Merriam-Webster defines The Witching Hour as, “the time late at night when the powers of a witch, magician, etc., are believed to be the strongest.”
For the first chef de cuisine I ever worked with, it meant 4:30 p.m. Exactly one hour before we opened for service.
“Ladies and gentlemen the witching hour is upon us!” he’d announce.
Being the young punk line cooks that we were we would roll our eyes and smirk to each other, but internally and physically we’d switch to overdrive.
An hour can go by like a minute when you’re in the weeds. There is no starting a new project at 4:30. If it’s not already in motion you’re screwed. No, this is the hour to start grabbing the rest of the items you need from the walk-in, sneak in one more cigarette, re-blend your sauces and chop that bunch of parsley that’s been waiting for you all day.
You could feel an immediate shift in the kitchen’s energy once those words were shouted. Joking and laughing ceased, smiles turned into game faces, everyone stepped up their pace times ten.
During this hour we’d start plating specials for line-up, chef would start wiping down the window and setting up expo station and the cooks would bite their tongues furiously as servers casually walked in to complain that we were “having the same thing two days in a row” for family meal as they overloaded their plates with food.
Ah the witching hour. When our powers are the strongest. When we are clear, amped up and mentally ready to go.
When you look to your fellow cooks, cheers a shot of espresso and say, “let’s do this.”