Today, I am mostly bitter, mostly

Smoking ban eh? What a pain in the ass. Already my morning routine has been ruined by having to sit outside for my coffee/croissant/fag (the breakfast of true athletes). And as I froze my bitter ass off (I could have crossed the road and gone to another place not in the shade but I'm a contrary old shite) I began to ruminate over the things that I would like to ban from public places for the good of society as a whole, but mainly for the good of me!

Top Ten Things To Ban for the Good of Society but Mainly Me....

1. Range Rovers. Absolutely no need for these behemoths. But mainly no need for the cretins that drive them. Jumpers over the shoulders, never leaves the city, drives at 60mph in built up areas, and parks where he likes. COCKS. No bloody need.


2. Children. Far too much energy, far too loud, far too demanding, far too messy, to be allowed out in public. Children should be seen and not heard, served, or acknowledged in anyway.



3. Gingers. Hideous. Go away and get your hair dyed and don't forget your eyebrows. Makeup will cover the freckles you evil night walkers.


4. Razorlight/Pete Doherty. You can't sing, you can't play and you look awful. Your regurgitated pish rock makes me want to rip my ears off. You impress nobody but the fickle sheep who will move on soon enough to the next 'hot thing". Mr Doherty please just take the overdose we all know is coming you talentless, skinny, dying looking, junkie cunt. You are not a genius, you sir are a buffoon.


5. Ladies who lunch. The bane of restaurant/bar/coffee shop staff the world over. You add nothing to society. You order lunch, you push it round the plate, you complain about the temperature of the bottled water, and pay with a Gold Card. My God I hate you. Go and get a job you Gucci clad whore.



6. Guardianistas. Hippie, liberal, bleeding heart, hypocrites. Get your haircut and move out of leafy South Belfast and move into a council estate. And then tell me "they are just misunderstood". I bet your fridge is covered in Greenpeace stickers and your kids are called Josh and Poppy. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!


7. Daily Mail readers. Right wing bigots of the worst sort. It's everyone else's fault isn't it? All that bloody moaning about tax and asylum seekers gets right on my tits. Get off your arse and help someone you brown shirt wearing bastards.


8. Politicians. You scum sucking, self absorbed, self interest obsessed, sell your granny for a vote, worthless shites. I despise you all. Tony Benn the exception. George Galloway, Nick Griffin, Tony Blair, Peter "the shouter" Robinson, Gerry "I wasn't in the Ra" Adams, all local politicians, fuck you all. I'd check the calender if you told me the date you lying bastards. Get off your asses and do some work.




9. Me, I offer nothing to society that can't be done by a well shaved monkey. And I can only think of nine things. I was going to say Leeds United but that seems to have been sorted. Result.

I'm off for a smoke. Someones gonna get it today, get it bad....

An open letter to anybody from the provincial...

c'mon maw, we're all goin to Bel-faaaaaast

...backwater, hick, redneck, towns of Omagh, Enniskillen, Coleraine, Newry, Kilrea, Ballymena, Ballymoney, Armagh, Maghera, Strabane, Porta-fucking-down. Bollocks, any where outside of Belfast including Glengormley (shudder). You get the point and you know who you are.

Dear cow botherers/potato pickers/sibling fiddlers,

When visiting a restaurant in Bell-faast, as you like to pronounce it, please adhere to the following guidelines. They will make your dining experience and my life oh so much better.

1. Please arrive on time. Being a half hour late isn't cool and no amount of country colloquialisms and stupid jokes makes up for being late. I know you are trying to save a fiver and are looking for some free parking, don't be so tight, or at least allow for this before you leave.

2. If you don't see it on the menu don't ask for it. I don't care if Billy Bob's on the Main (only) Street in Maghera serves a great pie 'n' chips, we don't. Get over it.

3. Shhhhhhhh! You aren't out in the fields now, stop shouting.

4. It's quality not quantity that counts. We don't have a farm attached. We didn't marry the local farmers daughter, or our own sister. We don't know the lambs by name. This means we have to pay more for our supplies than your local Orange hall/GAA social club. Having 3 stone of food on your plate isn't the sign of a good meal. If you want that sort of food phone us in advance and we shall put a trough out for you.

5. The prices are there on the menu, if you are having trouble reading them let me know and I will read them out for you. The prices ARE set in stone and aren't suggestions. This isn't your local market and haggling isn't allowed. When I present you with the bill don't be coming over all "Oh my God, that's so expensive" and all that nonsense. Knock it off, you drive an SUV, rent out 15 houses around the university, own half of Tyrone, and get thousands and thousands of pounds from the EU for nowt. You can well afford the bill.

6. If I bust my hump getting you extra "pertties" and putting up with your whinging about the price of a pint in Bell- faaaaaaaast I expect something in return. If I cant fold it, it ain't a tip. Coinage is just an insult. Think on, I know your name and phone number and if you piss me off I can assure you that you won't be dining here again.

