Food Preparation Worker

Shift start & the prep list: par sheets, counts and asking the chef to repeat

• What's on my prep list today? — Your opening sentence of the shift, and the one that starts every good day. A prep list is the written list of what you're making today; a par is the number of each thing the kitchen wants on hand. Ask for the list before you pick up a knife — starting without it means prepping the wrong thing beautifully for two hours.
• How many do you need for tonight? — 🔴 The most useful question in this chapter. Chefs will say 'prep some more soup' and expect you to know the number. You are not being difficult by asking — you're preventing the two real failures: running out mid-service, or throwing away six quarts on Sunday. Get the number, every time.
• Sorry, chef — can you say that again? — 🔴 Learn this word for word and drill it until it's automatic. Chefs talk fast, half-turned away, over a hood fan. Native English speakers ask for a repeat constantly in this room — it is not a confession that your English is bad. And it costs you three seconds, where a guess costs you a whole batch.
• The par sheet says six pans, but I only see four. — The exact shape of a useful report: what the paper says, what your eyes see, no conclusion. Real kitchens run on par sheets that don't match the cooler — one prep cook described a whole system of labeling and lists while the line still guessed. Just say the two numbers and let the chef decide.
• We're low on chicken — should I prep more? — 🔴 Say it while there's still some left, not when it's gone. 'Don't wait until there's nothing left — tell us when you're running low' is a real chef instruction, and it's the whole job of a good prep cook. Low is information the chef can use. Empty is an emergency you handed them.
• Do you want me to start with the soup or the mise? — The order question, asked once at the top. When you've got six things on a list and four hours, the sequence matters more than the speed — and the chef has the whole night in their head and you don't. Ask once, then don't ask again for an hour.
• I finished the prep list — what else do you need? — The sentence that gets you kept. Standing still is what gets a prep cook noticed badly; walking up with 'what else do you need?' gets you noticed well. It's five words, it's easy English, and it does more for you than a big vocabulary ever will.

The kitchen register: Behind, Corner, Sharp, Heard, 86

• Behind! — 🔴 The most important word in the kitchen, and the one you must react to before you've finished thinking. It means someone is passing directly behind you — very often carrying something hot or sharp. 🔴 Honest and important: working cooks genuinely disagree about whether it means 'freeze' or 'get out of the way' — there's a real, unsettled argument about it. So don't guess: freeze, stay small, and don't spin around. Turning to look is the one reaction that gets you burned.
• Hot behind! — The same call with the danger named: hot pan, hot oil, or a burning-hot hotel pan is coming past your back right now. Same reaction — freeze, stay narrow, do not turn around. And say it yourself every single time you carry anything hot, even in an empty kitchen. The habit is what saves someone on the night it isn't empty.
• Corner! — Shouted before rounding a blind corner, because a hot kitchen has walls you can't see through and someone is always coming the other way with a full sheet tray. It's a question and an announcement at once. If you hear it, hold up a second and let them come — and shout it yourself, every corner, every time.
• Sharp! — Knife in hand, moving through the room. Hearing it means someone is walking with a blade near you — hold still and let them pass. Saying it is not optional when you're the one carrying: a cook described the real danger of a kitchen that doesn't enforce this, including someone swinging a knife point-first past other people.
• Heard! — 🔴 The one you must SAY, and the sentence this whole chapter is built on. It means 'I received that instruction, I understood it, it's happening.' 🔴 Saying nothing is not an acceptable answer in an American kitchen — a cook writing a glossary for new staff called calling these out 'a sacred rule.' If you didn't understand, don't say 'heard.' Say 'say again?' — 'Heard' means you've got it, so it's a promise.
• 86 the salmon. — 🔴 '86' means we are out of it — stop using it, stop prepping it, take it off. It's a verb: '86 the salmon,' '86 cherries,' '86 noodles.' You will hear it every shift and nobody will ever explain it to you. The rare opposite is '68' — it's back, restock it. If you hear a number and an ingredient together, this is what's happening.
• All day? — Means: how many of that item do we need in total, right now, across every ticket working? So a chef shouting 'six risotto all day' isn't asking for six more — it's six total counting the two you've already got going. Mishearing 'all day' as 'in addition' is how a prep cook silently doubles the order.
• FIFO that walk-in. — FIFO is first in, first out — the oldest product gets used first, so it's the rule for how you stack. Said as a plain instruction: pull the old stuff forward, put the new stuff behind it. It's also the reason date labels exist, which is ch3's whole business. Nobody will define this for you either.
• Make a hole! — Someone is coming through with something big, heavy, or hot and needs a path right now. This one is unambiguous: move, and move toward a wall or a station, not into the middle of the aisle. Don't finish your cut first.

