The following article originally appeared on Jennifer Pahlka’s Eating Policy website and is being republished here with the author’s permission.

I read Norman Maclean’s Young Men and Fire when I was a teenager, I think, so it’s been many years, but I still remember its turning point vividly. It’s set in 1949 in Montana, at the Gates of the Mountains Wilderness, about an hour north of Helena. A fire is burning, and the Forest Service sends out their smokejumpers to fight it. But the fire changes direction without warning, and a group of smokejumpers working in the Mann Gulch find themselves trapped, facing certain death. Instead of running, the foreman, Wag Dodge, pulls out matches and does the unthinkable: He lights a fire.

Today we know what he was doing. The escape fire consumed the fuel around him, allowing the main fire to pass over him and a few of his colleagues. But in 1949, the families of the 13 other smokejumpers who died accused Wag of causing their deaths. To them, what he had done made no sense.

I love that Marina Nitze, Matthew Weaver, and Mikey Dickerson chose this story as a framing device for their new book, Crisis Engineering: Time-Tested Tools for Turning Chaos Into Clarity, out now. Not just because it brought back the memory of a book that I once loved, but because Maclean’s obsessive investigation of what had happened back then (he wrote the book years after the incident) seemed to me almost as heroic as the bravery of the smokejumpers. And indeed, his insistence on making sense of what happened has probably saved lives. Escape fires are now formally recognized and taught as a last resort tactic when training new firefighters.

The Dodge escape fire wouldn’t seem to have much to do with Three Mile Island or healthcare.gov or the pandemic unemployment insurance backlogs, but the authors use it to make a point about how action and understanding interact in a crisis. One key is exactly what Maclean himself did so well: sensemaking. In a crisis like Mann Gulch, sensemaking disintegrates: a broken radio, wind so strong communication is impossible, fire whose behavior violates well-tested assumptions, and a team scattered. You don’t achieve sensemaking by staring at a map; you achieve it by acting and observing results. Wag Dodge didn’t understand fire behavior well enough to explain the escape fire in advance. But his actions created the understanding itself—retrospectively, as all real sensemaking is.

The book’s key claim is that crises are opportunities, and the authors leverage Daniel Kahneman’s Thinking, Fast and Slow to explain why crises are the only real windows for organizational change—and why everything else, the incentives, the logical arguments, the reorganizations, mostly doesn’t work. Most organizations, most of the time, run on autopilot. People habituate to their environment, rationalize away small surprises, and build stable stories about how things work. A crisis breaks this. When surprise accumulates faster than the brain’s “surprise-removing machinery” can rationalize it away, the whole apparatus jams, and organizations become, briefly, reprogrammable.

An institution resolves a crisis in one of three ways, according to the authors. It makes durable deliberate change, it dies, or, most commonly, it rationalizes the failure into an accepted new normal. “Most large organizations contain programs and departments that passively accept abject failure: infinitely long backlogs, hospitals that kill patients, devastating school closures that do little to affect a pandemic. These are fossils of past crises where the organization failed to adapt.”

Too many of our public institutions have failed to adapt, and the idea that they might be reprogrammable at all is a bit radical. We live in an era when too many people have given up on them, willing to burn them to the ground rather than renovate them. If crises represent the chance for true transformation, then we’d better get a lot better at using them for that. This is explicitly why Crisis Engineering exists, and it’s a detailed, practical book—the theory and framing devices are well used, but there’s a ton of pragmatic substance here you’ll be grateful for when the moment comes.

I remember when I was working in the White House and frustrated by the slow pace of progress. My UK mentor Mike Bracken told me: “Hold on, you just need a crisis. You Americans only ever change in crisis.” Boom. About two months later, healthcare.gov had its inauspicious start. And he was right. Change followed. Not all the change we needed, but a start. Marina, Weaver, and Mikey are three of the people who drove that change. I got to work with them again the first summer of the pandemic on California’s unemployment insurance claims backlog. I’m not a crisis engineer, but their strategies and tactics have deeply influenced how I think about the work I do and how I think we’re going to get from the institutions we have today to the ones we need.

We may be living in an era when too many people have given up on institutions, but we are also likely entering an era of crisis, and even polycrisis. This makes for uncomfortable math, but also drives home the need for a new generation of crisis engineers.

When I first read about Mann Gulch, so many years ago, I remember being in awe of the ingenuity and courage it took to start Wag Dodge’s escape fire. Today I think a lot about that pattern: the controlled burns that reduce the risk of megafires, the little earthquakes that take the pressure off faults under great tension, the managed crises that, if we’re skilled enough to use them, keep our institutions from the kind of collapse that comes when nothing has been allowed to give for too long. Dodge didn’t burn things down. He burned a path through. We’re going to have to get good at that.

As the founder and CEO of LevelUp Labs, Aishwarya Naresh Reganti helps organizations “really grapple with AI,” and through her teaching, she guides individuals who are doing the same. Aishwarya joined Ben to share her experience as a forward-deployed expert supporting companies that are putting AI into production. Listen in to learn the value all roles—from data folks and developers to SMEs like marketers—bring to the table when launching products; how AI flips the 80-20 rule on its head; the problem with evals (or at least, the term “evals”); enterprise versus consumer use cases; and when humans need to be part of the loop. “LLMs are super powerful,” Aishwarya explains. “So I think you need to really identify where to use that power versus where humans should be making decisions.” Watch now.

About the Generative AI in the Real World podcast: In 2023, ChatGPT put AI on everyone’s agenda. In 2026, the challenge will be turning those agendas into reality. In Generative AI in the Real World, Ben Lorica interviews leaders who are building with AI. Learn from their experience to help put AI to work in your enterprise.

Check out other episodes of this podcast on the O’Reilly learning platform or follow us on YouTube, Spotify, Apple, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Transcript

This transcript was created with the help of AI and has been lightly edited for clarity.

00.58
All right. So today we have Aishwarya Reganti, founder and CEO of LevelUp Labs. Their tagline is “Forward-deployed AI experts at your service.” So with that, welcome to the podcast.

01.13
Thank you, Ben. Super excited to be here.

01.16
All right. So for our listeners, “forward-deployed”—that’s a term I think that first entered the lexicon mainly through Palantir, I believe: forward-deployed engineers. So that communicates that Aishwarya and team are very much at the forefront of helping companies really grapple with AI and getting it to work. So, first question is, we’re two years into these AI demos. What actually separates a real AI product from a good demo at this point?

01.53
Yeah, very timely question. And yeah, we are a team of forward-deployed experts. A bit of a background to also tell you why we probably have seen quite a few demos failing. We work with enterprises to build a prototype for them, educate them about how to improve that prototype over time. I think one of the biggest things that differentiates a good AI product is how much effort a team is spending on calibrating it. I typically call this the 80-20 flip. 

A lot of the folks who are building AI products as of today come from a traditional software engineering background. And when you’re building a traditional product, a software product, you spend 80% of the time on building and 20% of the time on what happens after building, right? You’re probably seeing a bunch of bugs, you’re resolving them, etc. 

But in AI, that kind of gets flipped. You spend 20% of the time maybe building, especially with all of the AI assistants and all of that. And you spend 80% of the time on what I call “calibration,” which is identifying how your users behave with the product [and] how well the product is doing, and incorporating that as a flywheel so that you can continue to improve it, right? 