I write this not to insult you or put you off from enjoying your big day out in the city, but to help you, help me, help you. If all that is too much to remember, just recite this all the way up the M1, "EAT, PAY, TIP, LEAVE." All together now, EAT, PAY, TIP LEAVE, EAT PAY TIP LEAVE....

Signed on behalf of the waiting/bar staff of Bel-faaaaaaaaaaaast.

Mr Maghera finalists 2007

Manners? Who needs them?!

a little pea

Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child is a spoilt brat that needs taught how to act in public and should really know better seeing as they are about 40 years old.

Doesn't really flow as well as the original but it's accurate.

Situation 1:

Middle aged "lady" approaches The Princess stepping right into her personal space, so close in fact that noses nearly touched, and says:

"A, can we smoke?
B, can we get a drink?
C, can I get some cod? I see it's not on your menu but I want some?"

No time for the out dated niceties of "Hello" and "Excuse me" and just a bit of fucking patience.
Each question was barked out in the style of a frustrated geography teacher. If she had added "D, what is the capital of Ethiopia? Come on child, EEEE THEE OOOPIA, whats the capital?" I wouldn't have been surprised.

The Princess wasn't having it at all and replied,

"A, no.
B, just as soon as you sit down.
C, no"

The Princess turned on her heels and walked away muttering, "Aye, yer roots". Which was reference to her badly dyed hair and not her heritage, apparently. I swear a little trickle of pee escaped I was laughing so hard. Speaking in lists isn't cool and just shows you up for the authorocratic, jumped up little shite you are. Don't do it. You might do it in your own office, I don't care, but knock it off when you go out to eat or drink.

the future

Situation 2:

Your trusty hero was minding his own business this afternoon, enjoying a quiet coffee and a smoke in a nearby coffee shop, when I felt the stale musty stench of death approach me. Lurching over my table stood two old duffers.

"You can't do that next week" croaked old duffer number one

"No.." added old duffer number 2. I immediately earmarked number one as the brains of the duo.

"You'll have to give it up, that smoking's no good. We were watching you there. One after the other after the other" continued old duffer number 1.

With cunning insight and great force old duffer number 2 piped in with "Too many"

Number one suddenly got a bit agitated as he knew I wasn't really taking any notice of their old men ramblings and upping the volume a bit continued with "And it's not fair for us non-smokers with all that in the air."

I could see other smokers around me moving their fags under their tables in fear that they maybe next for a lecture. I had to suppress my natural rage/rudeness and let it slide. I sort of admire old people and hope to be one in the future. But leave me alone for two minutes please. This sort of hassle does nothing for my persecution complex.

They shuffled on muttering away to themselves and I wondered for a moment if it had really happened. Had the drug induced flashbacks I was promised in the mid-nineties finally started. The chap at the table adjacent to mine was looking my way and clearly having witnessed the visit of the two old duffers of the apocalypse said "That's you told then init?" Told, indeed.

You can fuck off too "Mr Nosey-Smiles-a-lot."
I wouldn't mind but I was sitting in the smoking section. Old gits...

What happens when you send your food back

chicken ding! the chefs favourite

Ever wondered what happens when you, the almighty customer, forget, or are too drunk, stupid, incompetent [delete as appropriate] to tell your waiter that you didn't want the noisettes of lamb to come with the red wine reduction? Or that you don't really like the anchovies in your salad despite it being listed in the menu description? Or that you are allergic to the pine nuts in the pasta sauce?

Let me share the dirty little secrets of what happens next. Vanquish ideas of your food being remade in it's entirety. It's not going to happen. Head chefs are accountants with aprons, the very description of bean counters. A new steak will only get thrown onto the char grill if there is no way the errant one can be saved. Two, three, even four chefs will gather round the plate in a scene reminiscent of an episode of "ER", all pushing, probing, and offering analysis on the best way forward. Like vets in a dog shelter, a good meal will never be put down if it can be saved.

But we haven't got as far as the kitchen yet. So you are upset that something is "wrong" with your food so you call the waiter over and explain your problem. This is normally conveyed with a "my world has just collapsed" sort of attitude. Knock it off. Seriously, getting on like someone has just shat in your lap isn't going to make the waiter move with any greater urgency. Especially if the waiter knows it's your fault. This sort of attitude will have the opposite effect. If you messed up, admit it! The rest of your dining experience will be better for being an adult. Don't forget it is the waiter who has to explain to the Puka Fukas in the kitchen why you are sending your food back and a lot of what happens next depends on how the waiter explains this to the kitchen. Piss the waiter off by blaming him for your mistake and you may as well just pack up and go home, you are not getting your food anytime soon.

