Lindsey Nair

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Last Thursday afternoon, I walked past the glistening main foyer and the golf entrance to the Roanoke Country Club.

For one of the best assignments in my eight years as a journalist, I was looking for the Dumpsters. Beyond those, I knew, would be the kitchen entrance. And inside would be the best afternoon any food geek could imagine.

This was the day for "Puttin' on the Dog," a $150-per-plate fundraiser for the Saint Francis Service Dogs. I would get to watch seven talented chefs -- most from Southwest Virginia -- prepare seven different courses for 180 guests.

In addition, a group of students from Roanoke's Culinary Arts Institute would be there to help.

In about three hours' time, the kitchen would be filled with so many white coats that the broth would be cowering in its pot.

1:30 p.m.

Chef Brett McKee -- who is wearing tight jeans, cowboy boots and bears a green snake tattoo -- has already started searing his filets.

He has chosen 3-ounce portions, cutting each perfect piece from the end of a whole tenderloin at his restaurant, Oak Steakhouse in Charleston, S.C., before bringing them to Roanoke.

McKee, a Roanoke College alumnus, is the celebrity chef of the event. His biography could fill this page, but I prefer his autobiography: "I'm an Irish-Norwegian chef from Brooklyn cooking Italian-inspired steaks in Charleston."

Across the kitchen, his chef de cuisine, Adam Cloyes, mixes corn custard and polishes stainless steel cups in which to bake it. Cloyes' 15-layer potato gratin has already come out of the oven, golden brown.

Chef Jeff Bland with U.S. Food Service in Roanoke is in charge of hors d'oeuvres. In his corner, he stuffs roasted figs with mascarpone cheese and wraps them in prosciutto.

"Other chefs are trying to do it to the extreme, but I'm trying to keep it simple," he said.

Todd Baxter, the executive chef at Martha Washington Inn in Abingdon, has arrived early with his salad fixings and is wandering the kitchen, looking to help.

His corn relish with duck prosciutto was done in advance. So was the blackberry-merlot sorbet, which will melt into the salad and become a cool vinaigrette.

Baxter, the quietest of the bunch, doesn't worry about being away from his restaurant.

"Those guys can handle it," he says. "If they don't, I'll just fire them when I get back."

He grins. He's kidding.

3:45 p.m.

The students roll in wearing their white chef coats and pillowy hats. Most are first-semester students; some are just completing their first year.

Cloyes, McKee's man, shows two students how to slice the gratin into sharp-edged triangles. They also pour water into the pan of custard ramekins so they don't dry out during baking.

About the same time, two mad scientists appear with what look like a chemistry experiment. It's Chad Scott of 202 Market in downtown Roanoke with his sous chef, Joshua Smith.

They bring dozens of Granny Smith apples, which have been peeled, cored and wrapped in plastic baggies.

They have carted in a machine that will agitate the water in a hot water bath to cook the apples sous vide, or "in vacuum." They also have a smoker, which looks like a big pipe, for the caramel sauce.

Scott calls the dessert "the Jetsons version of apple tarte Tatin."

He and Smith scour the kitchen for a plastic tub large enough to hold water for the bath. The one they brought was cracked.

They find a second tub, but it's cracked, too. Finally, a winner is found hiding in the dry storage room, filled with nuts and dried fruits.

The apples are soon lounging in their whirlpool tub.

Scott packs hickory wood chips into his smoker, lights them and tests the device. It's working.

Brian Murtaugh, the country club chef, is lucky. His apricot sorbet, which will be served as a palate cleanser, is already made and holding in the freezer.

5 p.m.

Chef Paul Gautier from Surf 'n' Turf on Grandin Road arrives with a steaming vat of she-crab soup. He's wearing black pants adorned with fish skeletons.

Gautier says the soup is easy to execute, but he is nervous about making such a large batch. He stirs it with a whisk the size of a baseball bat.

Bland has finished the fig hors d'oeuvre. A culinary student lops the crust off white bread, then slices each piece into four tiny squares for the canapes.

Another student stuffs Roma tomato halves with mushroom duxelles and gives each one a rosemary cowlick. They will garnish McKee's dish.

Bland checks his watch.

"Five o'clock," he says. "I'm a half-hour ahead of schedule."

Tony Pope, who runs a South Roanoke bistro bearing his name, breezes in toting trays lined with quail. Their tiny legs are crossed against the push of brioche and foie gras stuffing.

In a flash, Pope has started a sauce of chanterelle mushrooms, peach jam and cider. The birds won't go in until 6:30 p.m., a half-hour before service.

5:30 p.m.

A crowd of servers gather before chef Jim Eaton, a St. Francis volunteer who corralled the chefs for this event.

Wait staff and volunteers listen as Eaton describes each dish and advises them against rushing.

"We're going to be stumbling over some dogs out there, we're going to be stumbling over some wheelchairs," he says. "Let's just keep things as calm as possible and make it a good dinner!"

Everybody cheers.

6:30 p.m.

The hors d'oeuvres are gone and the diners are seated, some with their service dogs.

One dog, a black lab, gnaws a bone under the table.

With the clamor of 180 guests outside, it's eerily calm in the kitchen.

The salads are ready and the soup is piping hot.

The apples are in their bath and the smoker is ready to roll.

The quail is in the oven and the sorbet is in the freezer.

McKee and Cloyes are prepared to finish the filets; their black truffle demi-glace is bubbling in its pot.

Chefs stand around, poised at the precipice of chaos, and sip sodas, shooting the bull.

Then it's salad time, and there's no turning back.

The rest of the evening flies by in a rush; the kitchen a revolving door.

Full plates go out and empty ones come back. The servers are fast, but it's a hungry crowd.

Few voices are raised. When the soup course arrives, the teamwork is evident: Scott, Pope, Gautier, Murtaugh, Bland and others are all standing over cups with pitchers, pouring away.

Suddenly, it occurs to me that at least four of them could be considered competitors in the Roanoke market. All of them are members of a profession known for hot tempers and giant egos.

And yet, in this kitchen, on this night, the tempers are as cool as the beers that hiss open in the kitchen as the guests savor dessert.

McKee has changed his cowboy boots and donned a blazer. He's off to join the party.

Too many chefs?

Not on this night.

Check out my blog at roanoke.com to read more about the event.