2007

2007

old friends

1998, Tatyoon















1999, Station Street















2002, Amy's Place















2003 (?) Amy's Place















2005, Melbourne Airport

















These photos make me happy.

old friends

1993, Library Lawn
















1994, Boarding House
















1995, Library Lawn
















1996, Amy's House
















1997, St Marks

the kitchen

Date: Thu, 5 Oct 2000
From: Ceels
Subject: the kitchen.

Just to clear up any confusion - I was asked to work for an extra week at the kitchen and as I was contractually obliged I agreed. But as of Saturday last I am a free woman, and have spent the time to good effect, lounging round the house and soaking up the sunshine.

When I stop feeling antisocial, I’ll be in touch.

I'm painting my nails on Sunday

Date: Fri, 29 Sep 2000
From: Ceels
Subject: I'm painting my nails on Sunday.


I can peel an orange and get the peel in one long strip. But only when I’m concentrating.

Ceels's crash course in leadership-skills:
1. Never bitch to any one 'lower' than you about anyone on their tier of the hierarchy or above.

2. Pick the rules and stick with them

3. Delegate but never make anyone else do something you are not prepared to so yourself

4. Never panic and always pretend you know what's going on.

The rest of the course I will think of later.

There is construction going on in the alley outside the kitchen and that and the recent rain is driving all the M-O-U-S-E-S (said in loud stage whisper so the punters don't hear) inside. The other night we had one in the kitchen.

I was hiding behind the oven grabbing a bite to eat and Dan said 'did you see that, did you see that? There was an m-o-u-s-e in the kitchen.' it then did a runner from the dishwasher, past me and under the grill section fridges. I had a mouthful of food and was in no position to comment.

We then fetched a broom and, being the only person in the kitchen who is not afraid of mice, I got down on my hands and knees and tried to get it out. I was just about to give up when it appeared; it took a curve around the dumb waiter, jumped Suzy’s feet and slid past Kelly under the larder benches. I leapt to my feet and screamed, Suz jumped and screamed, Kelly jumped and screamed. It was like a domino effect and we figured the punters must know what was going on.

On Tuesday we were sitting in the actual restaurant. The menu had changed and Suzy was explaining how to make everything. Two customers leapt to their feet and stood by the pass. We just smiled and waved. Mice had come out from the couches and jumped over their bags. Later I saw a woman leap up, fling a five-dollar note at a waiter and sprint out the front door.

The health department has a few issues with the proposition that what the punters don't know won't hurt them and it appears the punters agree.
ceels

new lizard shape mobile phone covers – you too can look like you’re talking to a reptile’s arse

Date: Fri, 15 Sept 2000
From: Ceels
Subject: new lizard shape mobile phone covers – you too can look like you’re talking to a reptile’s arse.

The kitchen hand at work last night said that in order to get the 'undesirable' aboriginal population out of Redfern in Sydney before the Olympics, the government (or who ever) cut the water and power to the area and sent in the police to hassle and beat up the kids. He said, also, that a large amount of heroin and the heroin trade has been pushed into the suburb. My immediate reaction was 'bullshit' but I don't know. Can anyone enlighten me as to the truth of this rumour?

On a lighter note (but more personally embarrassing) a bad thing happened at work last night. I grabbed one of the chefs in the, well, right where you shouldn't grab someone unless you know him VERY well.

You see I slipped and rather than fall down I reached out for something to hold on to. Fortunately the oven was on my other side and I got a better grip on that rather than doing any damage to, well, you know.

The oven was quite hot. But it seemed the better option to burn my hand than to land on the floor or... any way... I don't want to talk about it any more.

sunny ceels

Date: Wed, 13 Sept 2000
From: Ceels
Subject: sunny ceels.

If you work three or four shifts in a row, you don't see the sun for a couple of days. You walk with your shoulders slumped because it is too difficult or too painful to straighten them. Your feet ache from standing on concrete for eight hours and you trudge trying to work out which one hurts most. You haven't slept properly since sometime last week and it makes you feel a bit teary and life seems impossible. Then you step out of the kitchen and take a deep breath. The sun is shining even if you can't see it because the city's in the way.

