Feast of Burden

Ah yes, those breezy days of early dusk are upon us, time to ponder the dinner season, when family and friends descend and the dysfunction begins. . . .

Not to worry, however. When the kitchen becomes a personal Alcatraz, think of Robert Nyerick. He is the executive sous chef at the elegant Regent Beverly Wilshire Hotel ballroom, where dinner is often for 800, not eight.

His job is more like that of a company commander than that of a restaurant chef. Recently, he directed dozens of his troops as the hotel ballroom hosted the Fashion Industries Guild of Cedars-Sinai Medical Center--a formal dinner to benefit the hospital and honor Maurice Marciano of the clothing company Guess.

It’s an enchanting affair, with guests enjoying mixed baby lettuce, grilled veal chops topped with wild mushrooms, freshly baked sourdough and mini opera cake topped with gold leaf. (Band members are treated to “assorted sandwiches, deli salads, soft drinks . . .” according to the hotel’s agenda.)

The tables are draped in white, right down to the white rose centerpieces. And each table has its own spotlight--each one’s a star. Upstairs is a VIP reception for 100 featuring champagne and vintage wine, while downstairs a more modest reception features two host bars and a pyramid of shrimp (backed by an ice sculpture shell).

“It’s like a fine dining room for 800,” says banquet manager Joel Montalvo.

But when it comes to cooking for 800, the preparation works like an assembly line. Here’s how it goes.

Montalvo plans events months ahead by working with the client--in this case, the Fashion Industries Guild. Once a date is set, he asks what they want and when they want it.

“I get together with the clients and set the agenda for the evening with them,” Montalvo says. “It takes a certain amount of time for each course, and we have to make sure and get that time.”

A couple of weeks ahead, Nyerick orders the food--fresh meat and bread that will get preparation in the hotel kitchen. For the Fashion Industries Guild party, that means 600 pounds of veal, 300 pounds of vegetables and 200 pounds of chocolate (for the dessert).

“I spend about a half hour each weekday just ordering food,” he says. “I control things by what I buy. . . . If I’m over by 100 pieces of food, then you lose profit.”

This particular dinner costs the Fashion Industries Guild $60 a plate, though the Guild will ask more than that of attendees in the name of Cedars-Sinai’s programs to provide medical care for needy children.

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A week before the event, the banquet and kitchen staffs meet to plan the night out, using clipboards to design and track their schedules.

As early as a day before the event, Nyerick orders the preparation to begin. The hotel butcher, for example, starts cutting the veal. Cooking starts in earnest the afternoon of the feast.

On the night of the dinner, Nyerick strolls through the kitchen like he’s on a walk in the woods.

Calm and casual, he comments here and there--Put the veal in the oven. Take the bread out. The execution is flawless as assistants shuffle dozens of racks of food in and out of the half-dozen chrome Blodgett ovens and into 129-degree warmers. One assistant carefully spreads butter across rows of artichokes topped with puree de carrots; 13 more trays await his attention. The smell of baked bread and crispy potato tart is ecstasy.

Nyerick is a conductor, orchestrating the culmination of a week’s worth of preparation. “We do everything we can at the last minute” to ensure freshness worthy of haute cuisine, he says.

But Nyerick’s kitchen must give a little leeway to banquet manager Montalvo in case, for example, a speech goes overtime.

“If we’re running late and we can’t help it, [Nyerick] will tell his kitchen to slow things down--just like at home when the guests are late,” Montalvo says.

“Everything usually works an hour ahead,” Nyerick says--about an hour before the reception. “We’re finishing up the reception food now.”

“Time,” he says, “is your biggest enemy.”

In another kitchen area, workers dump ice into water glasses, polish wine glasses and pile crisp white napkins onto trays.

Outside, waiters in white jackets set the tables and distribute programs for the evening. Montalvo is the conductor out here. He tells the waiters when to begin serving, he tells the band when to go on, and he opens and closes the reception bars. “I start and stop the orchestra,” he says, “and tell the kitchen when to serve the fish.

“You have incredible bar mitzvahs and weddings here,” he says as he navigates the vast ballroom, “parties where people drop $200,000 in one night. Tonight alone we have 10 tables that want Chateau Lefite ’76.”

He’s seen his share of celebrities.

“I’ve seen some incredible things--things I can’t talk about,” he says.

Meanwhile, Sam Wai directs the bar staff. He guesses this crowd will be a moderate-drinking one, and orders 100 bottles of wine and 150 bottles of champagne for the event.

Hotel general manager Peter O’Colmain surveys the scene with a confident smile. “I don’t know how the staff does it,” he says. “They pull this off night after night.”

Indeed. Dinner season at the Regent Beverly Wilshire is seven days a week, 365 days a year.