03.11
And why does that happen? Because with AI products, the interface is very natural, which means that you’re pretty much speaking with these products, or you’re using some form of natural language communication, which means there are tons of ways users could talk and approach your product versus just clicking buttons and all of that, where workflows are so deterministic—which is why you open up a larger surface area for errors. 

And you will only understand how your users are behaving with the system as you give them more access to it right. Think of anything as mainstream as ChatGPT. How users interact with ChatGPT today is so much more different than how they would do say three years ago or when it was released in November 2022. So what differentiates a good product is that idea of constant calibration to make sure that it’s getting aligned with the users and also with changing models and stuff like that. So the 80-20 flip I think is what differentiates a good product from just a prototype.

04.14
So actually this is an important point in the in the sense that the persona has changed as to who’s building these data and AI products, because if you rewind five years ago, you had people with some knowledge of data science, ML, and now because it’s so accessible, developers—actually even nondevelopers, vibe coders—can can start building. So with that said, Aishwarya, what do these kinds of nondata and AI people still consistently get wrong when they move from that traditional mindset of building software to now AI applications?

05.05
For one, I truly am one of those people who believes that AI should be for everyone. Even if you’re coming from a traditional machine learning background, there’s so much to catch up on. Like I moved to a team in AWS where. . . I moved from a team in AWS in 2023 where I was working with traditional natural language processing models—I was a part of the Alexa team. And then I moved into an org called GenAI Innovation Center, where we were building generative AI solutions for customers. And I feel like there was so much to learn for me as well. 

But if there’s one thing that most people get wrong and maybe AI and traditional ML folks get right, it’s to look at your data, right? When you’re building all of these products, people just assume that “Oh, I’ve tested this for a few use cases” and then it seems to work fine, and they don’t pay so much attention to the kind of data distribution that they would get from their users. And given this obsession to automate everything, people go like, “OK, I can maybe ask an LLM to identify what kind of user patterns I’m seeing, build evals for itself, and update itself.” It doesn’t work that way. You really need to spend the time to understand workflows very well, understand context, understand all this data, pretty much. . . 

I think just taking the time to manually do some of the setting up work for your agents so that they can perform at their maximum is super underrated. Traditional ML folks tend to understand that a little better because most of the time we’ve been doing that. We’ve been curating data for training our machine learning models even after they go into production. There’s all of this identifying outliers and updating and stuff. But yeah, if there’s one single takeaway for anybody building AI products: Take the time to look at your data. That’s the most important foundation for building them.

07.01
I’ll flip this a little bit and give props to the traditional developers. What do they get right? In other words, traditional developers write code; some of them write tests, run unit tests [and] integration tests. So they had something to build on that maybe the data scientists who were not writing production code were not used to doing. So what do the traditional developers bring to the table that the data and ML people can learn from?

07.40
That’s an interesting question because I don’t come from a software background and I just feel traditional developers have a very good design thinking: How do you design architectures so that they can scale? I was so used to writing in notebooks and kind of just focusing so much on the model, but traditional developers treat the model as an API and they build everything very well around it, right? They think about security. They think about what kind of design makes sense at scale and all of that. And even today I feel like so much of AI engineering is traditional software engineering—but with all of the caveats that you need to be looking at your data. You need to be building evals which look very different. But if you kind of zoom out and see, it’s pretty much the same process, and everything that you do around the model (assuming that the model is just a nondeterministic API), I think traditional software engineers get it like bang on.

08.36
You recently wrote a post about evals, which was quite interesting actually, [arguing] that it’s a bit of an overused and poorly defined term. I agree with the thesis of the post, but were you getting frustrated? Is that the reason why you wrote the post? [laughs] What was the genesis of the post? 

09.03
A baseline is most of my posts come out of frustration and noise in this space. It just feels like if you kind of see the trajectory. . . In November 2022, ChatGPT was out, and [everybody was] like, “Oh, chat interfaces are all you need.” And then there was this concept of retrieval-augmented generation, they go “Oh, RAG is all you need. Chat just doesn’t work.” And then there was this concept of agents and like “Agents are all you need; evals are all you need.” So it just gets super annoying when people hang on to these concepts and don’t really understand the depth of it. 

Even now I think there are tons of people who go like “Oh, RAG is dead. It’s not going to be used” and stuff, and there’s so much nuance to it. And with evals as well. I teach a lot of courses: I teach at universities; I also have my own courses. I feel like people just stuck to the term, and they were like “Oh, there is this use case I’m building. I need hundreds of evals in order to make sure that it’s tested very well.” And they just heard the fact that “Oh, evals are what you need to do differently for AI products” and really didn’t understand in depth like what evals mean—how you need to build a flywheel around it, and the entire you know act of building a product, calibrating it, and building a set of evaluations and also doing some A/B testing online to understand how your users are behaving with it. All of that just went into one term “evals,” and people are just like throwing it around everywhere, right?

10.35
And there’s also this confusion around model eval versus product eval, which is all of these frontier companies build evals on their models to make sure that they understand where they are on the leaderboard. And I was speaking to someone one day, and they went like, “Oh, GPT-5 point something has been tested on a particular eval dataset, which means it’s the best for my use case, so I’m going to be using it.” And I’m like, “That’s not the evals that you should be worrying about, right?” So just overloading so much into a term and hyping it up is kind of what I felt was annoying. And I wanted to write a post to say that evals is a process. It’s a long process. It’s pretty much the process of building something and calibrating it over time. And there are tons of components to it, so don’t kind of try to stuff everything in a word and confuse people. 

I’ve also seen people who do things like, “Oh, I’m going to build hundreds of evals” and maybe 10 of them are actionable. Evals also need to be super actionable: What is the information you can get from them, and how can you act on that? So I kind of stuffed all of that frustration into the post to kind of say it’s a longer process. There’s so much nuance in it. Don’t try to water that down.

11.48
So it seems like this is an area where the people that were from the prior era—the people building ML and data science products—maybe could bring something to the table, right? Because they had experience, I don’t know, shipping recommendation engines and things like that. They have some prior notion of what continuous evaluation and rigorous evaluation brings to the table. 

Actually I was talking to someone about this a few weeks ago in the sense that maybe the data scientists actually have a growing employment opportunity here because basically what they bring to the table seems increasingly important to me. Given that code is essentially free and discardable, it seems like someone with a more rigorous background in stats and ML might be able to distinguish themselves. What do you think?

12.56
Yes and no, because it’s true that machine learning and data scientists understand data very well, but just the way you build evals for these products is so much more different than how you would build, say, your typical metrics (accuracy, F-score, and all of that) that it takes quite some thinking to extend that and also some learning to do. . .

13.21
But at least you might actually go in there knowing that you need it.

13.27
That is true, but I don’t think that’s a super. . . I’ve seen very good engineers pick that up as well because they understand at a design level “What are the metrics I need to be measuring?” So they’re very outcome focused and kind of enter with that. So one: I think everybody has to be more coachable—not really depend on things that they learned like X years ago, because things are changing so quickly. But I also believe that whenever you’re building a product, it’s not really one set of folks that have the edge. 

Another maybe distribution that is completely different is just subject-matter experts, right? When you’re building evals, you need to be writing rubrics for your LLM judges. Simple example: Let’s say you’re building a marketing pipeline for your company, and you need to write copy—marketing emails or something like that. Now even if I come from a data science background, if I were thrown at that problem, I just don’t understand what to look for and how to get closer to a brand voice that my company would be satisfied with. But I really need a marketing expert to kind of tell me “This is the brand voice we use, and this is the evals that we can build, or this is how the rubric should look like.” So it should almost be like a cross-functional thing. I feel like each of us have different pieces to that puzzle, and we need to work together. 

