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For Jane and Peter Dixon

And for Nelly Reifler

The people and stories portrayed in this book are all true; however,
the author has changed the names of a few of those people in an effort
to minimize intrusions on their privacy.

Copyright © 2011 by Jonathan Dixon

All rights reserved.


Published in the United States by Clarkson Potter/Publishers, an imprint of the
Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
www.crownpublishing.com
www.clarksonpotter.com

CLARKSON POTTER is a trademark and POTTER with colophon


is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data


Dixon, Jonathan.
Beaten, seared, and sauced / Jonathan Dixon. — 1st ed.
p.  cm.
1. Dixon, Jonathan.  2. Cooks—United States—Biography.
3. Culinary Institute of America.  I. Title.
TX649.D59 A3  2011
641.5092—dc22     2010040145
[B]

ISBN 978-0-307-58903-3

Printed in the United States of America

Design by Stephanie Huntwork


Jacket photographs © Jetta Productions; David Atkinson (chef);
Rubberball/Mike Kemp (egg)

1  3  5  7  9  10  8  6  4  2

First Edition

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118 j o n at h a n d i x o n

sauce going—vinegar, shallots, and wine reduced and then added to a


measure of sauce espagnoles, seasoned, and finished with a good
chunk of butter. Sean gathered up what we’d need for the spaetzle and
when he’d gotten everything, I joined him.
Coyac was at our side before we even started mixing. “You guys
work like pigs,” he said. “Look at this,” he said as he gestured at our
table. There was flour all over the place, green bean tips scattered
across the table surface, piles of crumpled plastic that Joe had used for
the pork, rogue pieces of shallot, and an empty container of wine vin-
egar on my cutting board. “I don’t care if it’s all your mess”—he
pointed to Sean—“or none of your mess, but you do not let your sta-
tion get like this.” He looked at me. “What’s the matter with you? How
can you work like this? Do you live like this at home?”
He moved to Joe. “Why is this pork still out? Put it away. Put it
away. Now! Come on, let’s go. Where’s the spaetzle batter? You haven’t
done it yet? Oh, for God’s sake. For God’s sake. Come on! Why is that
sauce at a boil? You know what ‘simmer’ means? What does it mean?
Tell me.” I opened my mouth and then closed it. “Okay, we can look it
up after you turn the heat down. What? Do you need an invitation?
Turn it down! It’s probably burned already.” He walked away, then
turned back. “Before you do one more thing, clean that table. Wash
your cutting boards, wipe that table down. Change your bains-
marie. There’s no way you’re going to be ready for service. I can’t
believe this.”
I felt a flush of heat in my face. All of us kept our heads down and
did what we were told. Later, Sean and I stood over the spatezle
batter.
“It’s too thin,” I said. “I think we need to thicken it up.”
“No, it’s too thick. I was about to thin it out.”
Coyac yelled from behind us, “The spaetzle is fine!” Then he
screamed. “Cook! Cook! Cook!” We did.
Two tables over from us, Ox and a guy mysteriously named Twitch
were teamed with Lombardi. Ox and Twitch were both nice guys but
prone to making a lot of mistakes. A lot of mistakes. Since the first

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