The kitchen don't plan for food coming back. So when you send it back you are throwing a massive spanner in the works. They have moved on to other orders and don't have time to change the sauce on your steak, or re make your pasta. So if they can get away with not remaking it they will. So here are the three main methods for dealing with returned food:

1. The pick it out and fluff method. Used when there is something in your salad you don't want, for example croutons, olives, etc. The chef, KP, even the waiter will remove the undesired ingredient, add extra lettuce, bob into a new bowl, add extra dressing and return to table. You would be better advised to remove the unwanted yourself. Do you really want the kid who's doing the dishes pawing over your food.
2. Nuke it, zap it, ding it. Soup cold? Stew not as hot as you expected? It ain't going back in a pot it's getting a reworking in a microwave. Also used when something is needed in a hurry, for example a chicken fillet takes as long as a well done steak to cook. But his time can be halved with the use of the trusty microwave and a spell in a "proper" oven.
   
3. Wash it! Order the wrong sauce for your steak? Does your definition of "medium" differ from that of the chef's? If your steak has to be changed in some way you can expect it to be washed. The offending sauce is scraped off, the steak is dropped in the fryer (the washing) to remove any traces of the sauce, and if needed put back on the char grill. Steaks are often washed under water too, in order not to cook it any further. The only time this doesn't happen is when the steak is over cooked.
   

This happens everywhere, from the best restaurants to shitty little dives. My advice is to suck it up and if you have to send something back ask for it to be re-done. You'll wait but it is worth it.

Next week: what does "homemade" actually mean and where does that locally reared beef actually come from.

Man cuts off penis in restaurant, waiter not to blame

todger-ectomy causes sharp intake of breath

The BBC are carrying a report that a man walked into a restaurant in London (what a surprise) on Sunday night and after a bit of a kerfuffle he slit his wrists and stabbed himself in the groin, cutting of his todger in the process.

Clearly a rather unhinged chap with more than a few issues keeping him awake at night. Why would you want to give yourself a todger-ectomy? And more importantly why would you want to do it in a restaurant? Because it's a very poor choice if you are looking for sympathy or for someone to put their arm round you and tell you everything is "ok". Believe me no one is going to try and stop you.

I can just hear the chefs were I work...

..."Call that a cock, that's nat a cock, THAT'S a cock" whilst swinging their member in the face of the suicidal man

the KP would be just as bad...
..."Hope your gonna clean that up, cos I'm nat doin it" as the blood pishes all over the floor.

Waiters would be side stepping him to drop plates off as if he was a box on the floor. A restaurant is no place to be topping yourself, unless of course its a pizza restaurant (get it eh?).

I couldn't find my bull's penis recipe but found one for bulls balls, mmmmmmminappropriatly tasty.

just ask for the brokeback special

2 Lbs. Testicles (Bull or buffalo)
1 ounce Lemon Juice
Testicle Batter, not sure what this is but got to assume its water/flour

Boil battered balls in oil. Serve with testicle sauce[insert own joke] and crab spice.

Chef in "head up own arse" shocker!

not in the real world? Moi?

Regular reader and big fan of mountains, long walks, and taking amazing photographs TOAST put me onto this ridiculous story from the FAT DUCK restaurant in Berkshire. Heston Blumenthal, owner and chef of this 3 Michelin star restaurant, now serves some plates with different gimmicks to enhance the dining experience. The "Sound of the Sea", a mixture of seafood and edible seaweed served on a sand-like tapioca mixture, will be served with an iPod playing sounds of crashing waves etc. It, allegedly, enhances the dining experience, making the food taste saltier and stronger. Really? Does it? How fan-fucking-tastic! And he isn't finished yet. Upon booking, no doubt months in advance, diners will be sent 3D glasses and a sweet-scented atomiser spray. I couldn't find an explanation for this. I'm sure some arse will call it iFood or an iMeal. iSwear!

I'm sorry but this sounds like utter bollocks to me. Mr Blumenthal is clearly a very talented chef having won the best restaurant in the world award and is holder of 3 Michelin stars, but does he really need gadgets and gimmicks to enhance his food? Jesus, what would he serve an Ulster Fry with, tin hat, an atomizer with hint of petrol, iPods playing the soundtrack to a riot?

This is just a whole new level of shite for customers to complain about. But is Blogging gold!

"Can we get the Chateaubriand with a bottle of Chateau Lafite and a side of 80's all girls supergroup Bananarama. We tried it last week with the early work of Echo and the Bunnymen but found it a bit over powering." Or other such drivel.

For sure good music can add to the enjoyment of your meal, as can good company. Just as the sound of arseholes on their mobile phones can detract some what. But plugging in to an iPod is just so wrong.



But it does throw up some interesting ideas though. On tonights menu Manuel recomends:

1. Rare sirloin steak with horseradish mash and a generous portion of Raining Blood by Slayer.
2. The vegetarian option is both organic and Fairtrade and comes with the sanctimoneous sounds of Coldplay. Coldplay, "music for men who cry when they masterbate" as someone so brilliantly put it.
3. Caramelised Bacon joint with fried green cabbage on a bed of KD Lang's greatest hits.
   