14.42
That kind of also brings me to this other thing of collaborating in a much tighter manner [than] before. Before it was like, “OK, machine learning folks get data; they build models; and then there is a separate testing team; there is a separate SME team that’s going to look at how this product is behaving.” And now you cannot do that. You need to be optimizing for the same feedback loop. You need to be talking a lot more with all of the stakeholders because even when building, you want to understand their perspective.

15.14
So it seems also the case that as more people build these things, they realize that actually. . . You know sometimes I struggle with the word “eval” in the sense that maybe the right word is “optimize,” because basically what you really want is to understand “What am I optimizing for?” Obviously reliability is one of them, but latency and cost are also important factors, right? So it’s just a discussion that you’re increasingly coming across, and people are recognizing that there’s trade-offs and they have to balance a bunch of things.

15.57
Yes, definitely. I don’t see it being discussed heavily mainstream. But whenever I approach a problem, it’s always that, right? It’s performance, effort, cost, and latency. And all of these four things are kind of. . . You’re trying to balance each of them and trade off each of them. And I always say, start off with something that’s very low effort so that you kind of have an upper ceiling to what can be achieved. Then optimize for performance. 

Again, don’t optimize for cost and latency when you get started because you just want to see the realm of possible to make sure that you can build a product and it can work fine. And cost and latency [are] something that ought to be optimized for—even when building for enterprises—after we’ve had a decent prototype that can do well on evals. Right now, if I built something with, say, a good mid-tier model and it can hit all of my eval datasets, then I know that this is possible, and now I can optimize for the latency and cost based on the constraints. But always follow that pyramid, right? Go with [the] lowest effort. Try to optimize for performance. And then cost and latency is something that. . . There are tons of tricks you can do. There’s caching; there’s using smaller models and all of that. That’s kind of a framework that I typically use.

17.08
In prior generations of machine learning, I think a lot of focus was on accuracy to some extent. But now increasingly, because we’re in this kind of generative AI world, it’s more likely that people are interested in reliability and predictability in the following sense: Even if I’m only 10% accurate, as long as I know what that 10% is, I would prefer that [to] a model that’s more accurate but I don’t know when it’s accurate. Right?

17.47
Right. That’s kind of the boon and bane of generative AI models. I guess the fact that they can generalize is amazing, but sometimes they end up generalizing in ways that you wouldn’t want them to. And whenever we work on enterprise use cases, I think for us always in my mind—something that I want to tell myself—is if this can be a workflow, don’t make it autonomous if it can solve a problem with a simple LLM call and if you can audit decisions. For instance, let’s say we’re building a customer support agent. You could literally build it in five minutes: You can throw SOPs at your customer support agent and say “OK, pick up the right resolution, talk to the user, and that’s it.” Building is very cheap today. I can literally have Claude Code build it up in a few minutes. 

But something that you want to be more intentional about is “What happens if things go wrong? When should I escalate to humans?” And that’s where I would just break this into a workflow. First, identify the intent of the human and then give me a draft—almost be a copilot for me, where I can collaborate. And then if that draft looks good, a human should approve it so that it goes further. 

Right now, you’re introducing auditability at each point so that you as a human can make decisions before, you know, an agent goes up and messes up things for you. And that’s also where your design decisions should really take over. Like I could build anything today, but how much thinking am I doing before that building so that there’s reliability, there’s auditability, and all of those things. LLMs are super powerful. So I think you need to really identify where to use that power versus where humans should be making decisions.

19.28
And you touched on the notion of human auditors or humans in the loop. So obviously people also try to balance LLM as judge versus human in the loop, right? Obviously there’s no one piece of advice, but what are some best practices around how you demarcate between when to use a human and when you’re comfortable using another model as a judge?

20.04
A lot of this usually depends on how much data you have to train your judge, right? I feel humans have this problem, which is: Sometimes you can do a task but you can’t explain why you arrived at that decision in a very structured format. I can today take a look at an article and tell you. . . Especially, I write a lot on Substack and LinkedIn; this is a very super personal use case. If you give me an article and ask me, “Ash, will this go viral on LinkedIn?” I can tell you yes or no for my profile right, because I’ve done it for so many years. But if you ask me, “How did you make that decision?” I probably cannot codify it and write it down as a bunch of rubrics. Which is again, when you translate this to an LLM judge, “Can I build an LLM that can tell me if a post will go viral or not?” Maybe not because I just don’t have all the constraints that I use as a human when I make decisions. 

Now, take this to more production-like use cases or enterprise-like use cases. You want to have a human judge until you can codify or you can create a framework of how to evaluate something and you can write that out in natural language. And what that means is you maybe want to take 100 or 200 utterances and say, “OK, does this make sense? What’s the reasoning behind why I graded it a certain way?” And you can feed all of that information into your LLM judge to finally give it a set of rubrics and build your evals. But that’s kind of how you make a decision, which is “Do we have enough information to provide to an LLM judge that it can replace human judgment?” 

But otherwise don’t do it—if you have very vague high-level ideas of what good looks like, you probably don’t want to go to an LLM judge. Even when building your systems, I would always recommend that your first pass when you’re doing your eval should be judged by a human, and you should also ask them to give you reasoning as to why they judge it because that reasoning is so important for training your LLM judges.

21.58
What are some signs that you look for? What are signals that you look for when one of these AI applications or systems go live? What are some of the signals you look for that [show] maybe the quality is degrading or breaking down?

22.18
It really depends on the use case, but there are a lot of subtle signals that users will give you, and you can log them, right? Things like “Are users swearing at your product?” That’s something we always use, right? “What kind of words are they using? How many conversation turns if it’s a chatbot, right?” Usually when you’re building your chatbot, you identify that the average number of turns is 10, but it turns out that customers are having only two turns of conversation. That kind of means that they’re not interested to talk to your chatbot. Or sometimes they’re having 20 conversations, which means they’re probably annoyed, which is why they’re having longer conversations. 

There are typical things: You know, ask your user to give a thumbs up or thumbs down and all of that, but we know that feedback kind of doesn’t. . . People don’t give feedback unless they’re annoyed at something. So you can have those as well. If you’re building something like a coding agent like Claude Code etc., very obvious logging you can do is “Did the user go and change the code that it generated?” which means it’s wrong. So it’s very specific to your context, but really think of ways you can log all of this behavior you can log anomalies. 

Sometimes just getting all of these logs and doing some topic clustering which is “What are our users typically talking about, and do any of those show signs of frustration? Do they show signs of being annoyed with the system?” and things like that. You really need to understand your workflows very well so that you can design these monitoring strategies.

23.50
Yeah, it’s interesting because I was just on a chatbot for an airline, and I was surprised how bad it was, in the sense that it felt like a chatbot of the pre-LLM era. So give us give us kind of your sense of “Are these chatbots now really being powered by foundation models or. . .?” I mean because I was just shocked, Aishwarya, about how bad it was, you know? So what’s your sense of, as far as you know, are enterprises really deploying these generative AI foundation models in consumer-facing apps?

24.41
Very few. To just give you a quick stat that might not be super correct: 70% to 80% of the engagements that we take up at LevelUp Labs happen to be productivity and ops focused rather than customer focused. And the biggest blocker for that has always been trust and reliability, because if you build these customer-facing agents [and] they make one mistake, it’s enough to put you on news media or enough to put you in bad PR. 

