Food Preparation Worker — On-the-job English
Study in your language — but on the job you'll speak English. These are the real phrases you actually say for this work, with a note in your language. Not a script; common situations workers report.
Quick drill — pick the best answer, see why. Saved on this device.
✍️ Practice theseShift start & the prep list: par sheets, counts and asking the chef to repeat
The shift starts with paper, not with a knife. Two words to get straight: your prep list is what you're making today, and a par is how many of each the kitchen wants on hand. 'What's on my prep list today?' is your opening line, every day. Here's what nobody tells new prep cooks: the paper is often wrong. Real kitchens run par sheets that were filled out after someone glanced in the cooler, hand-written on notebook paper, and the line still guesses. That's normal, and it's why your eyes matter — 'the par sheet says six pans, but I only see four' is exactly the right sentence. Two numbers, no argument, let the chef decide. Now the two questions that make you good at this job. 🔴 'How many do you need for tonight?' — because chefs say 'prep more soup' and expect a number to appear in your head. Ask for it. And 🔴 'we're low on chicken — should I prep more?' — said while there's still chicken. 'Don't wait until there's nothing left' is a real chef's instruction, and it's the whole difference between a prep cook who helps and one who hands the line an emergency at seven o'clock. Last, the sentence to drill until it's automatic: 'Sorry, chef — can you say that again?' Chefs talk fast, over a fan, facing away. Native speakers in that room ask for a repeat all night long. It is not embarrassing. Guessing is embarrassing — it's two hours of the wrong thing.
- 🗣️ You say
Morning, chef. What's on my prep list today?
Short, awake, and it puts the paper in your hand before you start. Notice you're not asking what to do — you're asking for the list. That's a prep cook who's done this before.
- 👂 You'll hear
Board's up. Get through the soup and the mirepoix first, then knock out some more of that chili — we're getting low.
Three tasks and an order. 'Knock out' means make, quickly. 'Some more' is the problem word — there's no number in it, and the chef has one in their head. Don't let this go by.
- 🗣️ You say
Got it — soup, mirepoix, then chili. How many quarts of chili do you need for tonight?
🔴 The whole chapter in one turn: repeat the plan back so a mishear surfaces now while it's free, then ask for the number that wasn't in 'some more.' Repeating back takes three seconds and sounds confident while it's actually just double-checking.
- 👂 You'll hear
Uh — do six quarts. And check the par sheet before you start, don't just eyeball the lowboy.
You got your number. 'Check the par sheet before you start' is a real, standard instruction — the paper first, then your eyes. A 'lowboy' is the low under-counter fridge. If the sheet and the cooler disagree, that's your next sentence, not your decision.
🧠 Skills this builds
- 🔴 Repeat it back, then ask for the number. 'Got it — soup, mirepoix, then chili. How many quarts?' The repeat catches a mishear while it's still free to fix, and the number question catches the thing chefs never say out loud. Both are short, easy English, and together they prevent almost every wasted morning in this job.
- Report early, report as two facts. 'We're low on chicken' beats 'we're out of chicken' by two hours. And when the paper and the cooler disagree, say both numbers — 'the sheet says six, I see four' — without deciding what it means. Your job is to put accurate information in front of the chef fast; the decision is theirs.
🇺🇸 US workplace note
- 🔴 Asking a chef to repeat something is completely normal in an American kitchen and it does not mark you as a bad worker. The room is loud, everyone is half-turned away, and native speakers say 'say again?' to each other all night. What gets you in trouble is nodding at something you didn't catch and then producing the wrong thing. Ask. Every time.
- American kitchens run on short, blunt speech, and it is not anger. 'Do six quarts.' 'Board's up.' 'No — the other one.' There's no 'please' and there's no cushion, and none of it is aimed at you personally. It's a fast, hot, cramped room and the language got short to match. Don't read terse as hostile.
⚠️ Common mistakes
- 🔴 Hearing 'prep some more soup' and guessing the amount. — 'Some more' has a number behind it that lives only in the chef's head. Guess low and the line runs out at seven; guess high and you threw away food and hours. 'How many do you need for tonight?' is six words and it ends the problem.
