Monday, January 24, 2005
What a fucking day. The last few days at work have been one big giant pain in my round white ass. I just really want to take a swing at somebody. I realize that I am almost 100% sure I'm ovulating, so my natural moodiness has been intensified to embarrassing levels, but even medicated into Stepfordian compliance, these people would have me ready to thrash someone. I believe this particular mudslide began the morning I came in to discover that not only had they not put away the bread the night before, and not only had they left it in the warming oven, ON all night long, but they also left 6 servings of chocolate cake UNCOVERED in the warming oven as well.
Sassy: "Why hello there, little chocolate bricks. I'm so glad you could hang out and wait for my return to demonstrate exactly how much my work is appreciated around here."
The bread was later forgiven, as the waiter responsible came back to ask me if it was OK to leave it like that because someone had told him to do that, but he thought it seemed weird. So I got the chance to explain to him exactly how A Responsible Employee Puts Away Bread. See, maybe I'm overeducated, and the line between Higher Knowledge and Common Sense has been blurred. I thought the concept of plastic wrap was a pretty ubiquitous little fact. He is better educated now, nonetheless, and given the fact that I suspect he's trying to flirt with me, I suspect the bread will be much better taken care of when he's closing. The cake, on the other hand, was burning a searing ulcer in my gut every time I thought about it. I wanted to take each plate and hurl it at every jerk who walked by me. I took the tray out and set it out on the counter where those responsible do a lot of work (ironically, or perhaps not so very much ironically, this table is also terribly inconvenient for ME because it causes the worker to stand directly in front of MY OVEN). I thought the big glaring tray full of dried up cake might get someone's attention. It sat there all day. They suddenly had other places they could get their word done (mental note: stack that table full of crap so they don't work there).
One of the items I make for the restaurant is mini-biscotti. People rave over them [hair toss], naturally, and most of the time I enjoy making them. They are a bit of a pain because of COURSE, my small mixer is missing the paddle, so I have to either do a 6x batch in the big mixer and save the dough or wing it with the bread hook [grrrrrr]. Details, details, nobody cares, Sassy. Anyway, these cookies are meant to be after-dinner "treats" that go out with the check to each table. Unfortunately, probably about 20% of them actually serve that purpose. The rest are eaten quite brazenly by the wait staff. In the past 3 weeks of keeping track of such things, I have seen exactly ONE SERVER carrying these cookies on a plate. Every other one I saw traveling through the kitchen was going directly into a server's mouth. Or Chef's. Or the manager's. Every. Single. One.
And then there's my station. For some reason, everyone is under the impression that my station is a snack bar. Nothing is sacred. Sauces, toppings, garnishes are all at risk of being eaten at any moment. One would think wrapping them up tightly in plastic and labeling them clearly regarding their intended purpose would stop them. One would think labeling them "KEEP YOUR GRUBBY PAWS OFF, YOU FREELOADING IDIOT!!" might work. One would think that the fact that the tray just came out of a 400° oven and its contents are still scalding hot might stop a few. It boggles the mind.
And then Saturday, I'd just had it. The upcoming weeks are packed with events (and Valentine's Day, a big restaurant holiday) that require special items above and beyond the regular rotation of things I make. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to recognize the fact that EVERYTHING I MAKE is being used to market our restaurant as the premier place to eat in this town. "Fresh baked bread! We even make our own burger buns! Fantastic desserts! Free treat at the end of your meal! Birthday or special occasion? Why give them a free dessert! Dissatisfied with your meal? Give them a free dessert!!! Have a special event? Ask Sassy to make something special!!" Oh yes, and on special event nights when they have big parties that are likely to overwhelm the kitchen, they offer the groups a trimmed-down menu, to make things easier on the kitchen staff and make the process quicker and more efficient. Oh, except for the desserts, of course. Every time they ask me what I would like to offer these groups, I explain that it is a Very Bad Idea to offer a large group of people being served all at once ANYTHING WITH ICE CREAM, particularly since both our menu items that have ice cream are SERVED WARM. EVERY TIME I explain this. And EVERY TIME I get overridden and they offer these groups the EXACT ITEMS I TOLD THEM TO TAKE OFF THE MENU!! Chef's solution? OH, don't warm the cake, it'll be OK.
Fuck you.