But I think what good companies are doing as of today is doing a phased approach, which is they have already identified buckets that can be completely autonomous versus buckets that would require humans to navigate, right? Like this example that you gave me, as soon as a user comes up with a query, they have a triaging system that would determine if it should go to an AI agent versus a human, depending on the history of the user, depending on the kind of query. (Is it complicated enough?) Right? Let’s say Ben has this history of. . .

25.44
Hey, hey, I had great status on this airline.

25.47
[laughs] Yeah. So it’s probably not you, but just the kind of query you’re coming up with and all of that. So they’ve identified buckets where automation is possible, and they’re doing it, and they’ve done that because of past behavior data, right? What are low-hanging fruits that we could automate versus escalate to humans. I have not seen a lot of these chat systems that are completely taken over by agents. There’s always some human oversight and very good orchestration mechanisms to make sure that customers are not affected.

26.16
So you mentioned that you mostly are in the technical and ops application areas, but I’ll ask you this question anyway. To what extent do legal things come up? In other words, I’m about to deploy this model. I know I have guardrails, but honestly, just between you and me, I haven’t gone through the proper legal evaluation, you know? [laughs] So in other words, legality or compliance—anything to do with laws—do they come up at all in your discussions with companies?

26.59
As an external implementation team, I think one thing that we do with most companies is give them a high-level overview of the architecture we’ll be building, the requirements, and ask them to do a security and legal review so that they’re okay with it, because we’ve had experiences in the past where we pretty much built out everything and then you have your CISO come in and say, “OK, this doesn’t fall into what we could deploy.” So many companies make that mistake of not really involving your governance and compliance folks in the beginning and then end up scrapping entire projects. 

I am not an expert who knows all of these rules and legalities, but we always make sure that they understand: “Where is the data coming from? Do we have any issues productionizing this?” and all of that, but we haven’t really worked. . . I mean I don’t have a lot of background on how to do this. We’re mostly engineering folks, but we make sure that we have a sign-off so that we are not kind of landing in surprises.

28.07
Yeah, the reason I bring it up is obviously, now that everything is much more democratized, more people can build—so in reality the people can move fast and break things literally, right? So I just wonder if there’s any discussion at all. It sounds like you are proactive, but mostly out of experience, but I wonder if regular teams are talking about this. 

Speaking of which, you brought up earlier leaderboards—obviously I’m guilty of this too: “I’m about to build something. OK, let me look at a leaderboard.” But, you know, I’m not literally going to take the leaderboard’s advice, right? I’m going to still kick the tires on the specific application and use case. But I’m sure though, in your conversations, people tell you all sorts of things like, “Hey, we should use this because I saw somewhere that this is ranked number one,” right? So is this still a frustration on your end, or are people much more savvy now?

29.19
For one, I want to quickly clarify that it’s not wrong to look at a leaderboard. It’s always. . . You know, you get a high-level idea of “Who are your best competitors at this point?” But what I have a problem with is being so obsessed with just that leaderboard that you don’t build evals for yourself.

29.34
In my experience, when we work with a lot of these companies, I think over the past two years the discussion has really shifted away from the model because of two reasons: One is most companies already have existing partnerships. They’re either working with a major model provider vendor and they’re OK doing that now just because all of these model providers are racing towards feature parity, leaderboard success, and all of that. If Anthropic has something, you know, if their model is performing well on a leaderboard today, Gemini and OpenAI will probably be there in a week. So people are not too concerned about model performance. They know that in a couple of weeks, that will kind of be built into other models. So they’re not worried about that. 

And two is companies are also thinking much more about the application layer right now. There’s so much discussion around all of these harnesses like Claude Code, OpenClaw, and stuff like that. So I’ve not seen a lot of complaints on “Oh, this is the model that we should be using.” It seems like they have a shared understanding of how models perform. They want to optimize the harness and the application layer much more.

30.48
Yeah. Yeah. Obviously another one of these buzzwords is “harness engineering,” and whatever you think about it, the one good thing is it really elevates the notion that you should worry about the things around the model rather than the model itself. 

But speaking of. . . I guess I’m kind of old school in the sense that I want to still make sure that I can swap models out, not necessarily because I believe one model is better than the other but one model may be cheaper than the other, right? 

And at least up until recently—I haven’t had this conversation in a while—it seemed to me that people got stuck on a model because their prompts were so specific for a model that porting to another model seemed like a lot of work. But nowadays though you have tools like DSPy and GEPA that it seems like you can do that more easily. So what’s your sense of model portability as a design principle—model neutrality?

32.06
For one, I think the gap between models is much more exaggerated for consumer use cases just because people care quite a bit about the personality, about how the model…

32.22
No, I care about latency and cost.

32.24
Yeah. In terms of latency and cost, right, most of the model providers pretty much are competing to make sure they are in the market. I don’t know. Do you think that there are models. . .

32.35
Well, I think that you can still get good deals with Gemini. [laughs]

32.40
Interesting.

32.41
But honestly, I use OpenRouter and OpenCode. So, I’m much more kind of I don’t want to get locked into a single [model]. When I build something, I want to make sure that I build in a way that I can move to a different model provider if I have to. But it doesn’t sound like you think that this is something that people worry about right now. They’re just worried about building something usable and then we can worry about that later.

33.12
Yes. And again, I come from a very enterprise point, like “What are companies thinking about this?” And like I said, I’m not seeing a lot of competition for model neutrality because these companies have deals with vendors and they’re okay sticking with the same model provider. 

Now, when it comes to consumers, like if you’re building something for the kind of use cases that you were saying, Ben, I feel that, like I said, personality is super important for consumer builders. And I still think we’re not at a point where you can easily swap out models and be like, “OK, this is going to work as good as before,” just because you have over time learned how the model behaves. So you’ve kind of gotten calibrated with these models, and these models also have very specific personalities. So there’s a lot of you know reengineering that you have to do.

34.07
And when I say reengineering, it just might mean changing the way your prompts are written and stuff like that. It will still functionally work, which is why I say that enterprises don’t care about this much because the kind of use cases I see are like document processing or code generation, in which case functionality is of much more importance than personality. But for consumer use cases, I don’t think we’re at a point—to your point on building with OpenRouter, you can do that, but I think it’s a lot of overhead given that you’ll have to write specific prompts for all of these models depending on your use case. 

I recently ported my OpenClaw from Anthropic to OpenAI because of all of the recent things, and I had to change all of my SOUL.md files, USER.md files, so that I could kind of set the behavior. And it [took] quite some time to do it, and I’m still getting used to interacting with OpenClaw using OpenAI because it seems like it makes different mistakes than what Anthropic would do. 

35.03
So hopefully at some point [the] personalities of these models will converge but I do not think so because this is not a capability problem. It’s more of design choices that these model providers have made while building these models. So I don’t see a time where. . . We’re already at a point where capability-wise most models are getting closer, but personality-wise I don’t think model vendors would prefer to converge them because these are kind of your spiky edges which will make people with a certain personality gravitate towards your models. You don’t want to be making it like an average.

35.38
So in closing, you do a bit of teaching as well, right? One of the things I’ve really paid attention to is, in my conversations with people who are very, very early in their career, maybe still looking for the first job, literally, there’s a lot of worry out there. I mean, not necessarily if you’re a developer and you have a job—as long as you embrace the AI tools, you’re probably going to be fine. It’s just getting to that first job is getting harder and harder for people. 

