Why I am over catering

Recently I have found myself avoiding catering gigs as if they were an obnoxious relative who says that they love you, gives you a check for $5 on your birthday which then bounces and you get charged $25 from your bank. It ends up costing you more than it's worth and you have to deal with their annoying personality traits.

I used to look forward to catering jobs. Sometimes I had a chance to stretch my skills and perhaps get to show off a little. For a while I had a regular group of people that I worked with. I had a partner who shared the responsibility. Sometimes the client came through his connections, sometimes mine. We planned out our menus, divvied up the items, worked our asses off and always excelled. When we needed servers or helpers we had some good ones. They were dedicated to the job and were fun to be with. Nothing like that cold beer at the end of a good gig when you're counting out the cash tips.
We cooked for political figures, celebrities and some just plain old rich folks. We did Rosh Hashonah and Yom Kippur for a family on upper Fifth Avenue. The owner's brother is a famous state Senator who came into the kitchen to chat with us and compliment us on the meal. When he heard that we were opening a bakery in South Norwalk, Connecticut he said, "Connecticut-Schmonnecticut! We need you in New York!"
How many vans and SUV's we loaded up. One time my Saab  9-3 was able to hold everything for a cocktail event at Ernst & Young. Luckily the gal working with me was about 5 feet tall because there was so much stuff in that car, even she had to keep her knees bent while sitting in the passenger seat.
We laughed a lot. One time at a swank Park Avenue pad we had gotten everything prepared early. The kitchen was immaculate. With nothing left to do, my partner and I were hanging around and somehow ended up with him sitting on a chair in the laundry room while I trimmed his ear hair. We looked like apes grooming each other in the jungle, it occurred to us how ridiculous we would look if someone walked in.
We used to prep catering jobs at the television studio that we worked at because it had beautiful professional kitchens. He was always popping out a wedding cake or two on the side. He had tubs of butter cream hidden away, or ganache discreetly tucked behind a rack. We had keys to the place and sometimes on weekends literally forgot that it was not in fact our own. Even the company vans were unofficially at our disposal.
Our team made fun of the guests and teased one another. There were some incredible homes and apartments. Lots of neurotic women with designer kitchens who were terrified of anything getting messy. My crew was always good about keeping things tidy, my pet peeve is seeing glasses and used cocktail napkins laying around. I did take a little pleasure out of a drunken guest vomiting on an expensive rug though. The hostess's face was priceless!
Hours upon hours of prep work. The packing up and last minute details that had to be addressed. Always forgetting that one thing that someone had to go back to the store/bakery/restaurant or studio for. Calming the nerves of the clients. The oven that died minutes before a wedding party and the hurricane that ensued at the same time, forcing us to relocate all the outdoor setup to the basement and tent. Lugging tons of dirty and used stuff back to our kitchens and having to clean it at some point. Being so exhausted that our feet and hands ached. Somebody was usually nursing a burn or bandaging a cut. Realizing that we never ate a proper meal, and had only picked at some hors d'oeuvres and a few cookies at the end of the night.
Bottom line, we had some good times, made some good money and our reputation was excellent.

So what has happened since the days of Park Avenue and ear-hair trimming?

For one thing, I am tired of haggling with people over money. Everyone wants the best but they do not want to pay for it. If I get my hair cut, I pay for what the service costs. If I go to the dentist I don't ask if they can charge half of their price to do a filling. What if I provide my own Novocaine, would that bring the price down?
All of that food we make is hand-crafted. If you hire me it is because I make my own pastry dough, I don't use pre-made tart shells. I take very few shortcuts because of the pride that I take in my work, it's just how I roll. Even some of the wealthiest people I have worked for insisted on serving frozen pigs in a blanket from Costco, and that I did. The customer is always right. But when they started also bringing cheap-ass cakes from there and Stew Leonard cookie platters to save a buck, you are starting to hurt my reputation.
I don't want to feel guilty and have to struggle with charging you what I am worth anymore. Take it or leave it.
Gathering ingredients in New York is extremely challenging. In Connecticut where I had my own vehicle it was one thing. In the city, unless you have a driver, it can be overwhelming. To go to Union Square and handpick the watermelon radishes and squeeze the tomatoes at the farmer's market then go to the upscale fancy butcher or fish market, or cheese monger, then an actual grocery store, etc., etc.. using taxis to get around all over an overcrowded metropolis. Ugh. No thanks.
Over the years I am working with different groups of people and have found certain stereotypes everywhere.
Some examples are the waiter who never shuts up. He makes the same jokes over and over again.  He is not funny nor clever. His diarrhea of the mouth is exhausting to me. During the event, the servers that stand around and do nothing while the kitchen is sweating and in overdrive.
Then there is the overworked/underpaid martyr- in the kitchen there will be one person who when you ask them a question will roll his/her eyes and say "well, I'm not paid enough to tell you what do do/where to go/how to do (fill in the blank), it's not my job!" But it is  because he/she does it everyday so just shut up and give me the info. I'm a freelancer here and don't give a shit about the politics that go on at this place. Show me the walk-in then show me the money.
Rude party guests. Bitch, listen up- I know more about food, entertaining, travel and culture than probably most people in the room. Because I am in a uniform and you are in Versace with Laboutin pumps and Botox pumped into your forehead does not make you a higher form of life in any way. Guests who wave you away with the back of their hand when you are offering them food or rudely command you have no class. Please and thank you are still appropriate.
My bones are tired now. I run when I work. I never sit down. I don't smoke so I don't take breaks. The body does not quite keep up with it anymore. When I am looking for something on a bottom shelf and I used to bounce right up, it now takes a moment and a slight grunt to do so.
I find myself working for other people often and they don't do it like I do. They don't set up nicely, the stations are dirty. The waiters and everyone are picking off the trays in the kitchen and not washing their hands. It disgusts me. Recently I was handed a wrinkly, stained chef coat to wear at a party. I was mortified.

Overall, I think that basically I moved on in a new direction. Yes, my team was probably cleaner and more professional than many that I work with now.  Chances are though, that our jokes were stupid to other people and were only funny to us. Money was always a hassle.
Catering just does not come to me naturally anymore. I always preferred to be behind the scenes anyway. As I get more and more into teaching and mentoring young cooks, I find that my experiences are a tool to pass on to them. If I teach them strong skills and values, maybe they will work clean and make beautiful food. When they get to a point when they walk through a room and see a cocktail plate with crumbs and a crumpled napkin on it they must pick it up. I want them to count those wads of cash out to their servers, pack up the greasy hotel pans into the coolers- organize the rentals for pick-up and feel pride that they did an amazing job. It's their turn now. That's just how I roll.