...Just A Chick with her Puppet..


Sunday, October 18, 2009

The End of a Horrible Week

Yesterday I taught older, richer professionals how to bake rice pudding. I taught a doctor and two sisters. One of the sisters was constantly trying to get free medical advice from the doctor while her sister kept saying “Sally, shut up. You don’t do that in real life. That’s only on TV.”
What the real kicker is that our chef is still out of town and Line Cook that is totally unprepared to be in charge had a panic attacked that turned into a full on seizure right at the beginning of Elderly Cooking 101. I, thinking it was one of the guests, gathered my group back up so that we could start boiling the rice. I didn’t realize it was Line Cook until our dish was already in its ice bath.
My server also decided not to show and my manager had a family emergency right after noon time. So after cooking with the elderlies I had to serve them the five course meal they prepared. And food-run it. And bus the table. In a chef assemble. I was hot, sweaty and smelled our old food by the end. And get this, only got $80. Was getting up at 6AM and it wad over at 4 PM worth it?
Oh. Then I had to work dinner where my eight-top and ten-top didn’t show and I had only three tables all night and got out at midnight.
It wasn’t even a two bill day.

The Beginning of a Horrible Week

Has Season started yet? I thought that Season in NYC meant oodles and oodles of money. I’m broke for Heaven’s sake. I need Season to come.
I clocked in at 60+ hours this week, with a good chunk of it in the kitchen. My chef had a family emergency and asked me to help out. At first I was in awe and scared. I’m not a cook. I’m a-wanna-be stay at home mom who pretends (quite well) that I bake and cook dinner for amazing Boyfriend.
Well apparently pretending has its perks because I can actually cook now. But not for the masses. I’m a front of the house kind of gal. I like to describe the food someone else cooked up. My chef assures me that I’ll be fine and can call if I need anything.
Ok the first day was last Sunday. Chef had me fill in at a food festival. I went with one of my cooks and server friend of mine. It began at 7 AM. We were setting up our booth when the cooks next to us started taking Patron shots. My cook and server felt the Jameson would be a good chaser and maybe some mimosas minus the OJ. I stared at them in awe and fear for what would follow.
What did follow was hours and hours of heavy drinking and serving food. Talking about food and drinking more. Smoking bud on the docks and cigarettes in the back (employee only) areas. Taking pisses in portable potties. Drinking more. So much bubbly.
At the beginning of the second session our server started to wobble. Then started to curse at the other cook. Then I kicked him off the booth, stepping up for absent chef and trying my hardest to not curse back at him in front of the guests. He left grudgingly but returned about ten minutes later, escorted by security.
Witnessing this scene my cook, who is not from this country and doesn’t really understand why guards would be escorting a drunk lad out, tries to argue with them. I pull him back to serve the food, throw the server his bag and say goodnight. Then went to get us some help.
Got the help, continued to have the longest day of my life and go home. Saved servers job by claiming emergency and all is well.
With little to no sleep (thanks to crazy Connie from upstairs!) I went to work, served tables all day (lunch and dinner shift) and made a total of $33.
Finally slept. Still broke.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

The Shower

Today I’ve felt like the joke in a TV sitcom. It all started at 6AM when I woke up to the unsettling feeling that I drank to much vino the night prior. As I stumbled to the bathroom I tripped on every article of clothing and shoes I own and found my winter coat crumpled in the corner of the bathroom.
Flashes of last night begin to come back as I look into the toilet bowl of food prior. I worked and went home. I went home because I needed to shower.
No. I was on my way home when C called and then I ended up at her place. I had a big boy Bass and smoked a bowl. Then I went home.
No. We went to were her boyfriend serves. Across town. Dining District. There I had three kinds of cured meats (one was duck salami!), cheese, gnocchi, bread, butter, more bread, dessert, so much wine. Then I went home.
No. L called and we walked the ten or so blocks (drunk off our asses) to the bar where her man works. More wine. But then I went home.
Kind of. I apparently talked to boy from work for 2 minutes and 55 seconds; Boyfriend for 10 minutes and new mommy K for 4 minutes.
I don’t remember anything else except that I forgot to get cola and was dying this morning without it.
I flushed the toilet and went back to bed, still unwashed. I awoke four hours later to the water being off for maintenance. Don’t worry Super explains, it will be back on around 7 tonight.

Dinner and a Show?

So the other night Boyfriend, Phriend and I went to dinner. I decided on one of our favorite LES spots; an extra small, only about nine tables fusion place. We also know the chef/owner so no doubt it would be an amazing meal.
Boyfriend and I enter the packed (so happy I made reservation!) restaurant and wait for Phriend to arrive to be seated. While we waited I saw that there was only one waitress, delightful woman who gives great service. Only two guys behind the open kitchen and one guy playing host/take out/runner/busser and helping Waitress out.
We sit, order quickly since we know the food and receive our wine and water. Minutes later our food begins to come out; all shared with no rhyme or rhythm to their arrival. I was happy; the two dishes I really, really wanted came out first. Everything was amazing; the wine, the food and especially the conversation.
That ended abruptly when I heard my name proceeded by a loud, nasally shriek. I turned around to see this large nose, too much black eyeliner, Sideshow Bob hairdo, fake tan girl that I vaguely remember from camp over a decade ago. She used to make fun of me, constantly. My boyfriend then turns around and says “hello AnnoyingGirl.” She then shrikes again, screams Boyfriends full name, turns to her much too thin and extremely drunk with an equally bad fake tan girlfriend and screams “This is why I’m writing a Book!!”
At this point new food had arrived at our table so both Boyfriend and I turn back to Phriend who is just staring at the freak show AnnoyingGirl in awe. The audacity of some people he mutters into his plate of deep fried pork belly and sticky rice. I shake my head and laugh and begin to pour the second bottle of wine.
More food arrives and the last table of the night is sat. Four extremely tall Europeans, I think Swedes. Waitress takes them to the table directly behind us, next to AnnoyingGirl. All is well for about a second longer until AnnoyingGirl starts screaming at one of the lady Swedes claiming their drunk asses had knocked her wine and water all over her new Prada bag and brand new Blackberry.
Everyone in the restaurant turns around; 20 or so people. AnnoyingGirl continues to tirade the Swedish woman as they are little children who got into the paint cans. Accusing them of being drunk and demanding CASH immediately for the items they ruined.
The Swedes begin to think they’ve done something wrong, being that they haven’t ate at this establishment before and start to leave when an Asian woman sitting in the front table swoops in like Wonder Woman and tells them to sit back down. She then turns to AnnoyingGirl, tells her to get up, gather her things and get the hell out of this restaurant. She even offered to pay her tab so that she’d leave. AnnoyingGirl grudgingly gathered her things (everyone wants a free dinner, right?), cursing the entire way through the restaurant, screaming that they weren’t even done and that her belongings are destroyed and free food won’t fix her phone.
As she walks by and I catch a glimpse of her outfit- way too short cut off jeans with a fitted black button down exposing her massive boobs and gut accompanied with black knee length boots with a five inch heel, I realized that Karma really does exist. That the Mean Girls are eventually shown theirs and that hopefully it is always just as sweet as watching a damp Prada bag on the arm of a bitch being escorted out by two large Asian men.
Real dessert soon arrived and the tarts couldn’t have tasted any better.