- Nodding at an instruction you didn't actually catch. — Two hours later you've made the wrong thing perfectly, and now it's your mistake instead of a three-second question. 'Sorry, chef — can you say that again?' Native speakers say it constantly in this room.
- Waiting until something is completely gone to mention it. — 'Don't wait until there's nothing left — tell us when you're running low' is real, standard chef instruction. Low is information; empty is an emergency you just handed to the line mid-service.
🔖 Quick reference
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
🔴 This chapter is not politeness vocabulary. These are the words that keep you from getting burned, cut, or run into, in a cramped hot room full of knives and open flame — and you have to understand them instantly, before you've finished translating. That's why it's mostly listening. Here's the honest truth about 'Behind!' — working cooks argue about what it means. Some kitchens mean 'freeze,' some mean 'get out of the way,' and there's a real, unresolved argument about it among people who've done this for twenty years. So don't guess and don't ask. 🔴 Freeze, stay small, don't spin around. Turning to look is the reaction that gets you a pan of hot oil. Same for 'Hot behind!', 'Corner!', and 'Sharp!' — hold still, let them pass. And say all of them yourself, every time you carry anything hot or sharp, even when the kitchen looks empty. The habit is what protects someone on the night it isn't. Then there's 'Heard!' — the one you say. It means 'got it, it's happening.' 🔴 Silence is not an acceptable answer to a chef in an American kitchen. A cook who wrote a glossary for new hires called calling these out a sacred rule, and he wasn't being funny. But 🔴 only say it if you actually got it — 'Heard' is a promise. If you didn't catch it, 'say again?' is always available and always fine. And the ones nobody will ever explain: '86 the salmon' means we're out, stop. 'All day' means the total across all tickets, not extra. 'FIFO' means oldest first. You will hear all three tonight. Now you know them.
- 👂 You'll hear
Behind! Hot behind!
🔴 React first, understand later. Freeze, pull your elbows in, keep your eyes on your board, do not turn around. Someone with a burning-hot pan is six inches from your back. The cook who spins to look is the cook who gets it in the arm.
- 👂 You'll hear
86 the salmon — we're out till the delivery. Stop portioning it, chef wants you on chicken instead.
🔴 Two calls in one, and both matter. '86 the salmon' = we're out, stop touching it. Then a new assignment. This is completely normal speed for a kitchen: nobody's going to repeat it and nobody's going to check that you got it — except by whether you say the next word.
- 🗣️ You say
Heard — 86 salmon, moving to chicken.
🔴 The correct answer, and it does two jobs. 'Heard' is the required acknowledgment. Repeating the two facts back proves you got the right two facts, in a room too loud for anyone to check. Say nothing here and the chef doesn't know if you heard — that's the accountability lapse, not a language problem.
- 👂 You'll hear
Corner! — hey, when you're done, FIFO that walk-in. New delivery's in front of the old stuff again.
'Corner!' is aimed at the room, not at you — hold up a second and let them through. Then a real instruction: FIFO means oldest forward, newest behind. And notice you now owe this one an answer too. 'Heard!'
🧠 Skills this builds
- 🔴 React before you translate. 'Behind!' 'Hot!' 'Sharp!' 'Corner!' — the correct response is your body, not your brain: freeze, stay narrow, eyes down, never spin around. Because cooks genuinely disagree about whether 'Behind!' means freeze or move, freezing is the answer that's safe in both kitchens. There is no version of this where turning to look is right.
- 🔴 Never let a call land in silence. 'Heard!' is the required answer, and its absence is treated as a real safety and accountability failure — not rudeness, an actual lapse. But it's a promise: say it only when you got it. When you didn't, 'say again?' is always available, costs nothing, and is what native speakers in that room say all night.
🇺🇸 US workplace note
- 🔴 These calls are shouted, and the shouting is not anger. A hot kitchen has a hood fan, a dish pit, and eight people in a space built for four — volume is how the words arrive, that's all. 'BEHIND!' screamed at your back is someone protecting you, not someone mad at you. Never read the volume as a comment on you.
