Valentine's Day, Mother's Day- we in the biz know that these are our big nets that we cast wide to catch all the little fishies with roses and romance. In other words, amateur night. Even those who never go to restaurants go out on these holidays. And we suck it right up. Would Macy's say, "oh no, we don't want your business for Christmas? We aren't going to provide Santa Claus and a photographer for lifelong memories of your family?" Hell, no. Someone's got to make some money and we do it off holidays.
And so, I am a free agent, double 0 chefmo, out to save the tired, the understaffed, the caught in a pinch brethren of mine who are in this insane business. On Christmas I worked at a kosher bakery/cafe for a colleague of mine. She ended up being incredibly busy and I was at her right hand doing whatever it was that she needed. She happily gave me some money and a bar of baking chocolate that I really needed. I wrapped up my knives and said, "my work is done here, Madam and good luck". My son and I finished our traditional Jewish Christmas by ordering in Chinese food.
This week, the sign of the bat was flashed over Gotham City for me by another friend, who's husband owns an Italian restaurant of 20 years here in town. Said husband had himself a little hunting accident (apparently it is "wabbit season") and cannot be on his feet for a while. She called me knowing that I would feel her pain. This man works all aspects of that restaurant, front, back, shopping for the food, wine, money, everything. And he's no spring chicken but he moves like one. Now he's at home arguing with the nurse as she tries to change the dressing on his wound. Meanwhile- you guessed it- it's Valentine's Day. And the phones are ringing for reservations. One other element in the equation, the acting chef was given his walking papers the week before the owner basically lost his walking ability. This was a problem.
So owner's wife, my friend calls me and says she thought of me, is there anything that I can do.
Honey, I can do anything. Especially if it isn't mine. I dusted off my Restaurant Depot membership card and foraged for food. I quickly learned my way around someone else's kitchen, learned the names and nationalities of my coworkers in the back of the house. The cook who had been handling pretty much everything up to now sat with me, we made a menu and decided who was responsible for each dish. We prepped, we organized and by 5 o'clock we were ready, willing and able.
Mrs. Restaurant Owner had a commitment concerning her daughter and college that could not be rescheduled so she could not be there either. Like the show that must go on with understudies,we friends and family members each put on our costumes, learned our lines, stood side by side with the regular cast and went on stage.
Working the line is like dancing. You get into a routine with your partner. You learn their moves, where to dip them, twirl them, stand back and let them solo. The first time cooking with someone is usually awkward (yes, it's not only like dancing, it's like sex but that's another blog). Generally it is very difficult to jump in to a kitchen, not knowing their moves or the menu for that matter. My approach is, "you are the lead here and I will follow". I'll stand back rather than get in the way. Fortunately for us the tables had been booked wisely. In Fairfield County everyone goes out to dinner at 7pm. Hands down that is the busiest time. We knew that would be crunch time but the hostess did not overbook us. Wisely she said she'd rather have less people and have them walk out happy than more people who get upset about lousy service. A very good move. The flow was beautiful that night.
For me, it was fun to be in the thick of things. This place runs on the old fashioned system of hand-written tickets and verbal ordering by the waiters. I'm from the world of printers, so I couldn't even read the tickets, let alone the fact that I don't really know most of the menu items. The rhythm began, with the swinging of the doors, the servers ordering, we reach for the pans and start cooking. Some are yellers, some are quiet. My partner got in the zone, moving quickly and quietly. I made my dishes, having to show the guy who usually does the veg sides the way that I do it. Overall though, it was a dance that we all knew how to do. When we lifted our heads up it was almost 10 o'clock and it was over. The hostess was beaming, every customer was happy and all orders were out in a timely fashion. We had done it. We started breaking down the line and cleaning.
I stepped out the back door for one minute just to get a blast of fresh air. The door faces a communal parking lot with some other restaurants. I saw a couple coming from ours, hand in hand, the lady carrying the red rose wrapped in cellophane that all the customers were given that night. Full and happy they strolled toward their car.
The air felt good. I'd put in 12 hours, like I used to do all the time. This is when I realize that I've been on my feet all day, haven't used the bathroom since I don't know when, even though I drank a whole bottle of Pellegrino water on the line. Can't remember the last time I ate either. It was a good feeling though. Tonight. Happy to help my friends, happy that I still have my mojo, that I can still get in there and dance if I want to.
But that's just it. I don't think I want to anymore. Not all the time. My career is heading in another direction now and it's all for the good. The restaurant world is the siren that calls my name but I am moving on. Time to pack up my toolbox and go home.
