Whites heat

The idea was dreamt up on a December afternoon in a haze of seasonal good cheer and laughter. Why didn't I help out Avenance's team of chefs competing in La Parade des Chefs at Hotelympia? As a journalist and rookie commis chef, I'd experience all the drama the six-strong team go through during their rigorous preparation.

The idea was to be in the thick of - but not the cause of - the tears, the tantrums, the flare-ups, the smashing, the burning and, of course, the triumphs and the joy. Avenance group executive chef Rob Kirby assured me the team would be shedding "blood, sweat and tears". How could I refuse?

Kirby had already competed three times, winning two gold medals and one silver. So why continue to do it? Surely he could concentrate on his role of judging the many other competitions at Hotelympia. "I don't get to wear my chef's jacket as much now," he explains. "It's a chance for me to get back in my whites but, more importantly, gain respect from my peers and the boys."

The team is made up of six head chefs from various Avenance contracts, picked by Kirby for their complementary skills and strengths. They've got an impressive track record to live up to, and it seems La Parade gets tougher every year. This year, there are more judges, fewer teams and, unlike previous years, all their ingredients must be British.

Competing in La Parade des Chefs is a serious commitment that leaves time for little else. First-time competitor Mark Crowe hasn't seen much of his wife and sons over the past few weeks, and Kirby is not a popular man in the Crowe household. Two-year-old George Crowe has cut Kirby's face out of Avenance's brochure, pasted it into his Bob the Builder book, and keeps defacing it with crayons. With the team sleeping only about four hours a night, partners have to be patient and understanding. For three months everything else is on the back burner.

Regardless of little George's opinion, the affectionate mickey-taking and warmth from the team tell you how much Kirby is respected and loved.

3 February
Team meeting
The menu, developed in November, is challenging, to say the least. Rabbit and smoked black pudding for the starter, a "surf-and-turf" main course of salmon and pork, and a dessert using goats' cheese and apple sorbet. Kirby explains: "They're all ‘risk' dishes. I could give the 100 diners at Hotelympia the best smoked salmon and the perfect roast beef, and they'd love it, but it's not going to win any prizes because the judges want to see risk dishes."

In addition to their regular jobs, the team are working flat out, four nights a week, until Hotelympia. So far, they've completed two "pressure runs" attended by Avenance clients, management and staff who are invited to e-mail their thoughts and comments on the dishes. The team responds, and the menu gets tweaked along the way. There are three more pressure runs before the big day. Why so much talk of pressure? Another rookie competitor, Clare Burch, explains: "We need to re-create the pressure we'll be under on competition day. Every week, we move to a different kitchen, so we never get comfortable. We need to be on our toes. Sometimes Rob will throw in a few more unexpected covers just to push us that extra bit further."

Kirby goes over progress so far and feels the team is running behind. The mood is sombre. The first pressure run went well, but the second was a shambles. "The parsnips aren't crispy enough, the rabbit leg is tough, the hollandaise needs more seasoning," he says. The mains? "The salmon needs sorting out - its consistency, and the pastry. The onions deteriorated during service."

Pudding? "Wrong biscuit size. Where was the Demerara? The goats' cheese is too strong." Kirby warns: "It can taste too acidic."

Anything else? The rose petals need to be bought in bulk before St Valentine's Day pushes the price past £5 per stem.

"Up your game," is Kirby's tough message. "We need more discipline at service time." The team know it in their hearts, but it's good to have it spelt out.

5 February
Third pressure run
At client Amerada Hess, an oil exploration company near London's Victoria, things are looking better. "They're focused," Kirby says when I arrive for the 60-cover dinner.

Seven o'clock arrives and service flashes past, with Kirby delivering a volley of barked orders from the pass. We respond in military style: "Yes, chef;" "No, chef."