- 🔴 Calling out is not optional and it's not modesty to skip it. Cooks treat a worker who walks a hot pan or a knife through the kitchen silently as genuinely dangerous — one cook described people running into each other and someone swinging a knife point-first near others in a kitchen that had let this slide. Shout it every time, even when you feel silly, even when the room looks empty.
⚠️ Common mistakes
- 🔴 Turning around to look when you hear 'Behind!' — This is the single most dangerous instinct in a kitchen and it's completely natural, which is exactly why it has to be trained out. Cooks don't even agree on whether the call means freeze or move — so freeze, stay small, eyes on your board. Turning is wrong in every kitchen.
- 🔴 Staying quiet when a chef gives you an instruction. — Silence isn't polite here, it's a lapse: the chef now has no idea whether it's happening. 'Heard!' is the whole answer and it takes half a second. And if you didn't understand, 'say again?' — never 'heard' as a way of covering that you missed it.
- Hearing 'six risotto all day' and making six more. — 'All day' means six TOTAL across every ticket working, including the ones already going. Hearing it as 'six additional' quietly doubles the order, and you won't find out until service. When you're not sure, ask: 'all day, or six more?'
🔖 Quick reference
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
This chapter is two numbers and one hard sentence. The numbers: 🔴 the temperature danger zone is 41°F to 135°F — that's the range where pathogens grow fastest. Cold food gets held at 41°F or below. Hot food gets held at 135°F or above. Almost every temp question in the kitchen is one of those two. A few more worth knowing, because someone will say them near you: poultry and stuffed dishes cook to 165°F for 15 seconds, ground meats to 155°F for 17 seconds, whole-muscle meats, fish and eggs for immediate service to 145°F for 15 seconds. Cooling has its own clock: 135°F down to 70°F within 2 hours, then 70°F to 41°F within 4 more — 6 hours total, and that first stage is the dangerous one because it's the fastest-growth window. And date marks: in-house ready-to-eat food kept past a day gets dated, and at 41°F or below it's got a maximum of 7 days with the prep day as day 1. Now the English. 'Temp the walk-in' means go get a number. 'What's it reading?' means say the number — the real one, off the display. 🔴 Never 'it looks fine.' Someone is going to decide about real food from your sentence. The hard part is when the number is bad. The report is always the same shape: the number, where you took it, the plain conclusion. 'It's reading 55 on the meat — that's out of temp.' Then the sentence: 🔴 'I don't think this is safe to serve.' A real worker temped a walk-in mid-shift, found all the meat in the danger zone, photographed it with timestamps, told the manager and the chef — and got overruled and told to serve it anyway. That happened, and it might happen to you. He was still right to say it, and the photos were smart. Say it calmly, say it to the person in charge, and know that ch6 is where this conversation goes next.
- 👂 You'll hear
Hey — go temp the walk-in for me. What's it reading?
A completely routine instruction that has a real answer at the end of it. 'Temp' is a verb; the walk-in is the walk-in cooler. What comes back has to be a number.
- 🗣️ You say
Chef — the walk-in's warm. It's reading 55, and I got 55 on the meat too, not just the air.
🔴 The model report. He didn't say 'it seems warm' — he gave the number, and he checked the food and not just the air temp, which is the detail that makes it real. 55°F is deep in the danger zone when cold holding is 41°F or below.
- 👂 You'll hear
Fifty-five? Ah — it does that when they're all packed in there. It's probably fine, just serve it.
🔴 A real, dismissive chef response — this is very close to what a real chef said to a sous chef who'd temped short ribs at 68°F. Be ready to hear it. It isn't a temperature fact; it's a brush-off, and 'probably fine' isn't a number.
- 🗣️ You say
I hear you, chef — but I'm reading 55 on the product. I don't think it's safe to serve. What do you want me to do?
🔴 The complete push-back, and notice its shape: no argument, no accusation, just the number again, the honest sentence, and the decision handed back to the person whose decision it is. You've done your job. 🔴 Photograph the reading with the timestamp — a real worker in exactly this spot did, and it's the smartest thing in this chapter.
