The power of three

The last of the 420 crème brûlées are carried into the ballroom, and service at the Caterer & Hotelkeeper Chef Conference dinner - bar coffee and petits fours - is over.

It is the end of months of planning for Henry Brosi, executive chef des cuisines at the Dorchester hotel, London, which hosted the conference last week. Brosi, somewhat redder in the face than he had been three hours previously, permits himself a little smile. "I've been very pleased," he says.

It has been a tough task for Brosi. For the first time in the history of the Chef Conference, the dinner was to be prepared by three chefs: Brosi himself, three-Michelin-starred Gordon Ramsay and the internationally renowned Charlie Trotter, chef-proprietor of his eponymous restaurant in Chicago. Brosi had not only to co-ordinate his own team (responsible for the main course), but also oversee sections allocated to Ramsay (responsible for the amuse-bouche and pudding) and Trotter (starter). With such culinary maestros in the kitchen, the 420 diners - most chefs themselves - were expecting something very special. Dinner had to please possibly the most discerning audience imaginable.

Calm before the storm?

The day starts well: all afternoon, calm reigns. Preparation of the main course (fillet of Aberdeenshire beef, onion confit, fondant potatoes, wild mushrooms and Rully wine sauce) is well under way. At Trotter's station, three chefs from Aramark who have come to help (the contract caterer has links with Trotter and it is Aramark that has funded his trip), wait for orders. They are looking forward to working with Trotter: "He's inspirational," says Neil Perry, of the Police Training Centre, Basingstoke, who had asked Trotter directly if he could take part. Robbie Robertson of Conoco, Aberdeen, had already been to Trotter's restaurant; and Matthew Shackleton of Northern Rock, Newcastle, was looking forward to a trip in June.

In the pastry kitchen, meanwhile, head pastry chef Tony Hoyle painstakingly sticks sugar discs with the Caterer logo on to bases for the petits fours while others dip physalis and count out tuiles and truffles. Ramsay's vanilla crème brûlées (to be served with a jus Granny Smith) are ready, and wafer-thin apple slices are in neat piles ready to be arranged just before service.

By 5.15pm, activity levels at Trotter's station start to rise. He had announced during his masterclass demonstration an hour earlier that the starter (sea scallops with soya beans, ginger, hijiki and braised pig's tail) would be prepared à la minute. Six chefs are drafted in from Aramark units around London, dropping everything to get to the Dorchester in time to take instructions from Guillermo Tellez, David Lefevre and Sari Zernich, the three chefs Trotter has brought with him from Chicago.

The station is crowded, 12 chefs vying for space, most chopping onions, shallots and garlic, working quickly and accurately, heads down. Neil Perry looks up and jokes: "I've been chopping since 11am. It's ten to six and I'm still chopping." For a few minutes silence reigns as others count scallops. "There should be at least 1,200," booms Tellez bringing out trayloads.

Lefevre, meanwhile, is preparing sample starters, carefully placing minute cubes of tofu and gently tossing leaf with his fingers. Trotter is due any minute. "I hope that's the way he'll want it," says Lefevre to himself as much as to his colleagues. The three then work out timings: assuming a 7.45pm service, the job of searing 1,200 scallops wouldn't begin till 7.15pm.

At 6.15pm, Trotter appears. Cool, apparently unflappable, quietly-spoken, he greets every chef and thanks them for coming. Asked how he'll plate and serve 420 portions of scallops in minutes, he indicates the chefs: "We've brought in the A-team." Then, suddenly, he's in work mode, looking intently at Lefevre's samples, dipping his fingers to taste, asking opinions, moving quickly around the station, observing, before giving approval: "It'll work."

Upstairs in the banqueting kitchen, exquisite canapés are being plated. At 7pm, as the beef is brought up to be finished, canapés are sent out. "We'll blitz the room for 20 minutes, then we'll announce," Zoe Jenkins, the Dorchester's food & beverage manager, tells Brosi. "Ten minutes to seat them, a three-minute video and five-minute speech and we're on."

At 7.15pm Richard "Rusty" Wood, a senior sous chef at London's restaurant Gordon Ramsay, waits in the banqueting kitchen to get the cappuccino of haricot blanc with grated truffle under way.

