First things first, it’s important to dress the part. Chef Pete, as he is called by all of those fortunate to work under him, hands me a white chef’s coat and crisp apron, instructing me to fold and tie it at the waist just so. I puff out my chest, suddenly feeling important and strangely confident that I just might be able to pull this off. When he plops a black beanie, mandatory for all kitchen employees, onto the top of my head, I quickly shrink back down to size. I just might have to add wearing silly hats in public to my “things I’m deathly afraid of” list.

For what it’s worth, at 6-foot-1, with a slim, athletic build, the beanie does little to diminish Chef Pete’s commanding presence as he moves with lightning speed throughout his extremely clean kitchen. Gladstone’s is one of the few restaurants in Long Beach to receive a perfect scorecard from the Health Department, a distinction that Chef Pete worked doubly hard to earn.

“Start clean, build clean, serve clean,” has long been his professional motto. “Of course, if you do the first two correctly, the third one occurs naturally,” he adds with a wink. I instinctively move to the “for hand washing only” sink and scrub my hands. They’ll be dry as the finest brut Champagne by the evening’s end as I repeat this activity more times than I can count.

Properly attired and hygiene in check, it’s time to get cooking. Or so I thought. Instead, though, I’m feeling a large stack of round entrée plates to see if they are hot enough. Hot plates, it turns out, are essential to an enjoyable dining experience, as they help to keep food warm from the first bite to the last. It makes sense, but who knew?

“We need 17 more and rotate the bottom ones to the top,” Chef Pete calls out to his front-line crew. While the plates at Gladstone’s Long Beach may sit under a heating lamp, thus the need to constantly rotate the stack to keep them all at the same temperature, the food rarely does.

A 12-ounce New York, juicy, medium-rare steak only stays that way for so long. The time it takes to heat a plate can be just enough to turn cooked-to-perfection into overdone. Overdone steaks get sent back. Sent-back steaks get tossed in the trash. At a menu listing of $30 a pop, too many sent-back steaks can send a chef home packing, permanently.

The banquet menu Chef Pete has put together offers a starter’s choice of Boston clam chowder or Caesar salad. “It’s a hot one out today, I’m expecting most of the guests to go with the salad, probably an 80/20 split,” he lets me know.

FYI, chilled bowls are to salad what hot plates are to entrées. They say, “life is in the details”… I am quickly learning that goes double for being a successful chef.

It hits me that though I’ve watched Chef Pete perform many tasks, human calculator, weatherman, wardrobe stylist, to name a few, cooking has not been one of them. It’s not that he can’t cook—one bite of his ahi tuna special and you instantly know just how talented he is—it’s just I can see now there are so many other things a world-class chef has to be concerned with at the height of a dinner rush, cooking often takes a back seat.

Most of a chef’s cooking is actually done days or weeks beforehand when planning menus and creating recipes. Some may not even do their cooking at work, opting instead to cook at home using family or friends as tasters.

“Stop that,” Chef Pete gently scolds a fryer who’s twirling a set of tongs like a western gunslinger. It may look cool, but apparently it’s an easy way to slice a finger or two. “Make sure there’s enough utensils hanging above all the cooking stations,” he adds before heading out to the dining area.

Safety inspector, troubleshooter, drill sergeant, human resources rep, artistic director are just a few of the jobs Chef Pete seamlessly accomplishes on a daily basis. At the moment though, mind reader and clairvoyant are on deck as the banquet guests have arrived, and Chef Pete is busy watching them eagerly gobbling up mini crab cakes and bruschetta appetizers.

“We’re going to need more steaks.” With that, he darts back into the kitchen, leaving me to wonder… how could he possibly know that? “There are more male guests than I expected, and overall it just looks like a meat-eating crowd,” he tells me.

Besides the aforementioned steak, topped with fried onion strips, tonight’s menu includes a choice of Parmesan encrusted halibut (that looks deliciously like hash browns) or shrimp scampi served over angel hair pasta.

I dash back out to the dining room, quickly noticing he’s on point about the sex ratio, but nothing about this crowd screams “meat eaters” to me. Thankfully, Long Beach is not Hollywood, but it’s not Gilroy either. I spot enough slim builds, glowing tans and perfect white teeth to suggest the crowd could just as easily go heavy on the fish. Since I’m the newbie with absolutely no culinary experience and therefore should technically be stuck in the kitchen washing dishes, I say nothing and pray that Chef Pete is right.

A chef’s ability to predict what customers will order is as important as the secret ingredients that are sneaked into a signature dish. Guess wrong and disaster looms large. Chef Pete sums it up pretty succinctly, “You either have it or you don’t. You either need it or you don’t. When you don’t have it and you need it, God help you.”

The grill fry cook begins making more steaks, cooking them just long enough to sear in those gorgeous restaurant-style grill marks. Once done, they’ll be taken off the fire, held in a temperature- controlled tray, until the official order comes in, ensuring that every steak is cooked exactly the way the customer likes it.

Satisfied with the grilling, Chef Pete moves back to the prep area. It’s time to serve the salad. No utensils are used, just our washed and gloved hands. Chef Pete scoops a healthy amount of lettuce into each well-chilled bowl. I artfully sprinkle in a handful of Parmesan cheese with one hand while adding a slice of toasted baguette angled just so on the side of each bowl with the other. (I can’t cook, but I can decorate.) Five minutes later 80 beautiful Caesar salads are out the door. Admittedly my contribution was small and risk free, but I couldn’t resist the urge to walk out to the dining area to watch a roomful of people eat something I helped to prepare. I got a little pumped up when bowl after empty bowl were promptly scooped up by the busboys.

Back in the kitchen there is no time to celebrate as the official dinner entrée count has come in. I hold my breath but there is no need…Chef Pete has guessed correctly: 42 steaks, 33 halibuts, 19 shrimp scampis, and a few vegetarian plates.

“I’m right 99 percent of the time,” he offers up with a cocky smile. Though I’m happy for him, a small part of me was curious to see what would’ve happened if he got it wrong. The chaos that would have ensued…how would he and could he even execute Plan B?

Just like with the banquet guests, Chef Pete senses my doubts and reads me like a book. Before heading off to handle dessert he says, “No need to worry, I’m always thinking 20 minutes ahead.” Translation: he would’ve figured something out.

Though I never did technically “cook” for more than a party of one (I did fry up a single order of calamari), I’m no longer afraid to at least try. I learned enough from watching Chef Pete to see it’s all about the prep work and knowing your audience. Neither of which have a thing to do with cooking.