4. The Sauerkraut and sausage is finished with some Wagner, obviously.

Any other thoughts, send them to to the Fat Duck. He will probably use them.
Cheers Toast.

I wish every shift was like this...

...and not just in my head. Larry David's Curb Your Enthusiasm. A cock sucking ball licking gem. WARNING theres a bit of cursing ahead.



Tonights shift was a gem too. Fast and furious but smooth like the Fonz. Good cash made, attractive hen party kissed*, no fighting with chefs, and no fighting with customers (despite table 18's attempts to provoke me). It was a reminder why I love this job. Tomorrow is another day though...

*Little Miss Manuel I didnt enjoy it and was thinking of you the whole time!

Non-smoking cause irritability

smoking ages the skin (Manuel aged 24)

There are only 9 days left to savor the unique "joy" of having a smoke indoors in a public place. What you going to do? There are no arguments you can put forward with any real conviction or moral rectitude that can possibly win this one. Some battles are lost before they start. The advice, the evidence is all around "Smoking Kills", "Smoking harms you and others around you", and my personal favourite "Smoking causes a slow and painful death". Ouch! My current tobacco even warns me of the danger to my sperm! I know! I know its a shity stinking filthy habit. Its KILLS! Yet I still like a smoke as do lots and lots of others.

I'm not going to mither on about the ban, its upon us and there you go. I was pretty sanguine about it when it was announced but the closer it gets the more I'm turning into a spoilt brat about the whole thing. But, as I say, its coming and I'll just have to suck it up (no pun intended). But I swear to the little baby Jesus the next non-smoking bastard that comes up to me when I'm having a crafty, quiet fag and says in that smug as fuck "we won you lost" sort of way "So what you going to do next month..." and then babbles on about not smelling like an ash tray etc is going to get their teeth smashed in with one of those 1970's style big heavy glass ashtray's. Cunts.

Smug bastards are really getting on my tits. Smokers get real cranky when they cant smoke and it gets elevated when people take the piss. Expect more, much more of this in the next few weeks. Oh and this bull about it protecting the rights of people who work in bars etc is just that, bullshit. Not in my name! And this poster is just desperate...

Excuse me madam, I need to boke

mmmmmmmmuffin

A "girl" came into the restaurant on Monday wearing a pair of jeans 2 sizes too small and a t-shirt that exposed her midriff. The result of this satorial disaster was to force a layer of fat over over the top of her jeans. If you're Little Miss Manuel you can pull this off with absolute ease. If you are Bella Emberg you can't. Simple enough. Now I admit I am carrying an extra pound or two from Christmas (Christmas ten years ago) but thats why I resist the urge to share my "rolls" with the world. You shall never see me in a sleeveless vest thing. You shall never see me, lets be honest. Take this as a warning, we do talk about what you are wearing when you go out for dinner. We will crticise and judge you, awarding and and taking points off as we see fit.

I was clamouring for words to describe this hideousness, whilst fighting the urge to boke, when "Emily" walked past sniggering "muffin top". Nobody bitches about women as well as other women. It's good to learn new words.

bokemuffin

The Management

Worst boss ever! No sense of humour and dished out written warnings out like confetti.

Manager: The career goal of every employee too useless or lazy to do any real work (from urban dictionary)

It appears the management at work do not like being referred to as the "management". I'm not sure what the reasons for their dislike at this particular moniker are. God, I hope its not because "we are all one team" or other such bed wetting hand holding tree hugging sort of crap. That would be so depressing. Because, until we earn the same we are on very different teams. You have a bmw, I have a bmx. To be fair they aren't a bad bunch but I dont want them coming into the staff room to see how things are at grassroots, or to touch base, or touch anything. They have a lovely office to hang out in, sorry I mean work in.

Mangers come in a number of different styles, from the psychotic and insecure to the wet and malleable. I like my managers out of the way until I need them. The best managers are the ones that let you get on with your work without the need to micro manage every minute detail. The worst are the wet ones who cant make a decision to save themselves or me as the case maybe. My favourite manager/boss was a right mentalist. He loved his narcotics! Oh how he loved his narcotics. He wore a mask for a week once, one of those deviant sort masks from "EYES WIDE SHUT", just for the hell of it. The look of horror on the customers faces! Priceless! If he found a song that he liked he would play it repeatedly, "SHE" by Elvis Costello was played 20/30 times in a row one day. I twitch when I hear it now. But he had a passion for the job and cared about the cheesecake and other details. Whilst he was fretting about the cheesecake the cafe could have been burning down though. He went to rehab and is all better now. I miss the old him.

So if they don't like being referred to as the management what else can we call them, apart from the obvious.