What bliss to curl your legs under you on the lawn of the state library and tip your face into the sunshine. it seems worth it. Listening to the heart of Saturday night and thinking dreamy half thoughts. It’s like a peaceful night's sleep, or a full tummy, or a hug.

Of course in the city a bit of stress helps with survival. You don't want to be so relaxed that you don't notice things like the lights changing.

Especially in the middle of the road.

I have discovered the worst thing about living with your friends. You can't write emails about them because many of the people you are writing to know them too. They are both so fascinating that I want to tell you all about it. But for about half of you they are not characters in some email, they are real people.

Oh well.

Date: Tue, 12 Sept 2000
From: Ceels
Subject:

Oh mi god

I am in love again. I sent an email to a boy because I liked his name and he wrote back and I have been swept off my feet into a cloud of erudite deliciousness.

I was worried for a while because I haven't fallen in love for ages. But since I quit the kitchen I have gone back to my old habit of falling in love eight or nine times a day with various fictional/ non-fictional people.

Now I just have to decide what to write back.

love you (all)
ceels

panic served three ways, with a warm side plate of fear and denial

Date: Tue, 12 Sept 2000
From: Ceels
Subject: panic served three ways, with a warm side plate of fear and denial.

Oh mi god,

Steven just re-did the roster for the week after next and I am not on it. In two weeks I am going to be a chick all on her own with no job and no hair.

WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?

This is a shocking tragedy. When I said I wanted to leave I didn't think it was going to be so sudden. What if I’ve changed my mind?

And here was I worrying about the washing machine (which appears to have taken up a vendetta against my favourite skirt. It keeps dumping grease on it then refusing to do the spin cycle while it is in there) I haven't finished paying off my uniform yet. What if I don't have enough money, what if I can't get it clean enough to give back?

What will I do while I don't have a job. I don't know if I know how to relax any more (any kind hearted person wanting to give massages to poor aching chefs?). I can't go yet, what will I have to complain about.

But it would be kinda nice to leave, I am pretty much over all the politics in the kitchen and getting up early in the morning after working the night before and carrying a couple of hundred kilograms of fruit and veg up and down the stairs.

The kind of stress we had the other night can't be good for you. It is giving me wrinkles. I’m tired all the time.

Maybe Sal is right and i should take a week off to look for jobs and relax.

I’ll miss everybody there.

I'll be a free woman in two weeks

WHO WANTS TO HELP ME CELEBRATE?

love ceels

three Kevin Kline movies in one day (what’s a poor sailor to do?) part 2

Mel was on the pass and it was the busiest I’ve ever seen it. There was a point where we were cooking for six tables and there were six or seven dockets hanging out of the machine that we hadn't even seen yet. Sal was on the grill and she is a pro, but even she was losing her grip. Dan was on woks and by the end of the night he was chucking food at me saying, "Here, cook this. You’re responsible for it, I don't want to hear about it again."

You start to do crazy things like lean across open flame and grab a hot pan, praying that the smell of burning hair is your arms and not your eyebrows. Grab colanders of vegetables straight from the boiling water. Lob pots and buckets at the sink (don't look, just hope). Open the steamer and stick your arm in for the rice without waiting for the steam to escape. Duck under Dan as he swings a pan round. Slide across the wet floor until you manage to grab hold of something (or someone). Drop beetroot in the rice custard. Drop salmon tartare in the rice custard. Drop the rice custard. Collapse exhausted. Clean everything in sight. Drink one beer at the end of the night. Get home and fall asleep on a chair because you can't face the stairs.

I guess it is kinda fun. And the adrenalin is pretty cool. But the stress was such that I nearly vomited on the floor (I didn't because it was the middle of service and Dan might have been mad). (Besides, there wasn't time). We did a hundred and fifteen people in under two hours.

Today a funny (or not funny) thing happened. We were carrying boxes of stuff down stairs at the end of the shift and when we got the bottom Mel dropped hers. There was (was) a bottle of balsamic vinegar in there, which exploded. She cursed for a second, rang upstairs to get Abbi (kitchen hand) to come clean it up.