And unfortunately, you need that first job to burnish your credentials and your résumé. And honestly companies also I think neglect the fact that this is your pipeline for talent within the company as well: You have to have the top of the funnel of your talent pipeline. So what advice do you give to people who are literally still trying to get to that first job?

36.51
For one, I have had a lot of success with hiring young folks because I think they are very agent native. I call them like agent-native operators. If you’ve been working in software, in IT, for about 10 years or something like me, you’ve gotten used to certain workflows without using AI. I feel like we’re so stuck in that old mindset that I really need someone who’s agent native to come and tell me, “Hey you could literally ask Claude Code to do this.” So I’ve had a lot of luck hiring folks who are early career because they are very coachable, one, and two, they just understand how to be agent native. 

So my suggestion would still be around that: Be a tinkerer. Try to find out what you can do with these tools, how you can automate them, and be extremely obsessed with designing and thinking and not really execution, right? Execution is kind of being taken over by agents. 

So how do you really think about “What can I delegate?” versus “What can I augment?” and really sitting in the position of almost being an agent manager and thinking “How can you set up processes so that you can make end-to-end impact?” So just thinking a lot around those lines—and those are the kind of people that we’d like to hire as well. 

And if you see a lot of these latest job roles ,you’ll also see roles blurring, right? People who are product managers are expected to also do GTM, also do a bit of engineering, and all of that. So really understand the stack end to end. And the best way to do it, I feel, is build a product of your own [and] try to sell it. You’ll get to see the whole thing. [That] doesn’t mean “Oh, stop looking for jobs—go become an entrepreneur” but really understanding workflows end to end and making that impact and sitting at the design layer will be super valued is what I think.

38.34
Yeah, the other thing I tell people is you have interests so go deep in your interest and build something in whatever you’re interested in. Domain knowledge is going to be valuable moving forward, but also you end up building something that you would want to use yourself and you learn a lot of things along the way and then maybe that’s how you get your name out there, right?

38.59
Exactly. Solving for your own problem is the best advice: Try to build something that solves your own pain point. Try to also advocate for it. I feel like social media and all of this is so good at this point that you can really make a mark in nontraditional ways. You probably don’t even have to submit a job application. You can have a GitHub repository that gets a lot of stars—that might land you a job. So think of all of these ways to bring yourself more visibility as you build so that you don’t have to go through your typical job queue.

39.30
And with that, thank you, Aishwarya. 

39.32
Thank you.

The following article was originally published on Tim O’Brien’s Medium page and is being reposted here with the author’s permission.

If you’ve spent any time around AI-assisted software work, you already know the moment when the Scope Creep Kraken first puts a tentacle on the boat.

The project begins with a real goal and, usually, a sensible one. Build the internal tool. Clean up the reporting flow. Add the missing admin screen. Then someone discovers that the model can generate a Swift application in minutes to render this on an iPhone, and the mood in the room changes.

“Why not? We can render this on an iOS application, and it will only take 10 minutes. Go for it. These tools are amazing. Wow.”

That first idea is often genuinely useful. Something that might have taken a week now takes an hour. That is part of what makes the pattern so seductive. It doesn’t begin with incompetence. It begins with tool-driven momentum.

The meeting continues, “Let’s put the entire year’s backlog into the system and see if we can get this all done in a week. Ignore the token spend limits, let’s just get this done.” What was a reasonable weekly release meeting has now set the stage for a rapid expansion in scope, and that’s how the Scope Creep Kraken takes over.

Scope creep is older than AI, of course. Software teams have been haunted by “while we’re at it” long before anybody was pasting stack traces into a chat window. What AI changed was the rate of growth. In the old version of this problem, extra scope still had to fight its way through staffing constraints. Somebody had to build the feature, debug it, test it, and explain why it belonged. That friction was often the only thing standing between a focused project and an over-extended team.

AI broke that.

Now the extra feature often arrives with a demo attached. “Could we add multi-language support?” Forty-five seconds later, there is a branch. “What about generated documentation?” Sure, why not? “Could the CLI accept natural language commands?” The model appears optimistic, which is enough to make the whole thing sound temporarily reasonable. Each addition looks manageable in isolation. That is how the Kraken works. It does not attack all at once. It wraps around the project one small grip at a time.

Signs the Kraken is already on your boat

• Features appearing without a ticket
• Branches nobody asked for
• Demos replacing design decisions
• “It only took the model 30 seconds.”

The part I keep seeing on teams is not reckless ambition so much as confident improvisation. People are reacting to real capability. They are not wrong to be excited that so much is suddenly possible.

The trouble starts when “we can generate this quickly” quietly replaces “we decided this belongs in the project.” Those are not the same sentence.

For a while, the Kraken even looks helpful. Output goes up. Screens appear. Branches multiply. People feel productive, and sometimes they really are productive in the narrow local sense. What gets hidden in that burst of visible progress is integration cost. Every tentacle has to be tested with every other tentacle. Every generated convenience becomes a maintenance obligation. Every small addition pulls the project a little farther from the problem it originally set out to solve.

The product manager might chime in, “A mobile application? I didn’t ask for that, but I guess it’s good. We’ll see. Who’s going to review this with the customer?”

That is usually when the team realizes the Kraken is already on the boat. The original sponsor asked for a hammer and is now watching a Swiss Army knife unfold in real time, with several blades no one asked for and at least one that does not seem to fold back in properly.

AI also makes it dangerously easy to confuse demonstrations with decisions.

The useful response is not to become suspicious of every experiment. Some of the first tentacles are worth keeping. The response is to put the old discipline back where AI made it easy to remove. Keep a written scope. Treat additions as actual decisions rather than prompt side effects. Ask what each new feature does to testing, documentation, support, and the team’s ability to explain the system six months from now. If nobody can answer those questions, the feature is not “done” just because the model produced a convincing draft.

What makes the Scope Creep Kraken a good name is one that teams can use in the moment. Once people can say, “This is another tentacle,” the conversation gets clearer. You are no longer arguing about whether the idea is clever. You are asking whether this is motivated by a requirement or a capability.

This is the third article in a series on agentic engineering and AI-driven development. Read part one here, part two here, part three here, and look for the next article on April 30 on O’Reilly Radar.

Here’s the dirty secret of the AI coding revolution: most experienced developers still don’t really trust the code the AI writes for us.

If I’m being honest, that’s not actually a particularly well-guarded secret. It feels like every day there’s a new breathless “I don’t have a lick of development experience but I just vibe coded this amazing application” article. And I get it—articles like that get so much engagement because everyone is watching carefully as the drama of AIs getting better and better at writing code unfolds. We’ve had decades of shows and movies, from WarGames to Hackers to Mr. Robot, portraying developers as reclusive geniuses doing mysterious but incredible stuff with computers. The idea that we’ve coded ourselves out of existence is fascinating to people.

The flip side of that pop-culture phenomenon is that when there are problems caused by agentic engineering gone wrong (like the equally popular “I trusted an AI agent and it deleted my entire production database” articles), everyone seems to find out about it. And, unfortunately, that newly emerging trope is much closer to reality. Most of us who do agentic engineering have seen our own AI-generated code go off the rails. That’s why I built and maintain the Quality Playbook, an open-source AI skill that uses quality engineering techniques that go back over fifty years to help developers working in any language verify the quality of their AI-generated code. I was as surprised as anyone to discover that it actually works.

