Chefs

So you wanna know about chefs eh?

Lovely fellas, couldn't eat a whole one but lovely fellas all the same.

Except when they are being mentalists.

Like Saturday night.

The rolling pin was well and truly chucked out of the pram.

The Yanks had the Reds

Cats have dogs

Waiters have chefs.

It's an eternal struggle.he's only 24.....

Saturday night was a bit crazy for about an hour. Despite being booked in controllable blocks all our tables arrived and ordered within a nasty 40 minute period. It happens sometimes. Some arrive early, some arrive late, some take a fucking eternity to decide between fish and steak. This inevitably means that the kitchen gets it, "up the fucking hole" as the head chef so poetically put it.

I was passing the kitchen to get ice and popped my head in to tell them that there was only a four and a two still to order. I thought this would be greeted with relief.

Wrong.

Very wrong.

Super fantastically wrong.

With croutons on top.

"THIS IS OUT OF ORDER!' Roared the chief cooker jockey.

"Eh...yeah but..." Fuck it thought I. I looked into his eyes and saw nothing but mental fury. So off I went. I knew what was coming and didn't want to know.

"THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT? WHO THE FUCK TAKES THESE BOOKINGS?" There was spit and sweat flying everywhere.

I shrugged and kept on walking. But it appears his question wasn't rhetorical.

"GET THE FUCK BACK HERE. WHAT THE FUCK? DON'T YOU DARE WALK AWAY FROM ME!"

Christ on a bike. I stumbled, nervously, back into the kitchen.

"THIS ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH. WHY ARE ALL THESE IN AT ONCE?"

I wasn't having this.

"Hey, listen here you fucking mentalist. Shut the fuck up and get on with it. More cooky cooky less shouty shouty you sweaty shit rag. And another thing you over cooked my last fillet, get it together."

or it may have gone a bit more like this....

"Yeah sorry mate, sorry they all arrived at once sorry sorry. You want some water up? Sorry!"

When a head chef turns to the darkside you just have to duck and cover. You cant beat them, verbally or physically. He roared on for another couple of minutes. I stood there and took it. I could see the little chefs laughing, I'll get them back. I went back into the restaurant and swore for a good few minutes.

Chefs are mentalists, ultra mentalists. Now I appreciate the pressures they are under. I understand that the heat and flame and the trying to work when drunk/stoned has a negative effect on their normally happy personas. I know the pain of chefs arse. But gimme a break! What the fuck did that volley of abuse achieve? Nothing, nothing at all.

My dad is a chef, now retired. He was mentalist too. He once barred all the waiters from the kitchen because they were annoying him. Que? Like how was that gonna work? The head waiter and I had to take their plates off them at the door to the kitchen and call their food away and then go back to the kitchen and collect their food again. Fawlty Towers? Pfft! He also wouldn't speak to you or even acknowledge your presence if you didn't call him chef! But after work he was an absolute gent. He bought them all a drink, he had many many drinks of his own too.

Chefs love a drink. Many many drinks. And if these drinks can be combined with work then that's even better. There is even a charity that helps chefs with alcohol problems. Since dad retired he is like a different person, calm, measured, and hardly drinks at all.

I can take a spit and sweat embossed verbal assault form a head chef. They have earned the right. But I don't stand for it from anything under head chef. Fuck that. Head chefs make decisions and have the maturity not to take things personally, well most of the time. Junior chefs do not.

I am talking about wee lads who only got into catering on the advice of their schools career counselor. The brick laying classes already being full.

Waiters have to put up with their little temper tantrums. God forbid you have to take something back to the kitchen or even worse you make a mistake. Pans get slammed, eyes are rolled, and microwave doors are slammed ALONG WITH THE SWEARING AND SHOUTING!! Often they gather round the offending plate and take turns in poking it and offering their "educated" opinion, "Its fine" "No problem with it" "the fucks wrong with that?" and so on.

I am left standing there waiting for one of them to make the obvious decision, to remake it. They get there in the end. If they weren't stoned half the time they could get to the decision quicker. By this point I am usually getting stressed out listening to their ramblings. But I have to compose myself and return to the table with a bogus apology from the chef. Chefs never apologise. NEVER.

So when you decide you are going to send back something to the kitchen think of us waiters for a moment, think about the shit storm we are about to face. Do you still want to send it back?