So I have this busy season coming up. I go in Saturday, thinking it'll be my last "slow day" before I really have to start buckling down and getting stuff done ahead of time to keep up with all the special orders. I come in early, even, to get things organized. Naturally I'm greeted with the standard bread-not-put-away issues, as well as all sorts of assorted messes and missing utensils. Then the Battle for the Oven began. I wanted to storm out on the spot, but I took it quietly and tried to plan around it. All freaking day, EVERY TIME I went to put something in the oven, someone had CHANGED THE TEMPERATURE and put something else in it. Keep in mind that the first time this happened, Tanner came to me and asked permission, and when I explained to him that I had everything timed out, including bread which cannot wait it's turn in the oven or it's ruined, and that he could have the oven for 20 minutes, but after that I had to take it back, he decided to just do his chickens in the oven downstairs. "Downstairs" means the ovens down on the main line. Yes, the chefs all have TWO OVENS of their VERY FUCKING OWN, RIGHT THERE WHERE THEY STAND ALL FREAKING DAY, but for some reason, they believe that MY OVEN, the one in MY STATION, MY OVEN is the one they should be using. Why is it one might think an oven is too screwed up or unreliable to suitably handle roasting a bunch of chickens, but it's perfectly OK for a cake or a tray full of bread?????? I digress. Tanner told me the chickens would be done downstairs. 25 minutes later, 3 hotel pans full of chocolate cake batter have to be stacked on the rack next to the oven BECAUSE IT'S FUCKING FULL OF CHICKENS. I go to Tanner and ask, "Were you going to move those chickens after 20 minutes? Isn't that what we talked about?" "Well I don't know, Chef put them in there." Nice dodge, asshole.
This bullshit continued ALL FUCKING DAY, and then they had the NERVE to ask me why there was a short count on chocolate cake for the night. 3 people came to ask me when the bread would be ready, while blatantly foraging through my station for snacks RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME! "WHEN I FINISH SHOVING IT UP YOUR FUCKING ASS!!!"
No, I didn't really say that. I wanted to, though. Real bad.
So because of all the oven-dodging, my whole game was thrown off. I had to put off things I was going to do, and rearrange all sorts of carefully timed things just to make sure we had what we needed for service when we opened. I was pissed off all night (can you tell?). I was so pissed off that the 3 separate professions of love and one marriage proposal by adoring sweets fans (I made my own peanut butter cups, they were yummy, I admit.) could damper my world-encompassing ire.
So one would think, Monday, it's a new week. Time to let bygones be suchandsuch, right? Oh no, Sassafrass, just more of the same-ole-same-ole. No, no, no. First, there is only exactly enough bread flour to make the sourdough I need for service. No big, I can make burger buns tomorrow, because, after all, I saw that they had a bag of buns from the freezer out on a rack ALL FREAKING DAY getting stale. There were easily more than a dozen in there, and they don't serve much in the way of burgers at dinner, and Mondays are notoriously slow, so that was fine. Except it wasn't apparently, and at 11:15 Tanner comes to me all wide-eyed and innocent-like, wanting to know where I have the "extra burger buns". Bwwwwwwaaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!! Extra burger buns. phew, that's funny.
Oh, and can you just look at that time again? We open for lunch at 11. They wait until 11:15 to ASK ME??
Fuck all y'all.
Naturally at this point, I'm so fucking over it, I can't be goaded into getting upset. "Gee, did y'all throw away all those buns you let sit out and get stale? You do realize that it takes 3 and a half HOURS to make a batch of those, don't you?"
"Uh, no."
I was delightfully entertained by the widespread panic that quickly whipped its way through both the kitchen and the serving staff.
[running around waving arms above my fool-head: "Oh LORDY, whatEVAH will AH DO without BURGER BUNS??? OH HEAVENS!!! Someone else wants a burger! Make them stop MOMMY Make them stop!!!"
Tee hee. Oh the evil feels so good when it's let out to roam.
Chef comes back to instruct me to magically pull burger buns out of my ass. I am nearly swallowing my tongue to prevent myself from offering to spread my ass cheeks apart to prove I have no burger buns in there. I particularly irritated by this lecture because I know FOR A FACT that every time I have complained to him about the sorry state of closing that the other cooks do in my station, he has promised to "say something" to them, but he DID NOT. I gleefully explain to him that even if I were to bend the laws of physics and make the yeast do it's work at breakneck speed, I have no bread flour with which to make his precious buns, and point to the supply request list written on his door--> "HI GLUTEN FLOUR". He is clearly irritated with me, but I am SO FUCKING OVER IT, I just smile and shrug, and continue about my business.
He sent someone out to the store to buy me some bread flour. That's great. I imagine he flew into a nice little rage later this evening when he discovered the unbaked buns proofing in the cooler, seeing that he'll still have no buns until tomorrow's lunch. Gee, I recall telling him specifically that if I were going to take on the buns as an additional item to be responsible for, he would ALWAYS have to keep some backup in the freezer because I couldn't guarantee I could keep up with all the extra work all the time. Hmmmmmmm...
