The Well Done Fillet Review of Christmas

yippee!
it's over!!

What is it with the extremists and their Christmas messages eh? Why do they feel the need to share?

The Provos did it during the troubles, setting out their "goals" for the following year and wishing all the volunteers and their families a happy and peaceful new year. Ha peaceful my arse! You don't see that sort of care and attention and togetherness with Al Qaeda. The Pope still does it and didn't he just cover himself in glory? Sitting there in his santa outfit pontificating about his fears that the world is going to shag itself into extinction. You would think Popeus Maximus, or whatever he's called, would have bigger fish to fry rather than fretting over who's sleeping with who.

Unlike the Pope and the Provos Queenie doesn't make do with a Christmas message she has a speech to deliver. Mrs Windsor will be on TV on Christmas day no doubt telling us that at times like this we all have to make sacrifices and cut back a bit. She will do this from one of her castles. That's right a castle no less with just her and that Greek chap she's shacked up with. She can lick the back of them too.

With all this extremism in mind I give you, finally.....

The Well Done Fillet Review of Christmas

Atmosphere. The atmosphere in the restaurant, for the most part, was one of revelry and borderline mania such was the excitement. The most obvious exception being on Monday afternoon when my seemingly pleasant table of nine turned out to be a super borefest. Eight out nine people failed to even pull their crackers. There they sat un-cracked and failing to reach their cracker destiny. But as sad as that is you really have to feel for the one person who got into the spirit of things only to find that they were on their own.

Bling. Lots of people put in lots of effort to look swish and lovely during Christmas but the highlight for me was the chap who arrived wearing a high visibility vest and tracksuit bottoms. I had to check to see if he had a street sweeping cart parked outside. He did however have a flashing santa badge on so what ya gonna do? Awesome.

Crying. Guest crying was at an all time low with only two maybe three recorded events. Staff crying was a bit higher and less funny. There was even a chef in tears in Monday which was a bit odd. You don't think of chefs as being criers, whinging fuckers to be sure but not criers.

Duck Dive Dodge. Because when I come in heavily laden with turkeys I pretty much cant change course. I managed to hit two people upside their heads with fully laden plates of turkey and associated trimmings. YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE MOVED! I even said, "don't move" but you moved because you wanted to show your even dumber mate the "funny" video on your phone and completely ignored my advice. Tosser.

Entertainment. Apart from watching waiters hitting the guests upside their heads with turkeys and what have you we did have a plinkity plonk band who murdered their way through all the "hits". Honestly if I hear Stop the Cavalry once more I'll probably lash out with the stabbing fork at the nearest person, thing, or chef. But live music aside isn't christmas music just the worst? Except this, from Low. My personal bete noir being Run DMC's Christmas in Hollis not because it's such a bad song, there are so many worse songs, but because you expect better from some people. Just like Bill Hicks said that if you do an advert you are off the artistic register, well the same thing if you do a christmas song.

Food. I served so much food I lost my own appetite and there is nothing more depressing for a chap like me than losing my appetite. Seriously, I couldn't look at food by the time I crawled home. I've lost about half a stone in the last few weeks. I intend to put it all back on in the next few hours days.

Greetings. First week of December I greeted each table with a hearty and well meaning, "Good afternoon. Merry Christmas folks..." and what have you and left them laughing. By Monday it was, "Yo, you all here n that?"

Home. Spent very little time there. I put up a christmas tree and I've seen it sparkle twice. Sake. On a separate note if I had to deliver one message this Christmas it would be to the people who come home for Christmas, in particular the people who come home from England. Christ what a pack of self important fuckwits with their half English half Irish accents. Catch a fucking grip to yerself big fella. In they swan into their local bar and patronize the shit out of the little people who didn't make it out of the ghetto. Let me tell you South Belfast is not the fucking Bronx. You live in Surrey now do you, oh how fantastic. Prick.