I’ve talked often about how we need a “trust but verify” mindset when using AI to write code. In the past, I’ve mostly focused on the “trust” aspect, finding ways to help developers feel more comfortable adopting AI coding tools and using them for production work. But I’m increasingly convinced that our biggest problem with AI-driven development is that we don’t have a reliable way to check the quality of code from agentic engineering at scale. AI is writing our code faster than we can verify it, and that is one of AI’s biggest problems right now.

A false choice

After I got my first real taste of using AI for development in a professional setting, it felt like I was being asked to make a critical choice: either I had to outsource all of my thinking to the AI and just trust it to build whatever code I needed, or I had to review every single file it generated line by line.

A lot of really good, really experienced senior engineers I’ve talked to feel the same way. A small number of experienced developers fully embrace vibe coding and basically fire off the AI to do what it needs to, depending on a combination of unit tests and solid, decoupled architecture (and a little luck, maybe) to make sure things go well. But more frequently, the senior, experienced engineers I’ve talked to, folks who’ve been developing for a really long time, go the other way. When I ask them if they’re using AI every day, they’ll almost always say something like, “Yeah, I use AI for unit tests and code reviews.” That’s almost always a tell that they don’t trust the AI to build the really important code that’s at the core of the application. They’re using AI for things that won’t cause production bugs if they go wrong.

I think this excerpt from a recent (and excellent) article in Ars Technica, “Cognitive surrender” leads AI users to abandon logical thinking, sums up how many experienced developers feel about working with AI:

When it comes to large language model-powered tools, there are generally two broad categories of users. On one side are those who treat AI as a powerful but sometimes faulty service that needs careful human oversight and review to detect reasoning or factual flaws in responses. On the other side are those who routinely outsource their critical thinking to what they see as an all-knowing machine.

I agree that those are two options for dealing with AI. But I also believe that’s a false choice. “Cognitive surrender,” as the research referenced by the article puts it, is not a good outcome. But neither is reviewing every line of code the AI writes, because that’s so effort-intensive that we may as well just write it all ourselves. (And I can almost hear some of you asking, “What so bad about that?”)

This false choice is what really drives a lot of really good, very experienced senior engineers away from AI-driven development today. We see those two options, and they are both terrible. And that’s why I’m writing this article (and the next few in this Radar series) about quality.

Some shocking numbers about AI coding tools

The Quality Playbook is an open-source skill for AI coding tools like GitHub Copilot, Cursor, Claude Code, and Windsurf. You point it at a codebase, and it generates a complete quality engineering infrastructure for that project: test plans traced to requirements, code review protocols, integration tests, and more. More importantly, it brings back quality engineering practices that much of the industry abandoned decades ago, using AI to do a lot of the quality-related work that used to require a dedicated team.

I built the Quality Playbook as part of an experiment in AI-driven development and agentic engineering, building an open-source project called Octobatch and writing about the process in this ongoing Radar series. The playbook emerged directly from that experiment. The ideas behind it are over fifty years old, and they work.

Along the way, I ran into a shocking statistic.

We already know that many (most?) developers these days use AI coding tools like GitHub Copilot, Claude Code, Gemini, ChatGPT, and Cursor to write production code. But do we trust the code those tools generate? “Trust in these systems has collapsed to just 33%, a sharp decline from over 70% in 2023.”

That quote is from a Gemini Deep Research report I generated while doing research for this article. 70% dropping to 33%—that sounds like a massive collapse, right?

The thing is, when I checked the sources Gemini referenced, the truth wasn’t nearly as clear-cut. That “over 70% in 2023” number came from a Stack Overflow survey measuring how favorably developers view AI tools. The “33%” number came from a Qodo survey asking whether developers trust the accuracy of AI-generated code. Gemini grabbed both numbers, stripped the context, and stitched them into a single decline narrative. No single study ever measured trust dropping from over 70% to 33%. Which means we’ve got an apples-to-oranges comparison, and it might even technically be accurate (sort of?), but it’s not really the headline-grabber that it seemed to be.

So why am I telling you about it?

Because there are two important lessons from that “shocking” stat. The first is that the overall idea rings true, at least for me. Almost all of us have had the experience of generating code with AI faster than we can verify it, and we ship features before we fully review them.

The second is that when Gemini created the report, the AI fabricated the most alarming version of the story from real but unrelated data points. If I’d just cited it without checking the sources, there’s a pretty good chance it would get published, and you might even believe it. That’s ironically self-referential, because it’s literally the trust problem the survey is supposedly measuring. The AI produced something that looked authoritative, felt correct, and was wrong in ways that only careful verification could catch. If you want to understand why over 70% of developers don’t fully trust AI-generated code, you just watched it happen.

One reason many of us don’t trust AI-generated choice is because there’s a growing gap between how fast AI can generate code and how well we can verify that the code actually does what we intended. The usual response to this verification gap is to adopt better testing tools. And there are plenty of them: test stub generators, diff reviewers, spec-first frameworks. These are useful, and they solve real problems. But they generally share a blind spot: they work with what the code does, not with what it’s supposed to do. Luckily, the intent is sitting right there: in the specs, the schemas, the defensive code, the history of the AI chats about the project, even the variable names and filenames. We just need a way to use it.

AI-driven development needs its own quality practices, and the discipline we need already exists. It was just (unfairly) considered too expensive to use… until AI made it cheap.

(Re-)introducing quality engineering

There’s a difference between knowing that code works and knowing that it does what it’s supposed to do. It’s the difference between “does this function return the right value?” and “does this system fulfill its purpose?”—and as it turns out, that’s one of the oldest problems in software engineering. In fact, as I talked about in a previous Radar article, Prompt Engineering Is Requirements Engineering, it was the source of the original “software crisis.”

The software crisis was the term people used across our industry back in the 1960s when they were coming to grips with large software projects around the world that were routinely delivered late, over budget, and delivering software that didn’t do what it was supposed to do. At the 1968 NATO Software Engineering Conference—the conference that introduced the term “software engineering”—some of the top experts in the industry talked about how the crisis was caused by the developers and their stakeholders had trouble understanding the problems they were solving, communicating those needs clearly, and making sure that the systems they delivered actually met their users’ needs. Nearly two decades later, Fred Brooks made the same argument in his pioneering essay, No Silver Bullet: no tool can, on its own, eliminate the inherent difficulty of understanding what needs to be built and communicating that intent clearly. And now that we talk to our AI development tools the same way we talk to our teammates, we’re more susceptible than ever to that underlying problem of communication and shared understanding.

An important part of the industry’s response to the software crisis was quality engineering, a discipline built specifically to close the gap between intent and implementation by defining what “correct” means up front, tracing tests back to requirements, and verifying that the delivered system actually does what it’s supposed to do. For years it was standard practice for software engineering teams to include quality engineering phases in all projects. But few teams today do traditional quality engineering. Understanding why it got left behind by so many of us, more importantly, what it can do for us now, can make a huge difference for agentic engineering and AI-driven development today.

Starting in the 1950s, three thinkers built the intellectual foundation that manufacturing used to become dramatically more reliable.

• W. Edwards Deming argued that quality is built into the process, not inspected in after the fact. He taught us that you don’t test your way to a good product; you design the system that produces it.
• Joseph Juran defined quality as fitness for use: not just “does it work?” but ”does it do what it’s supposed to do, under real conditions, for the people who actually use it?”
• Philip Crosby made the business case: quality is free, because building it in costs less than finding and fixing defects after the fact. By the time I joined my first professional software development team in the 1990s, these ideas were standard practice in our industry.