So the day has been like that. I wonder if it'll be any better tomorrow. I have to begin getting ready for some new show opening at the Arts Museum upstairs from us. They want biscotti. Now only if I can get some past the servers unscathed...
Sassy: "Why hello there, little chocolate bricks. I'm so glad you could hang out and wait for my return to demonstrate exactly how much my work is appreciated around here."
The bread was later forgiven, as the waiter responsible came back to ask me if it was OK to leave it like that because someone had told him to do that, but he thought it seemed weird. So I got the chance to explain to him exactly how A Responsible Employee Puts Away Bread. See, maybe I'm overeducated, and the line between Higher Knowledge and Common Sense has been blurred. I thought the concept of plastic wrap was a pretty ubiquitous little fact. He is better educated now, nonetheless, and given the fact that I suspect he's trying to flirt with me, I suspect the bread will be much better taken care of when he's closing. The cake, on the other hand, was burning a searing ulcer in my gut every time I thought about it. I wanted to take each plate and hurl it at every jerk who walked by me. I took the tray out and set it out on the counter where those responsible do a lot of work (ironically, or perhaps not so very much ironically, this table is also terribly inconvenient for ME because it causes the worker to stand directly in front of MY OVEN). I thought the big glaring tray full of dried up cake might get someone's attention. It sat there all day. They suddenly had other places they could get their word done (mental note: stack that table full of crap so they don't work there).
One of the items I make for the restaurant is mini-biscotti. People rave over them [hair toss], naturally, and most of the time I enjoy making them. They are a bit of a pain because of COURSE, my small mixer is missing the paddle, so I have to either do a 6x batch in the big mixer and save the dough or wing it with the bread hook [grrrrrr]. Details, details, nobody cares, Sassy. Anyway, these cookies are meant to be after-dinner "treats" that go out with the check to each table. Unfortunately, probably about 20% of them actually serve that purpose. The rest are eaten quite brazenly by the wait staff. In the past 3 weeks of keeping track of such things, I have seen exactly ONE SERVER carrying these cookies on a plate. Every other one I saw traveling through the kitchen was going directly into a server's mouth. Or Chef's. Or the manager's. Every. Single. One.
And then there's my station. For some reason, everyone is under the impression that my station is a snack bar. Nothing is sacred. Sauces, toppings, garnishes are all at risk of being eaten at any moment. One would think wrapping them up tightly in plastic and labeling them clearly regarding their intended purpose would stop them. One would think labeling them "KEEP YOUR GRUBBY PAWS OFF, YOU FREELOADING IDIOT!!" might work. One would think that the fact that the tray just came out of a 400° oven and its contents are still scalding hot might stop a few. It boggles the mind.
And then Saturday, I'd just had it. The upcoming weeks are packed with events (and Valentine's Day, a big restaurant holiday) that require special items above and beyond the regular rotation of things I make. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to recognize the fact that EVERYTHING I MAKE is being used to market our restaurant as the premier place to eat in this town. "Fresh baked bread! We even make our own burger buns! Fantastic desserts! Free treat at the end of your meal! Birthday or special occasion? Why give them a free dessert! Dissatisfied with your meal? Give them a free dessert!!! Have a special event? Ask Sassy to make something special!!" Oh yes, and on special event nights when they have big parties that are likely to overwhelm the kitchen, they offer the groups a trimmed-down menu, to make things easier on the kitchen staff and make the process quicker and more efficient. Oh, except for the desserts, of course. Every time they ask me what I would like to offer these groups, I explain that it is a Very Bad Idea to offer a large group of people being served all at once ANYTHING WITH ICE CREAM, particularly since both our menu items that have ice cream are SERVED WARM. EVERY TIME I explain this. And EVERY TIME I get overridden and they offer these groups the EXACT ITEMS I TOLD THEM TO TAKE OFF THE MENU!! Chef's solution? OH, don't warm the cake, it'll be OK.
Fuck you.