🧠 Skills this builds
- 🔴 Report a number, never an impression. 'It's reading 55 on the meat' — not 'it seems warm,' not 'it's probably okay.' Temp the food, not just the air. And write down what you actually read: a log with invented numbers in it is worse than no log at all, because now everybody's trusting it. This is the one place in the kitchen where being exact matters more than being fast.
- 🔴 Say it, then hand the decision up. Your job is: the number, where you took it, 'I don't think this is safe to serve,' and 'what do you want me to do?' You are not the one who throws away product and you are not the one who overrules the chef. But you are the one who says the number out loud — and if it goes badly, a timestamped photo of the reading is a real thing a real worker in this exact situation thought to take.
🇺🇸 US workplace note
- 🔴 Reporting an out-of-temp cooler is not tattling and it's not you being difficult — it's literally the job, and the whole reason a prep cook is trusted with a thermometer. Be ready, though: real kitchens don't always take it well. A worker who found a warm walk-in mid-shift, with photos, was overruled by both the manager and the chef and told to serve it. He was still right. Say it calmly, once, to the person in charge.
- American chefs will often answer a bad temp with a shrug and a story — 'it does that when it's packed in there,' 'that's just the door being open.' That's a brush-off, not a fact, and it isn't personal. Repeat the number, once, and ask what they want you to do. The number is the only thing in the conversation that can't be argued with.
⚠️ Common mistakes
- 🔴 Answering 'what's it reading?' with 'it's fine' or 'about right.' — Someone is about to make a decision about real food from your sentence. Read the display and say the number. 'It's fine' is not information, and when it turns out not to have been fine, 'it's fine' is what you said.
- 🔴 Filling in the temperature log with numbers you didn't actually take, or with what the number is supposed to be. — This is worse than leaving it blank, because now the whole kitchen and the inspector are trusting a record that isn't real. Write what you read, when you read it. If you didn't take it, don't write it.
- Temping the air instead of the food. — A walk-in's air can read fine while the meat inside a packed stack is at 55°F. The food is what gets eaten, so the food is what you temp — that's the detail that made a real worker's warm-walk-in report undeniable instead of arguable.
🔖 Quick reference
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'
🔴 This is the chapter where being fast is wrong. 'Table 4 has a nut allergy' is not a taste note — it's a medical fact about a person sitting forty feet away, and everything you were about to do just changed. Start with the number, because it's the thing most people get wrong: 🔴 there are NINE major food allergens. Milk, egg, fish, Crustacean shellfish, tree nuts, wheat, peanuts, soybeans, and sesame. Sesame is the ninth — the FASTER Act was signed in 2021 and it's been in force for labeling since January 1, 2023, and FDA added sesame to the Food Code's allergen content too. 🔴 If you were taught a list of eight, that list is old. It's nine, and the ninth one is in a lot of bread. Now the response, and it's the same every time: clean board, clean knife, clean station, fresh gloves. 'Heard — allergy order. Clean board, fresh gloves.' Say it out loud, because saying it is how the chef knows and how you keep yourself honest. And ask the follow-up: 🔴 'what exactly are they allergic to?' — 'nut' is not precise enough to cook from. A server once had to explain to a head chef that a guest's 'red meat allergy' actually meant every mammal-derived ingredient, dairy and gelatin included. One word is almost never the whole allergy. 🔴 And here is the line that this whole chapter exists for: you can never just pick it off. Not the walnuts off the salad, not the sesame seeds off the bun. The allergen is already on the food, in the oil, on your gloves. Picking it off changes nothing except that now it looks safe. You throw it out and make it again. That's not waste — that's the job. A real chef declined an allergy order entirely on a packed December night because there was no safe way to prevent cross-contact, and that was the right call. Slow and certain beats fast and sorry, every single time.
- 👂 You'll hear
Table 4 has a nut allergy. This is an allergy order, not a preference — clean the board and your station before you start this ticket.