These ideas revolutionized software quality, and the people who put them into practice were called quality engineers. They built test plans traced to requirements, ran functional testing against specifications, and maintained living documentation that defined what “correct” meant for each part of the system.

So why did all of this disappear from most software teams? (It’s still alive in regulated industries like aerospace, medical devices, and automotive, where traceability is mandated by law, and a few brave holdouts throughout the industry.) It wasn’t because it didn’t work. Quality engineering got cut because it was perceived as expensive. Crosby was right that quality is free: the cost of building it in is far more than made up for by the savings you get from not finding and fixing defects later. But the costs come at the beginning of the project and the savings come at the end. In practice, that means when the team blows a deadline and the manager gets angry and starts looking for something to cut, the testing and QA activities are easy targets because the software already seems to be complete.

On top of the perceived expense, quality engineering required specialists. Building good requirements, designing test plans, and planning and running functional and regression testing are real, technical skills, and most teams simply didn’t have anyone (or, more specifically, the budget for anyone) who could do those jobs.

Quality engineering may have faded from our projects and teams over time, but the industry didn’t just give up on many of its best ideas. Developers are nothing if not resourceful, and we built our own quality practices—three of the most popular are test-driven development, behavior-driven development, agile-style iteration—and these are genuinely good at what they do. TDD keeps code honest by making you write the test before the implementation. BDD was specifically designed to capture requirements in a form that developers, testers, and stakeholders can all read (though in practice, most teams strip away the stakeholder involvement and it devolves into another flavor of integration testing). Agile iteration tightens the feedback loop so you catch problems earlier.

Those newer quality practices are practical and developer-focused, and they’re less expensive to adopt than traditional quality engineering in the short run because they live inside the development cycle. The upside of those practices is that development teams can generally implement them on their own, without asking for permission or requiring experts. The tradeoff, however, is that those practices have limited scope. They verify that the code you’re writing right now works correctly, but they don’t step back and ask whether the system as a whole fulfills its original intent. Quality engineering, on the other hand, establishes the intent of the system before the development cycle even begins, and keeps it up to date and feeds it back to the team as the project progresses. That’s a huge piece of the puzzle that got lost along the way.

Those highly effective quality engineering practices got cut from most software engineering teams because they were viewed as expensive, not because they were wrong. When you’re doing AI-driven development, you’re actually running into exactly the same problem that quality engineering was built to solve. You have a “team”—your AI coding tools—and you need a structured process to make sure that team is building what you actually intend. Quality engineering is such a good fit for AI-driven development because it’s the discipline that was specifically designed to close that gap between what you ask for and what gets built.

What nobody expected is that AI would make it cheap enough in the short run to bring quality engineering back to our projects.

Introducing the Quality Playbook

I’ve long suspected that quality engineering would be a perfect fit for AI-driven development (AIDD), and I finally got a chance to test that hypothesis. As part of my experiment with AIDD and agentic engineering (which I’ve been writing about in The Accidental Orchestrator and the rest of this series), I built the Quality Playbook, a skill for AI tools like Cursor, GitHub Copilot, and Claude Code that lets you bring these highly effective quality practices to any project, using AI to do the work that used to require a dedicated quality engineering team. Like other AI skills and agents, it’s a structured document that plugs into an AI coding agent and teaches it a specific capability. You point it at a codebase, and the AI explores the code, reads whatever specifications and documentation it can find, and generates a complete quality infrastructure tailored to that project. The Quality Playbook is now part of awesome-copilot, a collection of community-contributed agents (and I’ve also opened a pull request to add it to Anthropic’s repository of Claude Code skills).

What does “quality infrastructure” actually mean? Think about what a quality engineering team would build if you hired one. A good quality engineer would start by defining what “correct” means for your project: what the system is supposed to do, grounded in your requirements, your domain, what your users actually need. From there, they’d write tests traced to those requirements, build a code review process that checks whether the code implements what it’s supposed to, design integration tests that verify the whole system works together, and set up an audit process where independent reviewers check the code against its original intent.

That’s what the playbook generates. Developers using AI tools have been rediscovering the value of requirements, and spec-driven development (SDD) has become very popular. You don’t need to be practicing strict spec-driven development to use it. The playbook infers your project’s intent from whatever artifacts are available: chat logs, schemas, README files, code comments, and even defensive code patterns. If you have formal specs, great; if not, the AI pieces together what “correct” means from the evidence it can find.

Once the playbook figures out the intent of the code, it creates quality infrastructure for the project. Specifically, it generates ten deliverables:

• Exploration and requirements elicitation (EXPLORATION.md): Before the playbook writes anything, it spends an entire phase reading the code, documentation, specs, and schemas, and writes a structured exploration document that maps the project’s architecture and domain. The most common failure mode in AI-generated quality work is producing generic content that could apply to any project. The exploration phase forces the AI to ground everything in this specific codebase, and serves as an audit trail: if the requirements end up wrong, you can trace the problem back to what the exploration discovered or missed.
• Testable requirements (REQUIREMENTS.md): The most important deliverable. Building on the exploration, a five-phase pipeline extracts the actual intent of the project from code, documentation, AI chats, messages, support tickets, and any other project artifacts you can give it. The result is a specification document that a new team member or AI agent can read top-to-bottom and understand the software. Each requirement is tagged with an authority tier and linked to use cases that become the connective tissue tying requirements to integration tests to bug reports.
• Quality constitution (QUALITY.md): Defines what “correct” means for your specific project, grounded in your actual domain. Every standard has a rationale explaining why it matters, because without the rationale, a future AI session will argue the standard down.
• Spec-traced functional tests: Tests generated from the requirements, not from source code. That difference matters: a test generated from source code verifies that the code does what the code does, while a test traced to a spec verifies that the code does what you intended.
• Three-pass code review protocol with bug reports and regression tests: Three mandatory review passes, each using a different lens: structural review with anti-hallucination guardrails, requirement verification (where you catch things the code doesn’t do that it was supposed to), and cross-requirement consistency checking. Every confirmed bug gets a regression test and a patch file.
• Consolidated bug report (BUGS.md): Every confirmed bug with full reproduction details, severity calibrated to real-world impact, and a spec basis citing the specific documentation the code violates. Maintainers respond differently to ”your code violates section X.Y of your own spec” than to ”this looks like it might be a bug.”
• TDD red/green verification: For each confirmed bug, a regression test runs against unpatched code (must fail), then the fix is applied and the test reruns (must pass). When you tell a maintainer ”here’s a test that fails on your current code and passes with this one-line fix,” that’s qualitatively different from a bug report.
• Integration test protocol: A structured test matrix that an AI agent can pick up and execute autonomously, without asking clarifying questions. Every test specifies the exact command, what it proves, and specific pass/fail criteria. Field names and types are read from actual source files, not recalled from memory, as an anti-hallucination mechanism.
• Council of Three multi-model spec audit: Three independent AI models audit the codebase against the requirements. The triage uses confidence weighting, not majority vote: findings from all three are near-certain, two are high-confidence, and findings from only one get a verification probe rather than being dismissed. The most valuable findings are often the ones only one model catches.
• AGENTS.md bootstrap file: A context file that future AI sessions read first, so they inherit the full quality infrastructure. Without it, every new session starts from zero. With it, the quality constitution, requirements, and review protocols carry forward automatically across every session that touches the codebase.