"We're announcing in 10!" Jenkins calls out, marching into the kitchen. At the same time, trolleys arrive loaded with the ingredients for the Trotter starter and are quickly stored. "More dim sum, more fish cakes," cries one of the white-coated army of waiters going back out for a last round of canapés to take out to the pre-dinner Champagne reception.

"Check your tables, light your candles, go, go, go!" Zoe Jenkins calls to waiters. "Do chefs sit down quickly or slowly?" she asks, with a smile.

At 7.25pm Brosi claps his hands for attention as trays of demi-tasses appear for the cappuccino. Wood snaps into action. The four chefs who will pipette the cappuccino, check their equipment works, clicking the mechanism over and over as others spoon fragrant dollops of truffle into each cup and drop in the beans. It's delicate work, teaspoons chink on china, and the atmosphere is one of total concentration. Within 15 minutes 420 portions are ready for the cappuccino.

Half measures?

Ramsay arrives and the soup is added. "Just half full," shouts Brosi. "Check each cup before it comes down or it'll go straight back. Quick, quick, quick!" The first go out at 7.45pm, but waiters are slow in coming back. "Come on, come on!" shouts Brosi to the waiters. "Smells magnificent," Jenkins calls out, as if to encourage.

Five minutes later they're all out. "Very nice," says Ramsay, cradling a cup in his hands and taking a sip.

With no time to lose, tables are rearranged for the starter. Trotter, hands clasped in front of him, watches silently at the pass. "Is 8.05pm OK?" Brosi asks. Trotter nods briefly.

Ramsay stands back: "We'll leave this one to the pros," he says with a smile, as if foreseeing logistical problems in getting the starter out on time.

"Send some samples," says Trotter, looking down two lines of 30 or so chefs, some guarding pots of hijiki or pigs' tails, others ready with cubes of tofu or salad leaf. Signs of tension emerge - Trotter's hands are still clasped but he starts to twiddle his thumbs, quickly. It's 8pm. "Samples. Like, now!"

A moment later he urges silence. "Shh, shh. Are we ready to go?" He's going to enjoy this. He turns to Ramsay: "We've got to take this show on the road, a world tour!"

At 8.05pm the starters are on their way, each plate minutely checked by Trotter. "Less soy!… the plates aren't hot!… keep them coming!" he shouts, each comment met with a military "Oui, chef!" It's a slick operation, but with only two lines, it's slow, and Jenkins is desperate not to keep guests waiting. At 8.20 the brigade is two-thirds of the way through the covers. "Come on, come on," she urges, flitting between ballroom and kitchen.

Suddenly, at 8.30pm, the starters are served and Trotter steps back from the pass, serene.

Now it's Brosi's turn. The main course is more straightforward, all that's required being to garnish, place the fillet and add sauce. At 8.45pm the beef is on its way, swiftly and expertly, helped by the odd command from Brosi and Rudi Scholdis, executive sous chef, also on the pass: "Don't bang the plates! Too much sauce! Just on the beef and a bit around!"

Trotter's team watch. It's a chance for them to reflect. David Lefevre says: "The space was hard. The temperature of the scallops was good but it was hard to keep the plates hot. Now I want a beer."

Ramsay, meanwhile, is checking the crème brûlée. It's cool and airy in the Terrace room. While Wood flips the brûlées out of their foil containers on to plates, and caramelises them, Ramsay checks every pudding, irritated by having to discard ones that have collapsed.

By 9.05pm, Ramsay is demonstrating how he wants the eight apple slices arranged. "Two at a time, you'll get them symmetrical," he insists. "I want them pressed in, not lazy. Watch!" Some of the slices disintegrate: "Christ, they're fragile, specially with my spade hands," he says under his breath.

Ten minutes later, everything is ready and the frothed apple juice is decanted into jugs to be served at table. "Carry them straight or the brûlées will slide," Ramsay orders as the first go out.

Then, at 9.30pm, everything is suddenly quiet again. Frowns evaporate, backs are slapped: time for a moment's relaxation before snapping back on duty for a short walk across the ballroom to take a well-earned santé des chefs. If there is any lingering doubt that the dinner has gone down well, the gratifyingly sustained applause ringing in the ears of the 30 key chefs involved in preparing the dinner is proof that their work has not been in vain.