A cook’s tale chapter-3″Vindication”
Damn, I’m either a glutton for punishment, or an idiot, maybe a little of both. I’m standing around the corner from the restaurant, trying to convince my feet to keep going, my heart is fluttering around in my chest like a hamster hopped up on coke, I can’t go. I turn around, and then turn back around in a silly indecisive dance, chasing my tail in my own head. I want to go because in this line of business you do what has to be done, you persevere through the cuts, burns, insults, incompetence and swarms of the dining public, say “Yes, Chef.” And refill your station for the next hit. I don’t want to go to be berated by this malicious bxtch, who obviously doesn’t know how to train anyone. There were times when it was on my tongue to ask her if she’s ever actually trained before because she was so horrible at it.
OK. Here’s my idea of training, the first day they’re on your hip, everywhere you go they go, whatever you do, they do-fxck- they don’t even know where the rubber spatulas are yet! Also, this helps give them an idea of the day’s rhythm, following you around. Let them plate a couple of dishes, their experience doesn’t matter, they may be able to make beautiful brunoised onions, but not know where they are or where to get something to put them in! Show them how it’s done. The second day, they’re still on your hip with a little independence. Go get this, etc. let them get a feel for the place, let them get lost in the walk-in, give them a project, but keep your eyes on them. During service, give them a bit of rope and see how they do, step in if they’re in the weeds. If they f#*k something up, which they will, tell them how you want it done, but also tell them what they did right. For example: “OK, good, I f#&*ed that up my first time, too. Put this here and this here, but it tastes perfect, good job.” So what do they hear? Good. Good. But if you do this, it’s perfect. The third day, let them go. If you did your job well, they should do well. Remember what it was like your first couple of days, by this time they should know what they’re responsible for but not everything, so your job now is basically fine-tuning, stepping in and correcting them.
I’ve had none of this, it’s my third day and there are dishes I haven’t plated yet, I still don’t know where to find the blended oil or where empty boxes go. I’ve been getting inconsistent messages from both the sous and the chef. I don’t want to go, my feet don’t want to go and the crazed hamster trying to break out of my chest doesn’t want to go either.
I suck it up and go in anyway, change and I’m ready. Today, it seems, I’m in the chef’s hands. Maybe something I said did get through to him after-all! Great! The sous is all standoffishly nice and I know now that whatever I had said about her had rung a bell or two. Things progress well; I manage the prep list and get into service like I had been there for weeks. The sous and I circle around each other like a couple of old tomcats, tight smiles hiding the sharp edges ready to draw blood. It seems her only function for the day is the fabrication of proteins and expediting, cool.
I’m on my own. The chef is next to me offering instruction where he sees fit and I comply, I want to make his dishes the way he wants them. Anytime I f#*k up (yeah, I’m still the new guy), he tells me what I did right and then what I did wrong and how to fix it. It’s like a f#&*ing lantern in a world of fireflies. Has this guy been reading my f#&*ing mind! So this is the way you want it? Ohhh..ok! A little contrary to what I had been shown, but I can cope. Service goes great; if I had received this type of training before, I might even have known that dish I still didn’t know (which he is surprised by)! Then he introduces me to the timer. From a “fire” call I have six minutes (you’re on) to plate, now for some pasta dishes this is great, but for fish a bit of a bitch that would take a little more ESP than I currently possess. I start setting the timer, communicating with the grill cook and the sous who is expediting, getting my chops down. Things are going well, the chef steps out and I’m on my own, for real. The sous fires a table, all me; and it comes back. They’re not ready. Fxck, now I’ve got to do it again! But that’s ok, the kitchen happily scarfs them down. A couple more tables and I get one all my own again, and it comes back. FXCK! The backwaiter and sous dig in. “How is it?” I ask, curious. The backwaiter is nodding her head vigorously, because her mouth is too full to speak and the sous puts down her fork and says, “The pasta is under-done.” Nothing can please this woman! And why does she keep firing tables that aren’t ready! I think this is a more egregious error than putting the chicken on the wrong side of a round plate, but keep my mouth shut. I finish off service, and it’s my late night so I stick around for some extra-curricular cleaning. I feel good. Through bad training and a hostile environment I still managed to pull it off. At the end of the night the chef and I feel as if I’m reasonably comfortable and making good progress. Fxck that, I feel fxcking vindicated, like I had just re-fought the battle at Wounded Knee and won! I remembered what it felt like to be a cook again, get in, kick ass, and get out. Cooks rule! But, tomorrow’s Friday, and I’m a little nervous…
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