Temperatures, logs & date marks: the numbers and how to report a bad one

• Temp the walk-in. — An instruction, not a question: go check the temperature of the walk-in cooler and come back with a number. 'Temp' is a verb in this kitchen — you temp a cooler, you temp a chicken, you temp the soup. The right answer to it is a number, not 'it's fine.'
• What's it reading? — 'What number is on the thermometer?' — the follow-up to everything. 🔴 The answer is the number you actually saw. Not 'about right,' not 'looks okay.' Someone will make a real decision about real food from what you say next, so read it off the display and say it exactly.
• It's reading 55 on the meat — that's out of temp. — 🔴 The complete report, and the model for this whole chapter: the number, where you took it, and the plain conclusion. Cold food is supposed to be held at 41°F or below; 55°F is deep in the danger zone. A worker who found exactly this in a real walk-in mid-shift documented it with timestamped photos before telling anyone — that's not paranoid, that's smart.
• Is that in the danger zone? — 🔴 The number to memorize: the temperature danger zone is 41°F to 135°F, where pathogens multiply fastest. Cold holding is 41°F or below; hot holding is 135°F or above. Everything in this chapter is one of those two numbers. If you know 41 and 135, you can answer almost any temp question in the building.
• This has been out for two hours — do you want me to toss it? — The question, asked instead of the decision. Cooked food being cooled has to go 135°F down to 70°F within 2 hours, then 70°F down to 41°F within 4 more — 6 hours total. The first stage is the dangerous one. You are not the one who decides to throw away product; you're the one who says the hours out loud and asks.
• I don't think this is safe to serve. — 🔴 The hardest sentence in this chapter and the one worth learning exactly. It's honest, it's not accusing anyone, and it puts the problem where it belongs — with the chef or PIC. Say it calmly, say it once, and say it to the person in charge. Whatever happens next, you said it — and that matters more than you think. If it keeps happening, ch6 has the rest of this conversation.
• Did you want me to log it? — The temperature log is the written record: what you read, when, and who read it. 'Log it' means write the number down. 🔴 Write the number you actually took — never fill in a log for a temp you didn't take, and never write what the number is supposed to be. A log full of invented numbers is worse than no log, because now everyone trusts it.
• This is dated the fourth — that's day seven today. — Date marking: food you made in-house that's ready to eat and kept longer than a day gets a date on it, and at 41°F or below it's got a maximum of 7 days, counting the day you made it as day 1. That's why a Sharpie is prep-cook equipment. You read the label, you say the day out loud, and the chef calls it.

🔴 Allergens: the 9, the clean station, and never 'just pick it off'

• Table 4 has a nut allergy. — 🔴 The call that changes everything you're about to do. It's not a preference and it's not a note about taste — it's a medical fact about a person sitting forty feet away. The instant you hear it, your hands stop and your station resets. Everything else in this chapter follows from taking this sentence completely seriously the first time you hear it.
• Heard — allergy order. Clean board, fresh gloves. — 🔴 The complete correct response, and it's three things: you acknowledge, you name what it is, and you say the protocol back. Because you're not just agreeing — you're telling the chef, out loud, that the right thing is about to happen. A clean board and fresh gloves are the minimum, and there's no version where you skip them because you're busy.
• What exactly are they allergic to? — 🔴 Ask, and ask before you start. 'Nut' isn't precise enough to cook from and neither is most of what comes through the door. A server once had to explain to a head chef that a 'red meat allergy' actually meant every mammal ingredient — dairy, gelatin, all of it. Allergy conversations need a follow-up question. Ask it.
• Is there sesame in that? — 🔴 The one people miss. Sesame is the NINTH major food allergen — it was added by the FASTER Act, signed in 2021, and it's been in effect for labeling since January 1, 2023. The full nine: milk, egg, fish, Crustacean shellfish, tree nuts, wheat, peanuts, soybeans, and sesame. 🔴 If you learned a list of eight somewhere, that list is out of date. It's nine now.
• I can't just take it off — I have to make it again. — 🔴 The absolute center of this chapter. 'Just pick it off' does nothing: the allergen is already on the plate, on the food, in the oil, on your gloves. Picking off the walnuts does not make it a nut-free salad. There is no version of removing an allergen from a finished dish. You throw it out and you start over, on a clean station.
• This is an allergy order, not a preference. — The sentence for the moment somebody on your line treats it as fussiness. Preferences are 'no onions because I don't like onions.' Allergies send people to the hospital. When you're not sure which one a ticket is — treat it as an allergy. Being careful about a preference costs a minute; being casual about an allergy costs someone a lot more.
• New gloves before you touch that. — You'll hear it and you should say it. Gloves that touched the allergen carry it perfectly onto the next thing — the gloves aren't protecting the guest, changing them is. 🔴 And remember the other glove rule underneath this one: ready-to-eat food never gets bare hands, allergy or not. Utensils, deli tissue, tongs, or single-use gloves. That's a hard rule, not a preference.
• I'm using a clean board and a clean knife for this one. — Said out loud, to the chef and to yourself. Cross-contact is invisible — a board that looks perfectly clean can carry enough allergen to put someone in an ambulance. Saying it out loud is how a kitchen keeps itself honest, and it's how the chef knows without having to watch you.

