Could an overly “hands-on” approach by an Executive Chef affect the consistency of their food? During a breakfast meeting with Joel Robuchon, I observed him take only a single bite or sip of each product, believing this method offered the most accurate assessment. These tasting sessions were vital to his research and development process with his core team. Over time, this practice evolved into the concept of tasting menus, which began appearing for customers in the 1980s. Today, tapas and small bites have largely taken their place, but the concept of sampling small, intentional portions remains popular.
Historically, most Executive Chefs stayed in their offices, evaluating dishes delivered by their cooks. This wasn’t a matter of ego, but a way to assess food in a controlled environment, free from the sensory overload of a busy kitchen. Scientifically, once the mind and body become saturated, one’s ability to taste diminishes. For example, try describing a dish after consuming a large portion—it’s often harder to assess it accurately once satiety sets in.
Traditional images of kitchen leadership depicted the Executive Chef at the pass, in the dining room, or in their office—not working the line. That role was left to the Chef de Cuisine, Sous Chef, or station chefs. The Executive Chef functioned as the final taster, ensuring their palate remained unaffected by constant exposure to noise, heat, and other distractions. At the Greenbrier, Sous Chefs wore ties beneath their jackets—a standard that changed when Hartmut Handke arrived, marking a shift toward a more hands-on style. Still, wearing an apron meant he was stepping in to cook personally. These small but significant details reflected our roles as apprentices—always learning, tasting, and teaching.
In today’s kitchens, Executive Chefs are often deeply involved in day-to-day operations, focusing on systems, speed, accuracy, and team instruction. Yet it remains critical that their approach to tasting stays as pure and unbiased as possible. Given the complexity of modern kitchens, accurate recipes have become indispensable tools for multitasking chefs. Hiring more culinary staff to take over the chef’s responsibilities is rarely financially viable. Instead, standardized processes and well-defined vendor specifications help maintain quality.
What I find missing in many kitchens today is clarity between the task and the mission of each dish. Tasting with the full attention that “this is the only thing I’m doing right now” is a rare discipline. For most line cooks, speed and productivity are what matter to their immediate customer: the service staff. They rarely interact with guests directly. But if they did, perhaps they’d pause, taste, and adjust more thoughtfully. Instead, in quick-service or casual restaurants, convenience products often replace real tasting. These products are pre-seasoned for consistency, so cooks don’t have to taste. The downside? Cooks who come from such environments often haven’t developed the habit of tasting.
Those who have worked in Michelin-starred kitchens understand the balance between creativity and strict adherence to tested recipes, ratios, and flavor profiles. Even renowned chefs like Thomas Keller rely on exacting procedures—for instance, having detailed recipes even for blanching liquids. In an environment with high staff turnover, written recipes are essential for consistency. Pastry chefs have long understood this: Everything is based on formulas. I recall one of our former line cooks who took a job at a Michelin three-star restaurant. A few months later, he told me, “Nothing is done without a picture, a description, and a tasting.” Ironically, he had left us seeking more creative freedom, believing our kitchen was too tightly controlled.
I’ve learned that my own taste couldn’t always be trusted, especially during busy days filled with constant exposure to food. Our recipes became the objective standard. Many times, my personal assessment differed from what the recipe called for, yet the documented version produced better, more consistent results. These discrepancies were shaped by sensory fatigue and a buildup of imbalanced flavors throughout the day.
True creativity is born from a deep understanding of foundational techniques and flavors, which is best achieved by mastering established recipes. Over time, this mastery allows chefs to innovate with confidence. Five years ago, I began working with watercolors. At first, I copied pictures. Later, I observed how pigments reacted with paper, water, and other colors. In art, the color wheel is our recipe—it provides the framework for creation.
Training today should emphasize the importance of regular tasting and maintaining clarity during evaluations, even when preparing large volumes. In established kitchens, chefs conduct pre-service tastings of sauces, stews, and stocks. More innovative operations may use brines or marinades to build in consistency, while well-crafted recipes help prevent errors and enhance reliability.
Pastry departments are the gold standard for consistency—line cooks never adjust sugar levels during plating. In contrast, savory cooks often modify seasoning on the fly. Consider the example of a Caesar salad: when greens are properly dried and ingredients are balanced in advance, there’s no need for last-minute corrections. Yet in many kitchens, blanching water, seasoning mixes, or finishing oils often lack recipes, making consistency difficult to maintain.
Procurement also plays a critical role. Purchasing managers should have access to up-to-date recipes, as ingredient variations—such as differences in salt, sugar, cream, or butter—can significantly alter results. Digital recipe databases now support catering, allergen management, and overall consistency, reflecting the growing need for transparency and precision in today’s culinary landscape.