Inter Office Sexy Time. Oooohhhh there must have been some red faces around the water coolers and photocopiers the morning after most staff parties because there was plenty of jiggy jiggy and indeed canoodling between work colleagues on show round the dinner table. Honestly do marriage vows mean nothing any more? Christ I'm turning into the pope. Pope Manuel, quality. Blessed are the waiters for theirs is the kingdom of Jack (Daniels)

Jingle Bells. Jingle the fuck away off and take that bloody I Saw Mummy Kissing Santa abomination with you. I hate that song in particular, it's creepy. I'm surprised more shop workers and restaurant staff don't end up in insane asylums by the end of December what with the same nasty tragic songs over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.

Kitchen. The chaps were superb. And I really mean that.

Lateness. Not so many tardy Trevors this year. The best/worst was one chap who arrived an hour and 45 minutes late and demanded that he get all his three courses. He got them. Microwaves are just awesome.

Mentalist. The distinct lack of mentalists and the mentalists brother, the nasty drunk, was welcomed by all. This chap being the most notable exception. Well done Belfast, well done.

No Shows. Two tables just didn't turn up. Deposits were paid and sizable ones at that but yet they just didn't turn up. How weird is that?

Organizers. I wouldn't organise a staff party let alone a staff christmas do if you paid me. From dealing with irate waiters (me) in September to the constant ball ache that is the people you work with forgetting what they have ordered it must just be the most thankless job of the year. And if you choose the wrong restaurant it's all your fault and people will whinge about it for the rest if the year and blame you for ruining christmas. No, if you are ever put in the position of being asked to organise the xmas do just say no or resign, which ever gets you out of having to do it.

Pork. The whole contaminated pork thingy could have been a nightmare but wasn't. In fact the only person to over react was probably me.

Quiz. Seriously? A quiz? During your works xmas lunch? Really? Not one, not two, but three different tables held "fun" quizzes during their meal. Oh fucking shoot me now! The absolute horror of enforced fun like that is enough to turn the most mild mannered of chaps into a mentalist.

Really? Really? You ordered the lamb? We don't have lamb on sir. It's on the menu? The Christmas menu? Lets just have a look. Oh there we go sir, no lamb. We changed the menu? Yeah that's right, here's your turkey, enjoy. For the love of Gordon Ramsay's ma don't try and bullshit a master bullshitter.

Spills. There were two really good spills, neither which involved me, thankfully. The first was a shocker involving a bottle of red wine an amorous young man and a lady's £300 silk dress. Ouch. The second involved The Glorious Leader a bowl of roast potatoes and two bottles of beer. He didn't live it down for the rest of the day. Such things need to be left to the professional plate schleppers.

Turkey. Oh I hate turkey. I hate the smell of turkey. I hate the cranberry sauce that comes with it. I hate the stuffing that lives under it. I hate everything about it and if I never saw it again I would die happy, well fairly happy.

Under the Table. I have gifts for my family under my christmas tree. It's the traditional place to leave them. My guests though leave little presents under the tables for me. Gifts like half bottles of sneaked in vodka and rum. Gifts like unwanted secret santa presents. If you don't want them then I certainly don't. But there was also less pleasant gifts like unwanted and half chewed sprouts. I hate people sometimes.

Vegetarians. Bless their little weak hearts. I mean they really do get the shitty end of the stick at christmas parties. If something can be chesnutted up then that's what they end up getting. From Chestnut risotto to chestnut surprise. Bleurgh.

Why me? I cried this every morning I had to get up. I have never been so tired, disorientated, shattered, washed out, drained and pooped after a period of work than I was after this christmas. It would have been so much worse if I had been smoking. I cling to that thought.

X-Rated. Apparently the couple who had to be turfed out of the toilets twice and eventually asked to leave all together were up to some very strange and salacious activities in the ladies conveniences. I couldn't get a full description but there were allegedly animal noises and Homer Simpson impersonations. Crikey.

Yuletide. I mean what does it even mean? Chefs use it as a way of turning some standard meal into a christmas related offering. For example your standard issue chocolate cake can become an xmas cake just by putting the word Yuletide in front of it. The same goes for gravy, Yuletide Jus or even a humble portion of vegetables can become a seasonal Yuletide Medley of Vegetables with the inclusion of one word. Lazy shites.

Zeds. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. If anybody needs me I'll be sleeping until the weekend.

Have a great few days what ever you do or don't do.