🔴 The call, and notice they said 'not a preference' out loud. That's a kitchen that's been burned before. Everything stops. Nothing you were doing thirty seconds ago matters more than the next two minutes.
- 🗣️ You say
Heard — allergy order. Fresh board, new gloves. What exactly are they allergic to? Just tree nuts, or peanuts and sesame too?
🔴 Acknowledge, say the protocol back, then ask the question that actually protects the guest. 'Nut' is not a spec you can cook from — tree nuts, peanuts and sesame are three different allergens on the list of nine, and 'nut' doesn't tell you which.
- 👂 You'll hear
Tree nuts. Walnuts specifically. — Hey, wait, that salad's already got walnuts on it, just pick them off and send it.
🔴 THE moment. This gets said in real kitchens, usually by someone in the weeds who isn't thinking. It's wrong and it's dangerous — the walnut oil, the crumbs, and the contact are already all through that salad. It looking clean is the entire problem.
- 🗣️ You say
Chef, I can't just take them off — the oil's already on everything. Let me make it again on a clean board. Two minutes.
🔴 The correct refusal, and look at how it's built: the reason (the oil is already there), the fix (make it again clean), and the cost (two minutes — small, and you said it out loud so it's easy to say yes to). No lecture. Just the truth and a fast plan.
🧠 Skills this builds
- 🔴 Allergy order = full reset, every time, no exceptions for being busy. Clean board, clean knife, clean station, fresh gloves — and say it out loud so the chef hears that it's happening. Then ask the follow-up: 'what exactly are they allergic to?' One word is almost never the whole allergy, and the follow-up question is the difference between a careful cook and a lucky one.
- 🔴 There is no such thing as removing an allergen from a finished dish. Not picking it off, not scraping it off, not rinsing it off, not sending the same plate with the visible bits gone. The oil, the crumbs, and the contact are already there — the only thing picking it off changes is that now it looks safe. Throw it out, make it again. 'I can't just take it off — I have to make it again' is the whole sentence and the whole rule.
🇺🇸 US workplace note
- 🔴 In an American kitchen, taking an allergy order slowly and seriously earns respect, never eye-rolls — and if someone does roll their eyes, they're the one who's wrong. A real chef declined an allergy order outright on one of the busiest nights in December because there was no safe way to prevent cross-contact. That was a professional making the right call, and everyone in the thread said so.
- Language barriers around allergies are a real, live problem on both sides of the pass — cooks describe struggling to confirm an allergy with a guest who doesn't speak English, and that's exactly this platform's readers on the other side of the table. So when you're not certain what you heard, the safest sentence in the building is 'let me get the chef' or 'can you write it down?' — never a guess.
⚠️ Common mistakes
- 🔴 'Just pick it off.' — This is the mistake that hurts someone. The allergen is already on the food, in the oil, and on your gloves; removing the visible pieces only removes the warning. Throw it out and remake it on a clean station. It's two minutes, and there is no faster correct answer.
- 🔴 Working an allergy ticket in the same gloves and on the same board you were just using. — Cross-contact is invisible; a board that looks perfectly clean can carry enough allergen to send someone to an ambulance. Fresh gloves, clean board, clean knife, every allergy order — and while we're here: ready-to-eat food never gets bare hands at all. Utensils, tissue, tongs, or single-use gloves.
- 🔴 Cooking from the word 'nut' and not asking which one. — Tree nuts, peanuts and sesame are three separate allergens among the nine, and one word doesn't tell you which. A server once had to teach a head chef that a 'red meat allergy' covered dairy and gelatin too. 'What exactly are they allergic to?' — before you start, not after.