I don't get too involved, because I need to see what's happening. Getting hungry, I decide to gobble some leftover rabbit Danny Leung is carrying to the potwasher. Suddenly, he shouts: "Don't eat it! It's not cooked!" Dennis Mwakulua catches me, still hungry, chomping on an apple. "I'd have sacked you by now if you were in my kitchen," he laughs. The chefs are running on adrenalin and not thinking of their own stomachs.

A setback comes when a table of six turns up out of nowhere. Everyone thought the main courses had gone and all the dishes have to come out again. It becomes a game of stamina.

Kirby calls a meeting: "Tony, we need to stop vegetarians. They're seeing the word ‘rabbit' and asking for a vegetarian. There's no way there were 20 vegetarians there tonight. It's statistically impossible. It's not helping us. Dennis, the dessert has come a long way but the sorbet was rubbish. It let you down. And Danny, do not ever serve a raw rabbit."

Guests give their verdict. One doesn't like the surf-and-turf combination, and the general feedback is that the taste of the goats' cheese dessert is too strong.

13 February
Kirby phones, excited about how the fourth pressure run went. Feedback on the dessert has been taken on board. Goats' cheese is used only in the centre of the dish, rolled into a ball, and coated with praline and chocolate. The main cheesecake mix no longer contains any goats' cheese. A Good Food Guide critic who happened to be at the dinner called it "ravishing", and compared the surf-and-turf main course to a meal he had had at the French Laundry.

17 February
Final pressure run
I get more involved for the last practice at Lloyds of London. Leung has ingeniously used cable ties to bind together the saddle of rabbit. They need to be cut with a pair of mini-pliers. I then dip the pork belly strips in their glaze and store them ready for service.

During service, I feel the pressure the team are under and the perfection they demand when assembling the seven components that make up each starter.

Moving on to help with the desserts, I appreciate the steady hand, delicacy and precision required. There is a confidence in the kitchen tonight and we end the evening on a real high. "We were flying," Kirby says. "We could have done another 100 covers, no sweat." Bring on the big day.

23 February
Competition day
After staying at the Thistle Tower hotel together, we greet the freezing day at 5am. Security staff at ExCel in London's Docklands didn't let us leave the kit there so, like a gang preparing a bank heist, we troop off to Lloyds of London to load the food and equipment.

If anything goes wrong, the team have back-up, which includes three freezers and three sorbet machines. It's still nerve-racking, because forgetting one tiny thing could cause a major problem. Once back at ExCel, at 8am the team eagerly get stuck in.

Competition rules mean I'm left out of the kitchen. Like the rest of the public, I watch their progress through the windows. Everything goes smoothly, including service. The team clean down and, with bated breath, wait until 5pm for the judges' verdict.

They are called to the podium to collect an award for the cleanest kitchen, which is a good start. Then the judges read out the final verdict. A bombshell drops - bronze. A dark cloud passes over the team's faces - they weren't expecting anything less than silver. Through gritted teeth, Kirby whispers: "Keep smiling," as they mount the podium to receive their medals.

Ten minutes later they stand in a daze. Some are in tears. In an effort to keep morale up, Kirby tells them: "We did everything we could. We delivered and did the best we could on the day. None of you have let me down." But the disappointment is obvious.

Having had virtually no sleep for the past 48 hours, the team are emotionally and physically drained. They go back to the hotel and try to wind down over drinks and a Chinese meal. Kirby calls later to say: "I had a feeling we'd get a silver. I am gutted. It felt like a sledgehammer between the eyes."

The next day he has overcome the initial impact of the news and is in a more reflective frame of mind. The judges have given him a full breakdown of the scoring and, as a judge himself, he understands the nature of the task.

"I am obviously disappointed by the result," he sums up. "Over a period of six weeks we have served more than 400 covers, both to clients and to members of the catering industry. On the day itself, four people judged us. I respect their decision and live to fight another day."

Clearly, there's no keeping a good man down. Does that mean you'll be back for more in two years' time, Rob? "Is the Pope Catholic?" comes the swift reply, as he heads off to get some much-needed sleep. n