So I have this busy season coming up. I go in Saturday, thinking it'll be my last "slow day" before I really have to start buckling down and getting stuff done ahead of time to keep up with all the special orders. I come in early, even, to get things organized. Naturally I'm greeted with the standard bread-not-put-away issues, as well as all sorts of assorted messes and missing utensils. Then the Battle for the Oven began. I wanted to storm out on the spot, but I took it quietly and tried to plan around it. All freaking day, EVERY TIME I went to put something in the oven, someone had CHANGED THE TEMPERATURE and put something else in it. Keep in mind that the first time this happened, Tanner came to me and asked permission, and when I explained to him that I had everything timed out, including bread which cannot wait it's turn in the oven or it's ruined, and that he could have the oven for 20 minutes, but after that I had to take it back, he decided to just do his chickens in the oven downstairs. "Downstairs" means the ovens down on the main line. Yes, the chefs all have TWO OVENS of their VERY FUCKING OWN, RIGHT THERE WHERE THEY STAND ALL FREAKING DAY, but for some reason, they believe that MY OVEN, the one in MY STATION, MY OVEN is the one they should be using. Why is it one might think an oven is too screwed up or unreliable to suitably handle roasting a bunch of chickens, but it's perfectly OK for a cake or a tray full of bread?????? I digress. Tanner told me the chickens would be done downstairs. 25 minutes later, 3 hotel pans full of chocolate cake batter have to be stacked on the rack next to the oven BECAUSE IT'S FUCKING FULL OF CHICKENS. I go to Tanner and ask, "Were you going to move those chickens after 20 minutes? Isn't that what we talked about?" "Well I don't know, Chef put them in there." Nice dodge, asshole.
This bullshit continued ALL FUCKING DAY, and then they had the NERVE to ask me why there was a short count on chocolate cake for the night. 3 people came to ask me when the bread would be ready, while blatantly foraging through my station for snacks RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME! "WHEN I FINISH SHOVING IT UP YOUR FUCKING ASS!!!"
No, I didn't really say that. I wanted to, though. Real bad.
So because of all the oven-dodging, my whole game was thrown off. I had to put off things I was going to do, and rearrange all sorts of carefully timed things just to make sure we had what we needed for service when we opened. I was pissed off all night (can you tell?). I was so pissed off that the 3 separate professions of love and one marriage proposal by adoring sweets fans (I made my own peanut butter cups, they were yummy, I admit.) could damper my world-encompassing ire.
So one would think, Monday, it's a new week. Time to let bygones be suchandsuch, right? Oh no, Sassafrass, just more of the same-ole-same-ole. No, no, no. First, there is only exactly enough bread flour to make the sourdough I need for service. No big, I can make burger buns tomorrow, because, after all, I saw that they had a bag of buns from the freezer out on a rack ALL FREAKING DAY getting stale. There were easily more than a dozen in there, and they don't serve much in the way of burgers at dinner, and Mondays are notoriously slow, so that was fine. Except it wasn't apparently, and at 11:15 Tanner comes to me all wide-eyed and innocent-like, wanting to know where I have the "extra burger buns". Bwwwwwwaaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!! Extra burger buns. phew, that's funny.
Oh, and can you just look at that time again? We open for lunch at 11. They wait until 11:15 to ASK ME??
Fuck all y'all.
Naturally at this point, I'm so fucking over it, I can't be goaded into getting upset. "Gee, did y'all throw away all those buns you let sit out and get stale? You do realize that it takes 3 and a half HOURS to make a batch of those, don't you?"
"Uh, no."
I was delightfully entertained by the widespread panic that quickly whipped its way through both the kitchen and the serving staff.
[running around waving arms above my fool-head: "Oh LORDY, whatEVAH will AH DO without BURGER BUNS??? OH HEAVENS!!! Someone else wants a burger! Make them stop MOMMY Make them stop!!!"
Tee hee. Oh the evil feels so good when it's let out to roam.
Chef comes back to instruct me to magically pull burger buns out of my ass. I am nearly swallowing my tongue to prevent myself from offering to spread my ass cheeks apart to prove I have no burger buns in there. I particularly irritated by this lecture because I know FOR A FACT that every time I have complained to him about the sorry state of closing that the other cooks do in my station, he has promised to "say something" to them, but he DID NOT. I gleefully explain to him that even if I were to bend the laws of physics and make the yeast do it's work at breakneck speed, I have no bread flour with which to make his precious buns, and point to the supply request list written on his door--> "HI GLUTEN FLOUR". He is clearly irritated with me, but I am SO FUCKING OVER IT, I just smile and shrug, and continue about my business.
He sent someone out to the store to buy me some bread flour. That's great. I imagine he flew into a nice little rage later this evening when he discovered the unbaked buns proofing in the cooler, seeing that he'll still have no buns until tomorrow's lunch. Gee, I recall telling him specifically that if I were going to take on the buns as an additional item to be responsible for, he would ALWAYS have to keep some backup in the freezer because I couldn't guarantee I could keep up with all the extra work all the time. Hmmmmmmm...
So the day has been like that. I wonder if it'll be any better tomorrow. I have to begin getting ready for some new show opening at the Arts Museum upstairs from us. They want biscotti. Now only if I can get some past the servers unscathed...
Comments:
Post a Comment