1. Office monkeys (this is were they spent most time!)
2. Pen pointers (used as penis extensions)
3. Key janglers (the bigger the bunch of keys, the bigger their insecurties)
4. Boss/Chief (only when you need a Saturday off or have fucked up)
5. Seagull (arrives out of nowhere, shits on you, then disappears)

All other suggestions will be greatly received.

Satan's personal chef

undead undead undead

Despite my utter dislike and natural aversion to most human beings I can get on well with most people, if even for a short period. White supremacists and members of the SWP aside, obviously. It's the same at work. I 'd rather get on with people than fight them, but I wont hold back from a bit of verbal if I have to. Only very occasionaly do those I can't be arsed with get a force ten "FUCK OFF".

My most recent incident of "toe to toe spit in the face" verbals was with the second chef, "Raul". I don't mind admitting I was left shaking after it. I am rarely bettered in such confrontations, and there is no one on here who can contradict me! "Raul", though, is different gravy, very different gravy. He is a cold, silent, brooding, loner of an enigma wrapped in a chefs jacket wrapped in a mystery. These are qualities that I usually admire. But not when they combine to create fear.

Little is known about him. Some say he is from that bastion of liberal thinking and free love, Larne. Some say he was crafted from a block of ice left over from an ice age of millenia ago. He doesn't sweat. Not a drop, even when the temperature reaches silly degrees. He has no reflection and casts shadows even when there is no light. Children and animals fear him. He was the subject of the Tom Waits song "Whats he building in there?". He has no known friends save for an old pairing knife he calls "bleedy". He thumbs it's point with un-nerving regularity. He hates waiters and people with hands in general as he heats the plates to a point were you can hear the food bubbling on the way to the table. When not shouting he speaks in a low montone voice, and never repeats himself. When he laughs you cant see him. When you look into his blood shot eyes you see nothing but the bodies of dead waiters piled high. He is the blackness, the night, the chef who never eats. He is darkness personafied. There is a special place for him in hell when he returns. And he likes it like that. He is the devils personal chef.

All I wanted was a fucking staff meal. Cooker jockey.

if 2.0

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all customers doubt you
But make no allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, but deal in bigger lies,
Or being hated, and give way to hating,
And yet look good, and talk so wise:
Yours is the restaurant and everything that is in it,
And, which is more, you'll be a waiter, my son!

Rudyard Kipling/Manuel Waiter

Yap Yap Yap

As the proprietor of such quality establishments as The Merchant Hotel you would have to admit Bill Wolsley knows a thing or two about running bars, restaurants, hotels etc. The Merchant is a very classy operation, I nearly put a tie on just to go on their website, and kudos to him for even contemplating such a venture. Oh how the naysayers and doom merchants were proved wrong with regard to the sucess of that little venture. Anything new or different or that doesn't sell blue WKD is condemed before it evens opens in this town. The Belfast people really are little rays of sunlight. But I nearly spat my cup of darjeeling over the TV a couple of weeks ago when our intrepid hero was bemoaning the lack of local hospitality talent. He was explaining to the Paxman why he had to look to the East (of Europe) to find suitable staff.

Now don't get me wrong I have no problem with people moving here to find a better life. Some of my best friends are Scottish. But please don't try and tell me there is no talent here! Mr Wolsley you are so very wrong. I have worked with some fantastic and very talented people over the years. These are people who enjoyed the work, enjoyed the hours, God some of them even enjoyed the customers. But they all evetually left for jobs in the Civil Service or retail and so on, not because they wanted to further their careers in Dunnes Stores (better value beats them all) or because they had a burning desire to help single mothers get cash out of bad dads. They left because they couldn't put up with the shite pay, shite "benefits", and the general devaluing of the job over the years.

So Bill Wolsley is wrong, there is plenty of local talent, they just aren't mithered enough to do it for minimum wage. Local operators aren't going to attract the people they need from the indigenous population. But you can shove your Bently were the sun don't shine if you start blaming the schools and government or the lack of proper local government for this situation. Local operators need to look a little closer to home to find the fault/solution.

The WellDoneFillet guide to solving your recruitment problems:

1. PAY MORE (no surprise here) and you will attract and retain better people. The "2 arms 2 legs" approach to recruitment isn't going to produce winners.
2. Training needs to improve, invest properly and get the rewards.
3. Value the position more, stop allowing the abuse and bullshit staff have to take on a daily basis, both from customers and insecure managers.
4. Apprenticeships are the best way to create and mould the bar staff and waiters of the future. It would also put the craft and skill back in the business.

Quit the yapping and more of the thinking please.

Teachers have been yapping too. The NASUWT held their annual conference in Belfast this week. Wonderful a 1000+ sandal wearing, Guardian reading, real ale drinking extra saddists in town for a week. They were very upset about the harassment and bullying they have to put up with at work. And rightly so. A few well place nipple tweaks, wedgies, and head's down toilets would soon put it out of the little shites. But if you are going to batter on about workplaces free from harassment and bullying it's best to practice what you preach. What's that about bullys having been bullied?