🔖 Quick reference
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
Two things live in this chapter, and they're the same thing from two directions: keeping it clean, and someone checking that you did. Start with sanitizer, because there's one idea here that surprises people: 🔴 more is not better. Every chemical has a real range — chlorine around 50–99 ppm, quat commonly around 200 ppm, iodine about 12.5–25 ppm, peracetic acid per its label — and the honest answer is always whatever the manufacturer's label says, verified with a test strip, every time a solution gets mixed. Not eyeballed. A worker wrote a whole warning to other cooks about over-concentrating a sani bucket and the chemical burns and skin damage that came from it. So the best sentence you can say on this station is 🔴 'can I get a test strip? I want to check the concentration.' That's not a beginner's question — a test kit has to be on hand and used, and asking for one is what a professional does. The small stuff matters too: a dirty bucket is weak sanitizer, and a rag sitting all morning is carrying everything it wiped. A real pre-inspection checklist for new staff specified that each sani bucket has its rag all the way down in the bucket — that's the level of detail an inspector actually looks at. Now the inspector. 🔴 Your entire script is 'let me get the manager.' That's it. That's the correct, complete, professional answer, and it's exactly what an inspector expects from a prep cook. You don't explain the operation, you don't answer for a violation, and 🔴 you absolutely do not hide anything or scramble. There's a well-known, half-joking thread about the three-minute panic before the inspector gets to the back — funny, and a description of a bad kitchen, not a plan. Hand over what's asked for, get the PIC, go back to your station. Boring is the goal.
- 👂 You'll hear
Hey — change your sani bucket, that thing's filthy. And test the concentration before you use it, don't just dump and go.
Two instructions, both real. Food debris in the bucket eats the sanitizer's strength, and 'don't just dump and go' is the whole point: the amount you poured is a guess until a strip says otherwise. And this one wants an answer — 'Heard!'
- 🗣️ You say
Heard. Can I get a test strip? I want to check what we're mixing at.
🔴 The correct move, and it will make you look good, not green. A test kit has to be on hand and used every time a solution is mixed. Asking for one is a professional habit — and remember, more isn't better; over-concentrated sanitizer burns skin.
- 👂 You'll hear
Excuse me — I'm the health inspector, this is a surprise inspection. I need to see your temperature logs. Who's been taking these?
🔴 Two questions, and both belong to somebody else. Notice the second one — 'who's been taking these?' — is exactly the kind of question a nervous person starts explaining. Don't. This is not your conversation, and that's not a bad thing.
- 🗣️ You say
One moment, sir — let me get the manager for you. The logs are right here.
🔴 The perfect answer, and there is nothing else you need to say. You've been helpful (the logs are right there), you've been honest (you didn't hide anything or explain anything away), and you've handed it to the PIC — whose job it actually is. Then go back to work.
🧠 Skills this builds
- 🔴 Test it, don't eyeball it — and remember more isn't better. Every sanitizer has a real concentration range and a test kit has to be on hand and used every time a solution is mixed. 'Can I get a test strip?' is a professional's sentence, not a beginner's. A cook who guessed heavy wrote a warning to others about the chemical burns that followed. The label and the strip beat your memory, always.
- 🔴 With an inspector, your entire script is 'let me get the manager.' You don't explain, you don't defend, you don't guess, and you never hide anything or move product. Answering an inspector's questions about the operation is a PIC-level job — handing it up isn't dodging, it's the correct answer, and it's exactly what the inspector expects to hear from a prep cook.
🇺🇸 US workplace note
- 🔴 A health inspector is not the enemy and not a police officer — they're doing a routine, expected part of how US food service works, and a real working inspector who posted publicly was mostly interested in whether the kitchen was honest. Be polite, be normal, get the manager, go back to your station. The scramble-before-he-reaches-the-back joke is a joke about a badly run kitchen.
- Saying 'this needs to be sanitized before I use it' out loud is completely normal professional speech in an American kitchen and nobody hears it as criticism. Cleanliness talk is just operational talk here — 'change your bucket,' 'get a fresh rag,' 'that board's dirty.' It's about equipment, not about people, and no one takes it personally.
⚠️ Common mistakes
- 🔴 Eyeballing the sanitizer instead of testing it — especially pouring extra 'to be safe.' — Over-concentrated sanitizer causes real chemical burns and skin damage, and a cook wrote a detailed warning to others after seeing exactly that; under-concentrated sanitizer isn't sanitizing at all. Both feel clean. Only the test strip knows.
