpening my knives and giggling like a child waiting to go to Disney World (clearly the more anticipated Disney property by children on the East Coast of the United States).

I arrived at the back door of 1723 North Halstead at exactly 11:48, in what I believed was a prepared condition. I stumbled through the heavy steel portal to the building, cracked open the kitchen door and saw 30 people in chef’s whites moving with determination through a long room of pristine glass and stainless steel.

With what I thought was stealth, I crept into the kitchen and was immediately the subject of 28 questioning stares. It was another five seconds until the door closed behind me with a bang. I quickly introduced myself and was directed to the basement, where I found Mike Carroll—the amazing baker and day chef who prepares most of Alinea’s time-intensive components for the night shift to finish.

Mike, in a very gregarious mood, introduced me to the locker room (where I found my very own chef’s coat), as well as the supply room, the mop closet, the ice machine, two freezers, the bathroom, a linen press and a pile of well-used equipment. After this whirlwind tour, we proceeded upstairs.

The main kitchen at Alinea is a living machine; a magnificent culinary creation. People moved in waves around the room, but there were no collisions, no accidents, no loss of purpose, no conversation. Roughly 30 people were focused intently on one task: the flawless creation of the night’s meal.

I was not the only guest at Alinea; there were approximately ten others staging from all over the world, with varying levels of knowledge and experience. Bob was about 55 and had flown in from Perth, Australia, for a couple of weeks of abuse. There was a lovely gentleman from the Loire Valley in France, who was finishing up his two weeks and commanded the paraffin wax bowls for soup service with unparalleled precision.

I was paired with a lovely lady named Alice, and quickly took to running up and down stairs, procuring a list of ingredients whose value easily exceeded my rent. I scrubbed stainless steel, covered it in batter (much to my embarrassment) and scrubbed it again. I moved wherever there was a need for me, shaking hands and trying to learn a little bit about each person whom I worked with.

Then without warning it was 14:00—in Alinea parlance this means that everyone immediately stops what they are doing (literally) and cleans the entire workspace. The room was brutally scrubbed and the sheer force of action took me off guard. I have never witnessed this kind of militaristic rule over a team of people, and it was mind-blowing. Routine breeds tradition, tradition builds culture, culture creates a drive toward consistency.

What I assumed at first was an uncomfortable break in the middle of prep was soon revealed to be the secret of Alinea’s success.

It’s that militaristic control that allows Alinea to consistently create some of the best food in the world. And tonight, I’d get my first taste.

Tomorrow: Service!