I've heard more than a few stories this week from wait/bar staff who had to feed and water this lot this week. Bad manners, rude, childish to the point of feet stamping, screaming and shouting, finger clicking and generally acting like well slapped arses and that was just one night. Believe me I love a good generalisation/stereotype but without fear of contradiction or hyperbole teachers are the worst group of people you can ever hope to serve. And they never tip. Bastards.

Keates give me 1000 lines on the board, EAT PAY TIP LEAVE!

Sweet Mother of Jesus It ain't easy being right all the time. Oh wait, it is!

Why the long face?

So, there I was at lunchtime in the bookies acting like I knew what I was doing. I had never placed a bet in my life. Having negotiated my way through the crowd of grizzly looking men with red faces and half smoked fags I found myself at the counter. The totie pens made me chuckle. I chose my horses using the apparently not so fail safe "oh look its got a nice name" method. The woman that looked like a man or man with boobies, I'm still not sure which it was, stamped my dockets and I paid my cash.

Four hours later I was left bemoaning my luck and wondering what are the best ways to eat horse. Because they don't go to the glue factory anymore for some reason. Glue factory? They fucking wish!

Eat them thats what I say. The cooker jockeys in the kitchen were of no use when I asked their advice on the best way to prepare horse for Sunday lunch. But a bit of google work later and these are your horse munching options:

1. The people of Kazakhstan prefer their horse in sausage form called kazy. Eeets nice!
2. The French, God bless em, will eat any and all parts of the horse including it's arse.
3. Those crazy funtime Germans like their Grand National losers marinated and braised.
4. The Japanese cant even be arsed to cook theirs and will eat it raw. Magic!
5. And when not bumming each other or high the Dutch will have theirs for breakfast.

And before someone gets all PETA on me I dont care. I saw a t-shirt recently that read "MEAT IS MURDER, TASTY TASTY MURDER."
Twenty one quid they cost me today!
Tony McCoy my arse!

The Easter eggs are just off the shelves, so it must be time for...

Mentalist: "Hi, can I book a table for 15?"

Manuel: "Certinaly madam when for and what time would suit you best?"

Mentalist: "Second Friday of December, about 8 if that's ok?"

Manuel: "Sorry madam did you say Second Friday of December, about 8?

Mentalist: " Yeah, is that ok? I don't want to miss out."

I took the booking and hung up. Then checked the diary and my watch and the computer to make sure I hadn't over slept by 3 months or so. Very little surprises me any more but I did have to draw breath with this. It took all my strength and a lot of lip bitting to prevent me screaming "WOULD YOU EVER JUST GO AND FUCKING SHAKE YOUSELF YOU DICK."

I can hardly plan 2 weeks a head let alone 9 months! The world is doomed I tell ye, DOOMED!

There are only 255 days left to Christmas so better get the turkey ordered. Daft mare.

Things I would like to say but don't (well not very often)

1. Customer: "What have you got for kids?"
Manuel: "Nothing but contempt, sir, nothing but contempt."

2. Customer whistles to get my attention
Manuel: "Lost your dog sir?" whilst showing rage face, then walk away ignoring whatever it is they need.

3. Customer: "Can I get a half fat double decaf latte with no foam and extra vanilla?"
Manuel: "Say regular coffee or get out!"

4. Customer: "Waiter, what do the crabs come with?"
Manuel: "A penicillin cream sir."

5. Customer clicks his fingers to get my attention
Manuel: Sir, you salsa? More of a fox trot man myself, then walk away ignoring whatever it is they need.

Sometimes it's best just to bite your lip. But sometimes you can't help yourself and the retort is out before you have had time to consider then implications. And if you say it quick enough you can be away from the table before the mark realises that you have just called him a monkey bummer. The old cough to cover up a curse is a reliable fallback and works best when other staff are nearby to appreciate it. But sometimes you just want to call them MOUTHEBREATHERS THAT THEY ARE!! So if your enjoying a wonderful meal for two and the waiter is coughing near your table you had better hope he has the cold! [cough-wanker-cough]

The decorators are in...

As you can see i've been getting jiggy with a fancy new banner. The little un up there was just a test to see if I could do it. And it appears after many many hours I can do it. But its 3.40am and I'm done in....

UPDATE:
Check me out! I am rather chuffed with that effort. But as I cant sit still for a minute I will probably change it in 20 minutes. If anyone knows how to get rid of the link back to imageshack that would be great. And if you could write the code that would be great too. I'll throw you a free sweet!!

Two weddings, one engagement, and no funerals(as promised)

A little dignity was lost, not mine I should say, but no one died.

Good Friday brought the usual crying and moaning from customers who couldn't get a beer. I swear it's the same every year. And every year you have to listen to the same pathetic attempts to get alcohol.