Cleaning, sanitizing & the health inspector

• Change your sani bucket. — The sani bucket is the bucket of sanitizer solution with a rag in it that lives on your station. It gets changed — when it's dirty, when it's gone weak, on the schedule your kitchen keeps. Food debris in the bucket eats the sanitizer's strength, so a filthy bucket is a bucket of nothing that still makes you feel clean.
• Can I get a test strip? I want to check the concentration. — 🔴 The best sentence in this chapter, and it's the opposite of a dumb question. A test kit that actually measures the concentration has to be on hand and used every time a solution is mixed — a sink or a bucket. 🔴 Never eyeball it. And more is NOT better: a worker wrote a detailed warning to other cooks about over-concentrating sanitizer and the chemical burns and skin damage that come from doing it wrong.
• What are we mixing this at? — The concentration question, and each chemical has its own number: chlorine runs about 50–99 ppm, quat is commonly around 200 ppm, iodine about 12.5–25 ppm, peracetic acid per the label. 🔴 The real answer is always 'whatever the manufacturer's label says, verified with a test strip' — the label and the strip beat anything you remember, including this sentence.
• This needs to be sanitized before I use it. — Said plainly, about a board, a slicer, a bin, a scoop. Not an accusation of anyone — just a fact about a thing. It's a completely normal sentence in a professional kitchen and nobody will think twice about it. Say it and then go do it, rather than using the thing and feeling bad.
• That rag's been in there all morning — let me get a fresh one. — A rag that's been sitting is carrying everything it wiped up. 'This rag's been in there too long, get a fresh one' is real, standard kitchen talk. And here's the pre-inspection detail worth knowing: a real checklist for getting new staff ready specified that each sani bucket has its rag 100% down in the bucket — not draped over the side drying out.
• Let me get the manager. — 🔴 THE sentence for a health inspector, and honestly the whole reason this half of the chapter exists. Learn it word for word. You are not the person who answers an inspector's questions about the operation — that's the manager or PIC. This isn't dodging; it's the correct professional answer, and it's what an inspector expects to hear from a prep cook.
• One moment — I'll get the person in charge. — The same move, in the words the code itself uses. The PIC — Person in Charge — is a real, defined role in an establishment, not just whoever's senior today, and an inspection is a PIC conversation. Get them. Then go back to your station and keep working normally.
• The logs are right here — the manager can walk you through them. — 🔴 Hand over what's asked for, honestly, and get the person who explains it. 🔴 Never hide product, never scramble, never improvise an explanation for a violation. There's a famous, half-joking thread about the three-minute panic before the inspector reaches the back — that's a joke about a bad kitchen, not a plan. Transparent and boring is the correct posture.