- 🔴 Answering the health inspector's questions yourself. — You're not being helpful, you're guessing on the record about an operation you don't run. 'Let me get the manager' is the complete, correct answer. It's what an inspector expects from a prep cook, and it's what your PIC needs you to say.
- 🔴 Hiding product, tidying frantically, or explaining away a violation when the inspector walks in. — The famous three-minute-scramble thread is a joke about a bad kitchen, not a procedure. Hiding something turns a correctable violation into a much bigger problem, and it's not your call to make. Hand over what's asked for and get the PIC.
🔖 Quick reference
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
🔴 This is the chapter that protects you, the guests, and the people standing next to you — and it's mostly about knowing that your job is to recognize, alert, and call, not to fix. Start with sickness, because it's the one you'll actually face, and because it's the one they make hard. 🔴 Five symptoms must be reported to the Person in Charge: vomiting, diarrhea, jaundice — that's yellowing of your skin or eyes — sore throat with fever, and an infected open wound with pus on your hand, wrist, or anywhere exposed. Any one of them, you tell the PIC. And 🔴 six illnesses get reported even when you feel completely fine — Norovirus, Hepatitis A, Shigella, STEC, Salmonella Typhi, and nontyphoidal Salmonella. A diagnosis is the trigger; feeling okay changes nothing. Then the PIC decides: exclude you from the establishment, or restrict you — no exposed food, no clean equipment, no unwrapped single-service items, but other work is fine. So sometimes honesty costs you a station, not a day. But they can only decide if you tell them. Now the honest part. 🔴 You are going to be afraid to make this call, and that fear is not irrational. A worker with a worsening sore throat and a fever was denied a call-out twice, mocked for coughing, and made to keep working. That's real, it's documented, and it's improper pressure. Another worker said it exactly right: 'I'm touching and breathing on people's food.' 🔴 This pack will never, ever tell you to hide being sick. The rule exists precisely because the pressure exists. Say it once, plainly, to the PIC: 'I'm throwing up, I can't come in today.' You're not being difficult. You're following the law. And there are good managers — a real one answered a call-out with 'okay, get well soon, let me know when you're ready to come back,' and a real sous chef fought for a sick cook to go home and got him paid sick time. That's what it's supposed to sound like. The rest is fast. 🔴 Allergic reaction: alert the manager, call 911, right now — and the epinephrine auto-injector is the guest's own device for the guest or a trained bystander or EMS, never you. You don't diagnose and you never wait and see. 🔴 Grease fire: NEVER WATER. Water sinks under the oil, flash-boils, and sprays burning grease across the room. Kill the heat, smother it with a metal lid or a sheet pan. Never carry a burning pan. If a lid doesn't end it immediately — get out and call 911. 🔴 Choking: the trained person does the rescue, someone else calls 911; if you're not trained, getting help fast IS your job and it's a real contribution. Cuts: stop, pressure, cover, 911 if it's bad. Burns: cool running water, cover, get it looked at. And when you don't know: 'Chef — I need you over here right now.' Nobody has ever been in trouble for calling 911 when something was genuinely wrong. Doubt is the reason to call, not the reason to wait.
- 🗣️ You say
Chef, it's Marco — I've been throwing up since about four this morning. I can't come in today.
🔴 The model call, and look at how little it is: what's happening, what it means, no apology, no negotiation. Vomiting is a reportable symptom and it goes to the PIC. Making this call is you following the rule, not you failing anyone.
- 👂 You'll hear
Are you serious? We're already down two people on a Saturday. You don't sound that sick — just come in, you can do dish or something.
🔴 Real pressure, and close to what real workers actually get told. Notice it's three separate wrong things: guilt, 'you don't sound that sick' (they can't assess that over a phone, and they aren't the doctor), and a workaround that isn't theirs to improvise. Your symptoms don't change because it's Saturday.
- 🗣️ You say
I understand you're short — but I'm vomiting, and I have to report that to you. It's your call what happens next, but I can't handle food today.
