THE TACO BEAR
Does This Crunchwrap Supreme Represent Your Very Essence? Yes, Chef
The night Gordon Ramsay revolutionized a Taco Bell kitchen
It was a normal Thursday evening in Temecula. I had just started my night shift in the kitchen at the Taco Bell on Winchester Road. At 10:07 p.m., a tall man with a foreign accent and a haircut that cost more than any of us made in a week strolled up to the counter. Our cashier, Megan, recognized him right away and blurted out, “Oh my God, you’re Gordon fucking Ramsay!”
Gordon took Megan’s cursing exuberance in stride. “Thanks, love. Not many people know my middle name. Now tell me about your specials.”
Megan didn’t pick up on his sarcasm and described every special, using terms like “nacho cheese sauce” and “fiesta strips.” To multi-Michelin-starred chef Gordon Ramsay.
Gordon loved this. He was smiling ear to ear as our shift manager, Chip, came out of the bathroom and also recognized Gordon.
“No way! I’ve seen every episode of Hell’s Kitchen at least twice. It’s an honor to meet you, Chef,” Chip said as he forced an awkward handshake on Gordon.
Then Chip made an offer for Gordon. “Chef Ramsay, your meal is on the house tonight if you’ll just come back into the kitchen for five minutes and give my staff the business.”
Gordon laughed. “Sure. Why the hell not?”
Chip knew this was against corporate policy, but he had worked at Taco Bell for 5 1/2 months, so he was technically the most senior in-store employee in the nation.
Gordon rolled up his sleeves and dove right into the kitchen. “Mise en Place is impressive. Spot on.”
My co-worker in the kitchen, Jose, looked at me for clarity, but I shrugged.
Gordon saw our blank faces and explained, “It means all of your ingredients and tools are ready to go and well organized.”
We breathed a sigh of relief. But as soon as the first order came in, the whirlwind of verbal abuse began.
“This Big Cheez-It Tostada is a fucking crime scene! Does this look anything like the picture?” Gordon asked.
“No, chef,” I answered.
“And where is the meat on these Nachos BellGrande?! If you’re spending seven dollars on Taco Bell nachos, they should be drowning in ground beef.”
I tried to fix it by putting another scoop of beef on it.
“No! That’s a dead plate. Refire it.”
“And what the hell is this monstrosity?”
“It’s a Three Cheese Flatbread Melt,” I told him.
“Well, it looks like someone wrapped a soggy pancake around three kinds of diarrhea.”
Gordon smashed the Flatbread Melt with his fist.
“We eat with our eyes. And every restaurant is selling a culinary experience. Do you understand, chefs?”
“Yes, chef,” we all answered.
Chip realized that five minutes had already passed and politely gave Gordon an out. “Thank you so much, Chef Ramsay. This has been great. I know your time is very valuable.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Chip,” Gordon said. “We’ve got loads of work to do.”
Then chef Gordon Ramsay, Officer of the Order of the British Empire, spent the next 5 hours in our little Taco Bell kitchen teaching a master class in cooking technique, efficiency, and unbridled attitude.
Next out was a 12-pack of crunchy tacos.
“This is utter bullshit. These tacos are the foundation of this establishment! You people treat them like cafeteria sloppy joes. You owe your very employment to these perfectly balanced delivery vessels of salty goodness. Treat them like the royalty they are!”
Then he taught us kitchen terms like “behind,” “corner,” “hands,” and “heard.”
His abuse resumed: “Fucking hell. You Yankee shits and your lack of respect for dairy. The cheese on this Cheezy Gordita Crunch is the culinary glue that enables the successful marriage of crunchy taco shell and flatbread. You can’t just haphazardly plop it in there. It has to be consistent. Even. All the way to the edges.”
We all shouted, “Heard!”
Someone ordered a Chalupa Supreme. We braced ourselves. But Gordon saw it and laughed, “Bloody hell, I can’t get mad at something called a Chalupa. It’s such a silly fucking word.”
By 10:45 p.m., Gordon was completely dialed in. “Okay, we need to give the customers something to wet their appetites while they’re waiting 94 seconds for their food.”
Then he created an amuse-bouche from a single tortilla chip, a smear of guacamole, six tomato cubes stacked in a pyramid, three shreds of cheddar cheese delicately arranged like an asterisk, and a microdollop of reduced-fat sour cream on top. He made us give this to every single customer. Even in the drive-thru. It was an immediate hit. People started coming back through the drive-thru a second and third time to have it again.
When the indoor dining closed at midnight, we were a well-oiled machine. I found myself saying things like, “I’ve got 13 soft tacos all day, 86 the Cinnamon Twists, give me a large Nacho Fries on the fly, and stretch the Creamy Jalepeńo Sauce.”
Gordon watched me make a Black Bean Crunchwrap Supreme. “That’s the most elevated item on your menu, right?”
I nodded nervously.
“It’s perfect. Absolutely fantastic. You put a piece of yourself into that Crunchwrap. It will be the conversation piece of that car’s meal.”
We were all starting to get exhausted, but Gordon just kept going.
“It’s 1:39 a.m. These are your most discerning customers of the evening. They left the bar a few minutes early to avoid the drive-thru gridlock. Every fold on these wax paper wraps must be perfection. The greatest Origami masters in the world will have nothing on you tonight!”
Around 2:30 a.m., he said, “Okay. Let’s go to grad school. What beverage pairs best with a Cantina Chicken Burrito?”
Jose spoke up first: “Mountain Dew Baja Blast?”
“Yes chef! Brilliant!” Gordon exclaimed. “Jose is now your soda sommelier. You wouldn’t recommend a Tempranillo with a scallop crudo, so you wouldn’t recommend a Pepsi with a Cantina Chicken Burrito.”
When we closed at 3 a.m., Gordon whipped up a quick family meal: an herb-crusted rack of lamb made only from a mixture of beef and chicken with deconstructed taco seasoning. I have no idea where the bones came from. I think he’s a warlock.
By the end of the night, Chef Gordon Ramsay had destroyed much of our kitchen and wasted at least half of our ingredients. About 40 dollars worth. But he left us better chefs. Yes, we were chefs now. Not cooks. He also left us better people. We were the best Taco Bell in the world. For about a week. Then there was a full staff turnover, including Chip. And me. I got a job at the Applebee’s in Redhawk Towne Center that paid 50 cents more an hour.
Now, when I say things like “corner” and “behind,” no one gets it. But I like to think that somewhere out there, Chef Ramsay is smiling.