🔴 When something goes wrong: sick, hurt, on fire

• I'm throwing up — I can't come in today. — 🔴 The single most important sentence in this pack, and the one you will be most afraid to say. Vomiting is a reportable symptom: you must tell the Person in Charge, and you must not handle food. Say it plainly and don't apologize for your body. You are not letting the kitchen down — you are doing the exact thing the law asks of you, and the reason the rule exists is that fear like yours is normal and predictable.
• I have a fever and a sore throat — I don't think I should be handling food. — 🔴 Sore throat WITH fever is one of the five reportable symptoms, and this sentence is the honest, complete report. Notice what it does: it gives the facts and names the food-safety consequence, without asking permission or arguing. Say it to the PIC. It's their decision what happens next — but only if you tell them.
• These are the symptoms I have to report — vomiting, diarrhea, jaundice, sore throat with fever, or an infected cut. — 🔴 The five, and they're worth memorizing exactly. Vomiting. Diarrhea. Jaundice — yellowing of the skin or eyes. Sore throat with fever. An infected open wound or lesion with pus, on your hand, wrist, or anywhere exposed. Any one of them goes to the PIC. Not to a friend on the line — to the Person in Charge.
• The doctor diagnosed me with Salmonella — I know I feel okay, but I have to report it. — 🔴 The rule almost nobody knows, and it's the one that stops outbreaks. Six illnesses have to be reported to the PIC even when you have NO symptoms at all: Norovirus, Hepatitis A, Shigella, STEC (that's Shiga toxin-producing E. coli), Salmonella Typhi, and nontyphoidal Salmonella. Feeling fine changes nothing. A diagnosis is the trigger, not how you feel.
• I understand — I'll do dish and prep-free work until you clear me. — 🔴 What 'restricted' means, and why reporting isn't automatically losing your shift. After a report the PIC decides: EXCLUDE — you can't work in the establishment at all — or RESTRICT — you can't work with exposed food, clean equipment, or unwrapped single-service items, but you can do other duties. Sometimes honesty costs you a station, not a day. That's their call to make, and they can only make it if you tell them.
• I know we're short-staffed — but I'm sick and I can't handle food today. — 🔴 For the pressure, which is real and which you should expect. A worker with a worsening sore throat and fever was denied a call-out twice and mocked for coughing. That is improper pressure, and it's the reason the rule isn't a suggestion. 🔴 This pack will never tell you to hide being sick. Say it once, plainly, to the PIC. 'We need you, come in anyway' does not change what your symptoms are.
• Table 6 is having an allergic reaction — call 911 now. — 🔴 You are not a medic and you do not wait and see. Alert the manager and get 911 called immediately — that's the whole action, and the speed is the point. 🔴 If the guest has an epinephrine auto-injector, it is THEIR OWN device, for them or a trained bystander or EMS to use. You don't diagnose how bad it is and you don't administer anything. Recognize, alert, 911.
• Turn the burner off — get a lid on it! — 🔴 A grease fire, and here's the number one rule of this whole chapter: NEVER WATER. Water is denser than oil — it sinks under the burning grease and flash-boils, blasting burning oil out across the room. It makes it dramatically worse and it's how people get catastrophically burned. Turn the heat off and smother it: slide a metal lid or a sheet pan over the pan to cut the oxygen.
• Don't move that pan — leave it, everybody out. — 🔴 Two hard rules. Never carry a burning pan — you'll spill it on yourself and trail fire across the kitchen. And if it isn't immediately, easily contained by a lid, that's it: stop, get out, call 911. A growing kitchen fire is not something a prep cook fights alone. Know where the exit is before you ever need it.
• I cut myself — I need to stop and get this covered. — Stop working immediately. Direct pressure with a clean cloth or dressing, get first aid, and 🔴 never keep prepping through it — blood on food is a real problem and so is your hand. If it's serious, 911. And remember the other half: once a cut is infected and has pus in it, that's a reportable symptom that goes to the PIC, not something you cover with a glove and hope about.
• Get that under cool water — how bad is it? — A burn. General public-safety guidance is cool — not ice-cold — running water over it, then cover it with a clean dressing, and get real medical attention for anything beyond minor. 🔴 That's general safety guidance, not something specialized you're qualified to judge. If you're asking yourself how bad it is, that's your answer: get it looked at.
• He's choking — someone call 911! — 🔴 The most important word here is 911, and the most important fact is that trained people do the rescue. FDA's own choking guidance endorses the established Red Cross/AHA sequence — for someone who's actually trained in it, while another person calls 911. 🔴 If you're not trained, you get help and you get 911, immediately. That is a real and complete contribution. Doing nothing but shouting for the trained person is not failing.
• Chef — I need you over here right now. — 🔴 Your all-purpose emergency sentence, and it works for everything in this chapter. Short, urgent, no explanation. You are not a manager and you're not a medic: your job is recognize it, get the PIC or manager, call 911 for anything real. 🔴 Nobody in an American kitchen will ever be in trouble for calling 911 when something was genuinely wrong. Doubt is the reason to call, not the reason to wait.
• Say that again — slower, please. — 🔴 Your lifeline, and it belongs in the urgent chapter specifically. When it's a 911 operator, or a manager talking fast at you during something bad, or your own panic making the English disappear — this sentence buys you a repeat. Never nod at something you didn't understand. In this chapter, guessing has consequences you can't take back.