Saturday, 24 November 2007

what to do when someone drops a chopping board on your head

Date: Mon, 4 Sept 2000
From: Ceels
Subject: what to do when someone drops a chopping board on your head.


The fingertips of my right hand have split and it is somewhat painful to type. But I will gallantly carry on if you will excuse the typos which are bound to occur when my hands spasm in pain or the keyboard becomes slippery with my blood.

In the excellent tradition of things that you learn in the kitchen, I bring you this next list.

Things that you learn from kitchen hands: you can know an awful lot about calamari and Alsatians and still not be any good at washing dishes.
: the kitchen hand is usually the smartest person in the klitchen, getting the highest marks on the kitchen hygiene exams and going on to bigger and better things (Mikey Robbins was a kitchen hand)
: the better they are, the harder they are to keep.

Things you learn from apprentices: always look after your own. The kitchen can be a cold hard place and you gotta stick close. If you have chocolate you share it. If you have time you make the rice custards.
: if you don't know, bluff. Never plead ignorance; you'll wind up with more work. "Oh, no, there wasn't enough salmon for the capaccio plates, I had to make it all into sashimi for the function."
: never bitch to anyone outside your level of the hierarchy, never bitch about each other.

Things you learn from chefs: the more someone complains about somebody else not doing the job properly, the more likely they are stuffing it up themselves.
: even nice people can go on power trips.

Things you learn from waiters: if you are an insufferable prat, nobody likes you.
: if you bring the chefs nice coffees, the chefs make you nice food.
: if you do too many drugs you will start to look like a three-week-old cadaver.

Lack of oxygen to the brain can feel exactly like food poisoning. I thought on Saturday night I was going to die. I limped toward death, contemplating spending my last minutes in the harsh glare of a commercial kitchen as everyone around me got slammed (were very very busy with service). I knew I would never see my house again. Then one of the waiters noticed the amount of smoke coming out the pass and went and turned on the fans. Some clown had turned them off and we had no air coming in to the kitchen and no smoke going out.

I just this week discovered I was utterly in love with one of the waiters, only to discover that he is leaving on Saturday. I have finally had enough sleep so that I am awake enough to find my true love and he leaves the next Saturday. What is the world coming to I ask, scratching my head in befuddled bewilderment.

I meant to tell you all about the waiters. There is, of course, syphilis-boy. And Dean, who is an obnoxious little snob (which is mostly an act), always wears lovely smells, and is a very sweet little man (in spite of the fact he looks like Napoleon). He plans to pursue a career in marketing women's clothing.

Line is Dutch and can be a bit touchy about the amount of hours she works. If she feels like she's had a rough day then she doesn't want to know that you've had a worse one. Mel recons she looks (and moves) like one of the thunderbirds.

Sheena is friendly and laid back; she is very concerned about her appearance and has a boyfriend with blond dreadlocks.

Jeff is a nutcase and is always looking for food. He has a Calvin Klein key wallet and asks weird questions.

Sacha is good looking and has a wife and young child. He seems a bit distant and is not quite weird enough to fit in.

We have a washing machine now, which makes life incredibly much easier. Unfortunately it is possessed by an evil spirit. On the spin cycle it takes off across the floor at a lumbering waddle, making for the door and certain freedom. Only to be brought up short by one of us or the hose pipes. In retaliation it dumps grease on our clothes. We have been having firm words with it, with little to no result so further action may be required.

I hope every one is well; I am going to drag my weary broklen body home.

all my love

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