🔴 The complete answer, and it's calm on purpose. He restates the symptom, names it as a report (that word matters — this is a legal obligation, not a favor), and hands the PIC their own decision back: exclude or restrict. 🔴 Say it once. Do not argue and do not fold. And a good manager exists — a real one answered a call-out with 'get well soon, let me know when you're ready to come back.'
- 👂 You'll hear
Chef! The oil's on fire — grab the water, grab the—
🔴 STOP. The correct answer is 'NO — no water!' Water sinks beneath burning oil and flash-boils, spraying fire across the kitchen — it turns a pan fire into a room fire and it's how people get badly burned. Kill the heat, slide a metal lid or a sheet pan over it. Don't carry the pan. If the lid doesn't end it right now, everybody out, call 911.
🧠 Skills this builds
- 🔴 Recognize → alert → 911. That's your whole role in every emergency in this chapter, and it's a complete, real contribution — not a lesser one. You are not a medic and you are not a manager. You don't diagnose an allergic reaction, you don't administer someone else's epinephrine auto-injector, you don't fight a growing fire, and you don't decide how bad a burn is. You see it, you get the PIC, you call 911. 🔴 Doubt is the reason to call, not the reason to wait — and nobody is ever in trouble for calling when something was genuinely wrong.
- 🔴 Report the symptom to the PIC, every time, and let them decide. Vomiting, diarrhea, jaundice, sore throat with fever, an infected wound with pus — and the six illnesses (Norovirus, Hep A, Shigella, STEC, Salmonella Typhi, nontyphoidal Salmonella) even with no symptoms at all. Then it's exclude or restrict, and that's their call, not yours — which is exactly why the pressure to 'just push through' is not something you have to carry alone. 🔴 Never hide it. The fear of losing a shift is real and documented; the rule exists because of that fear, not in spite of it.
🇺🇸 US workplace note
- 🔴 In US food service, reporting that you're sick is a legal duty, not a personal favor you're asking for — but be ready for a kitchen that acts otherwise. Real workers are pressured, mocked for coughing, and told 'you don't seem that sick.' That pressure is improper, and it doesn't change your symptoms or your obligation. Say it once, plainly, to the PIC. And good managers genuinely exist: 'okay, get well soon — let me know when you're ready to come back' is a real thing a real manager said.
- 🔴 Reporting doesn't automatically mean losing the day. The PIC has two options — exclude (you don't work in the establishment) or restrict (no exposed food, no clean equipment, no unwrapped single-service items, but other duties are fine). Many workers don't know the second option exists and stay silent because they assume it's all-or-nothing. It isn't. But you only get the choice if you report.
⚠️ Common mistakes
- 🔴 Pouring water on a grease fire. — Water is denser than oil: it sinks underneath, flash-boils, and blasts burning grease across the room. It turns a pan fire into a kitchen fire and it's how people get catastrophically burned. Turn off the heat, slide a metal lid or sheet pan over it to smother it, never carry the pan — and if it isn't immediately contained, get out and call 911.
- 🔴 Coming in sick, or working the shift through vomiting or a fever, because you're afraid to lose it. — This is the most understandable mistake in the pack and it's still the one that starts outbreaks. Another worker put it perfectly: 'I'm touching and breathing on people's food.' The five symptoms go to the PIC; the six illnesses go to the PIC even with no symptoms. Say it once, plainly. The rule exists to protect you from exactly the pressure you're feeling.
- 🔴 Trying to be the medic — grabbing a guest's epinephrine auto-injector, deciding a reaction 'isn't that bad,' or attempting a choking rescue you were never trained for. — Alert the manager and call 911 immediately; the auto-injector is the guest's own device for them, a trained bystander, or EMS. Getting trained help fast is your actual job and it is a real contribution, not a lesser one. Waiting to see how bad it gets is the failure.
- 🔴 Handling an inspector, a fire, a serious injury, or an out-of-temp fight alone because you don't want to bother anyone. — 'Chef, I need you over here right now' is five words and it's always the right call. You're not a manager. Escalating fast is the job, not an admission that you couldn't handle it.
🔖 Quick reference
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.