A day without chefs......awesome

I was off work on Sunday and enjoyed a wonderful and spiffing day both lounging and indeed reclining. Not even the hideousness of The Attack of the Clones could ruin my lazy Sunday. Still, not all Sundays are as fantastically lovely. Take the previous one for example. That was a "fun" day at work. For a while it was fun like dangling by your extremities over a pit of less than pleasant and quite angry vipers.

please check under your house/car/bin.....etc

(I knew this picture would get used again one day)

I was still in somewhat of a daze as I meandered through the kitchen, the exertions of the previous shift had left me feeling less than perky. But I was happy to get through the lair of a thousand smart ass remarks and out the other side without having to tell someone to go fry their head. It was way too early to have to deal with chefs and their questionable witticism. It was only when I was back behind the bar a while later that I realised that we were missing not just the smart assed remarks of the chefs but the large gaping holes from where they emanate. In other words, there were no chefs.

Crikey.

They had all retired to a local hostelry for a post shift beverage or two after work on Saturday night to bid farewell to one of their brethren who was moving on to pastures, or should that be cookers, new. Clearly they had many many more beverages than the "couple" they had mentioned before they left. But knowing why they weren't in really wasn't helping with the roasting of beef and the mashing of potatoes or for that matter even with the switching on of things. We were staring down the barrel of a busy Sunday lunch with no cooker monkeys. Now I've always said waiters are more important in a restaurant than the chefs but now that theory was about to be put to the test.

So after a good twenty minutes of head scratching, the furious necking of espresso, three mild panic attacks (there was nothing mild about it) we all agreed that waiters are not more important in a restaurant than chefs. Better looking, but not as important, obviously. Many phone calls were made and many phone calls went unanswered. Waiters arrived and then went on elongated smoke breaks, this was awesome. The manager, one not noted for calmness under fire, was in a right state. Guests were beginning to arrive.

This was squelchy time.

"We need a lie", I ventured to the flame haired key jangler. Nothing works better than a good lie to get out of trouble. So I came up with a massive one about electrical problems overnight having rendered the kitchen unsafe to work in but that experts were winging their way to address the issue. I may have used the word widget more than a few times and managed to deliver this fantastic story whilst maintaining a very sombre and lugubrious visage through out. And who was the first person I lied this lie to? That's right a Vicar and his lady friend. I enjoyed that.

The first of the bedraggled and sorry looking chaps showed up at twelve, which was okay as he was due to start at twelve. He didn't look too bad at first but as soon as he realised that he was on his own his hangover took over. So at least there were two of them in the kitchen. There was much discussion between him, the manager and another manager over the phone. This didn't seem to go well as there was a near walkout, of the one chef we had, and it took a further phone call and much calming of nerves to steady the ship, the ship that was sinking that is. I was busying myself with the telling of massive porkies to unhappy guests at the restaurant door whilst my waiter chums caught up on gossip and filed their nails.

It was 2pm before we finally opened. The errant chefs, including the monkey in chief, the head chef, finally dragged their drunken asses into work over the next few hours. But it was all fairly pointless by that point as I had knocked back many phone reservations and walk ins already. There is talk of getting them all electronically tagged, like sheep or prisoners so that this wont happen again but they are devious little chaps, like Jack Russell's, and would just chew their own legs off to get a beer.

What a wonderful Sunday it was though, no kids with their sticky fingers touching things that don't concern them, no post church holier than thou sorts sticking their noses up at the hungover staff, and no smart ass remarks from smart ass chefs.

No tips either but life is full of little trade offs. If only every Sunday was that lovely......

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?

I have seen my own death, there'll be brandy....

On Friday I mentioned a report from the Office for National Statistics (ONS) that shows bar workers and those who work in the hospitality industry as a whole are most at risk from suffering an alcohol related death. As the ONS put it,

"The findings largely reinforce earlier research regarding those occupations with the highest indicators of alcohol-related mortality. In particular, it is very clear that those with access to alcohol at work are more likely to die from alcohol-related causes, compared to the population as a whole."

Some lovely graphs...





We are twice as likely to die from liver disease or pancreatitis as the rest of the population. So that's something to look forward to!

There isn't a bar worker, chef, waiter, bar/restaurant manager I know who doesn't enjoy a drink or fifteen. Right now even I am clasping a lovely big mug of Gin*! It used to be chefs who were the worst/best, depending on your view, for drinking. Some would arrive to work drunk, some got smashed during shift. But they all got very nicely marinated after work. You could spot the chef's with the drink problems quite easily. They would ask for 4 brandies from the bar for a brandy sauce that would never materialise. And when they are using a case of Schnapps a week to make fruit salads you have to assume there is more being consumed in the staff toilets than going into the dessert. But chefs aren't as bad with the alcohol now as they were years ago. Now they are stoned most of the time. Still doesn't chill them out though...

Bar staff though, still love a drink. And you can understand why. The hours are hard, the work can be tough. When you finish at 3am on a Sunday morning and all your friends are either drunk or getting it on what else are you going to do? The people you work with become your new family, your new best friends. You go to a colleague's, hopefully a fit and sexy colleague, house with left over wine and a carryout you procured earlier on your break. Parties are always planned during the shift. It's the best way to get things done quicker at the end of the day and it gives you something to look forward to. Most bar staff are young and have the energy and will for late night partying. For the most part it's just young uns being young uns.

Most of them slow the drinking down as they get older or settle down with the fit and sexy colleague. Some don't. Some fill up pint glasses with what looks like water but is actually vodka and lemonade just to get through the night. Some arrive to work with the sweats and the shakes and yet still can't go home without having another drink. Would they be any different if the worked in an office or as a bricklayer? Well if they were a bricklayer they might just get stoned all the time.

Times have changed a lot though from the days when my father worked in a kitchen. Drinking was not only tolerated during shift by the chefs it was sort of expected. But now there are organisations like Hospitality Action who offer help and advice for those in the business who are having problems with alcohol etc. In the olden days (70's) you would have been given a pint of shandy and told to get over yourself! We are surrounded by drink and by people drinking. It is understandable that bar workers etc want a drink at the end of our working day, just like everybody else in society does. It's just unfortunate that we finish at 3 in the morning!

As I was leaving work tonight word reached me via the Glorious Leader (General Manager) of an alcohol related accident in the restaurant were his fiancee was dining. It appears a waiter was heading to a table with a flaming brandy cocktail, you can see were this is going, and tripped on his way. The flaming brandy hit another waiter who's shirt burst into flames. A quick witted customer enjoying a bottle of Champagne saved the day by chucking the contents of his ice bucket at the flambéing waiter. Not sure if this would be covered in a ONS report but definitely another indication that alcohol can kill. Sounds like a scene from a Mr Bean movie. Hope the guy is OK and all that. Thoughts are with you comrade.

So the next time you are in a bar or restaurant be nice to those who are serving you for we are not long for this world....

*actually it's a big mug of tea....

everything is ready for the next staff party...