At 11 am, customers are arriving, tickets are flying, a missed tomato has been ground into the kitchen floor, more oil spills, a “small” three alarm fire, MEDIC!, and WHERE IS THAT D@MN CAN OPENER???
A day in the life of a chef goes a little something like this:
- Wake Up. That is a super huge accomplishment and an act of congress all in itself. Everything else from this point is downhill. That whole getting out of bed thing was tough! …but it’s not quite time for a cocktail.
2. Coffee. Because… COFFEE. …and it’s not quite time for a cocktail.
3. Go to work. It pays the bills. …and it’s still not quite time for a cocktail.
4. Once your toe has crossed the threshold of “the office” take one deep breath and commence to colorful vocabulary. I ALREADY NEED A COCKTAIL!
- The trash is still sitting there from last night’s seafood extravaganza that included oysters and every other shellfish known to science.
- The ingredients for today that were RIGHT THERE when you left are now MIA.
- You make a grocery run to “the store” for said missing ingredients.
- You run back into your kitchen and promptly bust your @$$ in the puddle of oil someone clearly missed during after service cleaning.
- You begin to wonder where is the food service delivery truck?
- You pick up the groceries that are now scattered all over the kitchen floor and retrieve the run away cherry tomatoes from under the sink.
- Wash said tomatoes.
- Begin prep for regular service plus a 16 top wine dinner. Oh, and what do we have here? ANOTHER event that wasn’t scheduled for today until AFTER I left last night.
- Wonder REALLY, where is that truck??
- Review THAT menu, and back to “the store” for anything I don’t have for the new dinner.
- Attempt to begin prep for regular service and ALL events, only to find the can opener has disappeared yet again. Along with the entire knife block. Because those things happen. It is now 9 am.
- WHERE IS THE DELIVERY TRUCK?
- At 11 am, customers are arriving, tickets are flying, a missed tomato has been ground into the kitchen floor, more oil spills, small three alarm fire, MEDIC!, WHERE IS THAT D@MN CAN OPENER and WHERE IS THE $#%@&%! DELIVERY TRUCK???
- Somehow you survive another service. At close, all appendages are still in tact though slightly nicked or burned, you resemble a homeless person, you’re covered in the contents of a refrigerator and dry storage, and you realize the weird smell is YOU. The saving grace is…It is TIME for a cocktail!