The third option

I started this article by talking about a false choice: either we surrender our judgment to the AI, or get stuck reviewing every line of code it writes. The reality is much more nuanced, and, in my opinion, a lot more interesting, if we have a trustworthy way to verify that the code we worked with the AI to build actually does what we intended. It’s not a coincidence that this is one of the oldest problems in software engineering, and not surprising that AI can help us with it.

The Quality Playbook leans heavily on classic quality engineering techniques to do that verification. Those techniques work very well, and that gives us the more nuanced option: using AI to help us write our code, and then using it to help us trust what it built.

That’s not a gimmick or a paradox. It works because verification is exactly the kind of structured, specification-driven work that AI is good at. Writing tests traced to requirements, reviewing code against intent, checking that the system does what it’s supposed to do under real conditions. These are the things quality engineers used to do across the whole industry (and still do in the highly regulated parts of it). They’re also things that AI can do well, as long as we tell it what “correct” means.

The experienced engineers I talked about at the beginning of this article, the ones who only use AI for unit tests and code reviews, aren’t wrong to be cautious. They’re right that we can’t just trust whatever output the AI spits out. But limiting AI to just the “safe” parts of our projects keeps us from taking advantage of such an important set of tools. The way out of this quagmire is to build the infrastructure that makes the rest of it trustworthy too. Quality engineering gives us that infrastructure, and AI makes it cheap enough to actually use on all of our projects every day.

In the next few articles, I’ll show you what happened when I pointed the Quality Playbook at real, mature open-source codebases and it started finding real bugs, how the playbook emerged from my AI-driven development experiment, what the quality engineering mindset looks like in practice, and how we can learn important lessons from that experience that apply to all of our projects.

The Quality Playbook is open source and works with GitHub Copilot, Cursor, and Claude Code. It’s also available as part of awesome-copilot. You can try it out today by downloading it into your project and asking the AI to generate the quality playbook. The whole process takes about 10-15 minutes for a typical codebase. I’ll cover more details on running it in future articles in this series.

I can’t claim to be a professional software developer—not by a long shot. I occasionally write some Python code to analyze spreadsheets, and I occasionally hack something together on my own, usually related to prime numbers or numerical analysis. But I have to admit that I identify with both of the groups of programmers that Les Orchard identifies in “Grief and the AI Split”: those who just want to make a computer do something and those who grieve losing the satisfaction they get from writing good code.

A lot of the time, I just want to get something done; that’s particularly true when I’m grinding through a spreadsheet with sales data that has a half-million rows. (Yes, compared to databases, that’s nothing.) It’s frustrating to run into some roadblock in pandas that I can’t solve without looking through documentation, tutorials, and several incorrect Stack Overflow answers. But there’s also the programming that I do for fun—not all that often, but occasionally: writing a really big prime number sieve, seeing if I can do a million-point convex hull on my laptop in a reasonable amount of time, things like that. And that’s where the problem comes in. . .if there really is a problem.

The other day, I read a post of Simon Willison’s that included AI-generated animations of the major sorting algorithms. No big deal in itself; I’ve seen animated sorting algorithms before. Simon’s were different only in that they were AI-generated—but that made me want to try vibe coding an animation rather than something static. Graphing the first N terms of a Fourier series has long been one of the first things I try in a new programming language. So I asked Claude Code to generate an interactive web animation of the Fourier series. Claude did just fine. I couldn’t have created the app on my own, at least not as a single-page web app; I’ve always avoided JavaScript, for better or for worse. And that was cool, though, as with Simon’s sorting animations, there are plenty of Fourier animations online.

I then got interested in animations that aren’t so common. I grabbed Algorithms in a Nutshell, started looking through the chapters, and asked Claude to animate a number of things I hadn’t seen, ending with Dijkstra’s algorithm for finding the shortest path through a graph. It had some trouble with a few of the algorithms, though when I asked Claude to generate a plan first and used a second prompt asking it to implement the plan, everything worked.

And it was fun. I made the computer do things I wanted it to do; the thrill of controlling machines is something that sticks with us from our childhoods. The prompts were simple and short—they could have been much longer if I wanted to specify the design of the web page, but Claude’s sense of taste was good enough. I had other work to do while Claude was “thinking,” including attending some meetings, but I could easily have started several instances of Claude Code and had them create simulations in parallel. Doing so wouldn’t have required any fancy orchestration because every simulation was independent of the others. No need for Gas Town.

When I was done, I felt a version of the grief Les Orchard writes about. More specifically: I don’t really understand Dijkstra’s algorithm. I know what it does and have a vague idea of how it works, and I’m sure I could understand it if I read Algorithms in a Nutshell rather than used it as a catalog of things to animate. But now that I had the animation, I realized that I hadn’t gone through the process of understanding the algorithm well enough to write the code. And I cared about that.

I also cared about Fourier transformations: I would never “need” to write that code again. If I decide to learn Rust, will I write a Fourier program, or ask Claude to do it and inspect the output? I already knew the theory behind Fourier transforms—but I realized that an era had ended, and I still don’t know how I feel about that. Indeed, a few months ago, I vibe coded an application that recorded some audio from my laptop’s microphone, did a discrete Fourier transform, and displayed the result. After pasting the code into a file, I took the laptop over to the piano, started the program, played a C, and saw the fundamental and all the harmonics. The era was already in the past; it just took a few months to hit me.

Why does this bother me? My problem isn’t about losing the pleasure of turning ideas into code. I’ve always found coding at least somewhat frustrating, and at times, seriously frustrating. But I’m bothered by the lack of understanding: I was too lazy to look up how Dijkstra works, too lazy to look up (again) how discrete Fourier works. I made the computer do what I wanted, but I lost the understanding of how it did it.

What does it mean to lose the understanding of how the code works? Anything? It’s common to place the transition to AI-assisted coding in the context of the transition from assembly language to higher-level languages, a process that started in the late 1950s. That’s valid, but there’s an important difference. You can certainly program a discrete fast Fourier transform in assembly; that may even be one of the last bastions of assembly programs, since FFTs are extremely useful and often have to run on relatively slow processors. (The “butterfly” algorithm is very fast.) But you can’t learn signal processing by writing assembly any more than you can learn graph theory. When you’re writing in assembler, you have to know what you’re doing in advance. The early programming languages of the 1950s (Fortran, Lisp, Algol, even BASIC) are much better for gradually pushing forward to understanding, to say nothing of our modern languages.

That is the real source of grief, at least for me. I want to understand how things work. And I admit that I’m lazy. Understanding how things work quickly comes in conflict with getting stuff done—especially when staring at a blank screen—and writing Python or Java has a lot to do with how you come to an understanding. I will never need to understand convex hulls or Dijkstra’s algorithm. But thinking more broadly about this industry, I wonder whether we’ll be able to solve the new problems if we delegate understanding the old problems to AI. In the past, I’ve argued that I don’t see AI becoming genuinely creative because creativity isn’t just a recombination of things that already exist. I’ll stick by that, especially in the arts. AI may be a useful tool, but I don’t believe it will become an artist. But anyone involved with the arts also understands that creativity doesn’t come from a blank slate; it also requires an understanding of history, of how problems were solved in the past. And that makes me wonder whether humans—at least in computing—will continue to be creative if we delegate that understanding to AI.

Or does creativity just move up the stack to the next level of abstraction? And is that next level of abstraction all about understanding problems and writing good specifications? Writing a detailed specification is itself a kind of programming. But I don’t think that kind of grief will assuage the grief of the programmer who loves coding—or who may not love coding but loves the understanding that it brings.