"Here, if I order food can I order a pint?"

No

"Well just give me an Irish coffee then."

NO, AND THE SHERRY TRIFLE'S OFF TOO YOU WASTING BASTARD. Or words to that effect.

You should have seen their little faces light up when the bar re-opened at 5pm. They were back slapping each other as if they had just survived a day in Iraq. Panic buying ensues for the next FIVE hours. This would have been the same all over town with the exception of the well known hostelry were the panic only set in when the local dibble showed up at 1am and arrested all that could be found. Seriously if you can't go half a day without a drink then you really need to join a 10 step programme or at the very least take a long hard look at yourself in your vodka reflection.

The first of my weekend of weddings was on Saturday lunchtime. There was a large dose of swearing and teethgrinding the night before as the table cloths were found to be lacking in the Daz doorstep challenge department. Thank God for 24 hours TESCOS. This was to be an intimate affair booked for 20, then 24, then finally 29. Thirty showed up. Love that. The days running up to the big event were tetchy to say the least. Brides to be must be up there with air traffic controllers and suicide bombers for being on edge. After a few difficult phone calls during the week email became our prefered form of communication.

But by Saturday the histrionics were over, her's that is, mine were only just begining. The GM was still ironing table cloths or should I say bed sheets with less than an hour to go. I laid the last glasses as the guests were arriving. She truly was a joy to serve, as were her guests. It was a reminder of why I do this job (and 10% service charge). I was on top form and after a "chat" with the GM I agreed to drop any references to my own brief marriage and subsequent divorce. It was felt my cynicism wasn't needed. Whatever.

This was a very relaxed affair (my wife had one of those too, boom boom). It was the most enjoyable wedding I have worked out of the 20/30 I have been present at over the years. The groom got very relaxed. Very, very relaxed it has to be said. He declined a menu when offered informing me that vodka and diet coke were all he needed. He proceeded to nail them at a rate of knots. I assure you it was the only thing he would be nailing that night.

Easter Sunday was the usual pain in the arse. Brightend up only by the new Easter clothes. Primark and Burtons must have had a bumper week. What's with those dresses that look like fluorescent pens? The place was busting full of kids made hyperactive from eating Mars Bar Easter eggs from half seven in the morning. Wouldn't want to be there when they come down.

Monday, the day of my second wedding. Not my second marriage, the second wedding I would be at, but this time as a guest. My girlfriend, who wasn't attending, failed in her girlfriend duties as I forgot my camera and the bloody present. The service was as beautiful as it was concise. Well done Vicar. Once we got to the hotel we located the bar and the chose a place at it that provided the shortest route to the smoking area (outside). The champagne was being replenished as quickly as it was being drunk. I've made an arse of myself following this route in the past and was quickly off it and onto the Gin. If only others had followed me.

The friend I went to the wedding with is volatile to say the least and has a low threshold for the banal. The conversation (normal stuff like work, kids, the Lighthouse Family and so on) round the table had him shaking with rage. Now I can bluff my way through such bollocks, whilst dying slowly on the inside, he can't do it at all. I felt like a nervous wife, as he became drunker and louder, over compensating for him. It was like taking Oliver Reed to a Vicar's tea party.

The rest of the day can be summarised as follows:
1. Number of young metallers acosted and given impromptu lesson in rock n roll was 3.

2. Two counts of public urination, but only one in day light.

3. Number of guests traumatised by even the briefest conversation was at least a dozen.

4. Members of clergy who nearly end up in a headlock was a merciful one. I shat myself when I saw the two of them together.

5. Number of doormen required to keep our hero out once he had been informed of their decision was 7!!

6. Glasses of red wine thrown against wall, just the one as he could only hold one at a time I assume.

7. Minutes spent calming him down before I took him back to the B&B, thirty long difficult ones.

8. Time I went to bed on my first night out in months, half bloody eleven.

Despite all that the weekend was a success. My sincere congratulations and all that to those who got married and to the "Princess" at work who got engaged.

Why is divorce so expensive?
Cause it's worth it!
Been holding that back for days.

So, what have you learnt so far?

It's such a beautiful day and I'm in such a good mood it's hard to muster my usual anger, hate, venom, resentment, animosity, down right dislike for the world etc. It's 3 in the afternoon and as of yet I haven't felt the need to gouge a single eye out. Yet.


The warm afternoon sun, espresso, rollie, and good tunes (Explosions in the Sky) have combined in such a way as to dull the constant rage. Change the tunes and these are the same ingredients can be used to fuel a ten page rage about serving cheese. But today readers I am in a good mood and feeling reflective.

I've been writing this blog for almost a month now so lets see what we know and have learnt so far.

This all started when an asshole wanted to smoke in our non-smoking restaurant. He made a dick of himself in such a fantastic way. Needless to say I was some what upset if not as close as I have ever been to commiting customericide. But it wasn't just customers that pissed on my apron this month chefs were at it too. I know who blame! I introduced you to some of my work colleagues. A motley crew of whores and jokers who keep me sane and piss me off in equal measures. My girlfriend and her little fat friends met Eddie yesterday and were as wowed as the rest of the female population are when they meet him. I shuffled her out of the way quick style.

You were also informed of my dislike of kids in restaurants and that I want to get it on with Saturday night. My favourite complaint of the month was the douchebag who poured vinegar over his food and then complained it tasted of, wait for it, VINEGAR. Douchebag, douchebag, douchebag. (I use the word douchebag as a nod to my American readers. I can see you out there!) If you have ever wondered why your workplace is full off mouthbreathers, check the basement or attic. And God forbid you rip your trousers at work, ensure you have good trunks on. I advise any men out there of a certain size to spend more than 8 quid on a pair of trousers. Its a false economy!

I don't despise customers as a rule. In fact I really do love my job. But they bring it on themselves! If you change your food to the point where it is unrecognisable from the menu description or splosh vinegar over it don't come running to me to wipe the tears from your eyes! I just won't care!

This month will be an interesting few weeks what with the impending smoking ban. That should garnish a few lines of note. Oh God there will be more than a few tears and tantrums and the customers aren't going to be happy either. And this weekend I have not one but two weddings to deal with. You can look forward to a cheap and obvious Hugh Grant related title next week.

Until then kick back, relax, put on some Juana Molina and wait for the pain to return. Your waiter will be with you shortly.

Oh and cheers to anyone who has been reading welldonefillet so far. Awh I love you guys. Just a bit though.

The other "March of the Penguins"

If you want to witness one of the world's greatest natural migrations just hang around any city centre at about 3.05pm Monday to Saturday. Patricipants are often seen in pairs or small groups but quite often they are alone. They move fantastically quick, all heading in different directions, coffee shops, pubs, shops, bus stops etc. At first they are hard to spot on the crowded high streets as identifiable marks are usually covered. But there are a few tell tale signs to look out for. The apron, black shoes and trousers, cigarette and bag are all obvious signs of participants in this great movement of people. There may all so be a scruffy unkempt character with checked trousers, battered shoes, and lingering body odour. Ignore him, he is like the fly that follows elephants.

Like bears preparing for winter the participants in this migration have very limited time. So for the love of the sweet baby Jesus don't get in their way. Don't ask them if they want to help your charity or offer a subscription to your catalogue, unless you are offering free money stay away!! They will eat you whole. If you are in front of one in a queue you better have the right change or they will curse you out right there and then in front of everyone.

The whole event is over within a half hour and the streets are safe again. There is a nocturnal migration but that is a different story for a different day.

Split shifts suck and time is precious, stay out of the waiters way!

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

I Want a room like that!!

Killing Him Softly with my Song

The customers I remember the most are the customers that annoy me the most. It says a lot about my mental make up. I might leave work a hundred quid to the good but I will bitch the whole way home to the taxi driver about the one table who told me how fantastic I was but never left a red cent! (the dreaded verbal tip). As my father used to say, "You can't get drunk on compliments!!" As a waiter my glass is always half empty. All you can do is chalk it up and move on. Well almost all you can do...

Waiters have to remain calm, cool, and professional at all times, under all conditions. The muzzle can be removed when things get physical or the customer drops the veneer and his true psycho personality is revealed. But this doesn't mean we can't exact our own revenge on offending customers. Returning customers with bad tipping records will struggle to get a table on even the quietest nights, orders can be held back for lengthy periods before making it to the kitchen, silent farts (crop dusting), the list is limited only by your imagination. The only draw back is that you have no recourse if you get caught on by the customer and they complain. Do you really want to defend yourself to the GM for aggresive farting?

The greatest tactic in the waiters considerable armoury is Killing With Kindness(KWK). This is full prooof when deployed correctly. The customer has no grounds to complain but knows he has been done over. A well executed KWK attack will leave the customer bewildered. If he returns he will think twice about treating you like his bitch. It works best with pompous arrogant types. Here is a quick "how to":

1. Everything they order is "brilliant" "fantastic" a "marvellous choice", even if they have just asked for a jug of water.

2. Loud fake laughter at anything resembling a joke.

3. Constantly fuss over him, check and re-check him on every course. Ask about seemingly trivial things such as the carrots or if his water is cold enough. Get a fresh jug no matter what he says.

4. Ensure that your comrades on the floor are in on it too and get them to join in the checking and re-checking. The mark wont be able to get a conversation started let alone finished without a waiter butting in.

5. As the customer is leaving ensure everyone gives him a big over the top "Disney Time" goodbye. Do everything except hug him. Look almost sad to see him go.

That normally does the trick. You've had your fun and he has nothing to complain about. What's he gonna say? "The waiter was too nice"