She went back to the box with the vinegar to grab the peppercorns. On the way knocking over a vase full of water and weeping willow. The vase disintegrated across the floor.

She reached for the peppercorns, only to discover that they too had not maintained structural integrity as they poured in all directions.

I cannot decide if this is a funny or a not funny thing.

love you all

ceels

three Kevin Kline movies in one day (what’s a poor sailor to do?)

Date: Mon, 11 Sept 2000
From: Ceels
Subject: three Kevin Kline movies in one day (what’s a poor sailor to do?).

Well, I’ve done it, I’ve quit. I was running out of things to write anyway. And I am perpetually grumpy.

And I have grated all my knuckles off, although my fingertips have healed. I wonder if my hands will ever forgive me. Besides, the kitchen was getting in the way of my plans for world domination (and s11 think all the trouble is at the casino, tee hee hee hee <>). Also, all the cute waiters have quit. I am listening to Tom Waits to improve my mood.

So does anyone know of any interesting job prospects for a chick with no hair? (I think I am going to go and make coffee for a few months, Bridget promises she will come and visit me all the time if I work in the coffee shop on Elizabeth street).

We had a service from hell on Saturday night and any uncertainty I had about resigning on Friday was wiped clean.

It started quietly, an ominous hush in the bright light of the kitchen. I was running up and down the stairs fetching last minute forgotten things. Then at about five to nine Dan (whom I am now very fond of) sent me for the chickpea ragu. I arrived back in the kitchen to find twelve oysters needed to be shucked and chaos had stepped in. (incidentally Santo Cilaro (sp?) was in one night and even if you're famous, you still have the apprentice shucking your oysters (but the head chef picks them out for you)) (I’m the fastest shucker in the kitchen ) I want to try and explain the insanity of that night, but I don't know that I’m up to it.

early in the morning and I can’t do right

Date: Wed, 6 Sept 2000
From: Ceels
Subject: early in the morning and I can’t do right.

I have possibly done a very bad thing. Yesterday I resigned.

Steven asked me if I was sure and I had to answer truthfully that I wasn't sure and he asked me to reconsider. So I am going to think about it till the end of the week, which is only a couple of days away.

I am beset with indecision (yeah, like that's new).

I mostly want to go, but, as Steven says, you lose most new apprentices at the three to six month point. And I don't want to be just following a trend.

love you all
ceels

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.

Well.

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
ceekls

washing eggplant down the drain

Date: Mon, 28 Aug 2000
From: Ceels
Subject: washing eggplant down the drain.

I think I have worked out why I was so over work. I was taking it too seriously. I was thinking of it as my entire life, rather than just something I do so that I can write about it later. Of course if you are in the kitchen for fifty-six hours a week then you can sometimes confuse where the tired you ends and the exhausted you begins.

The kitchen is a bit like a hostage situation with no terrorists, you are just doing it to yourself. Or maybe it is some bizarre form of torture where you are subjected to bright lights and extreme pressure in a confined space, and you are never quite sure when, or for how long. It keeps changing, changing, changing.

Or maybe the punters are the terrorists.

Tip number 79 for punters: if you laugh like a horse, the chefs will make fun of you.

I should point out that I am still writing under extreme lack of sleep and am prone to exaggeration anyway. I am sure it is not really as bad as I am making out. I’ll work it out when I have had more sleep and get back to you.

I will think of three good things.

1. I am much stronger now than four months ago. We have a new full time kitchen hand called Marty. Bridget calls him a girly-man. He is a goth and he shaves his eyebrows and paints them back on every day and he is a very nice boy, but Bridget is right. Anyway, I used to be about as strong as he is, and now I can lift 25 kg bags with only a little bit of complaining.

Also I can get yelled at more and picked on more without getting upset. Except not on Friday when a chance remark from Steven caused me to burst into tears. Then I couldn't stop crying for the next hour and a half and it was ridiculous.

2. There are cute waiters. (But not Andrew, whom I like to refer to as syphilis boy, he is not a nice person and I loath him and I don't like to look at him. He upsets me.)

3. I am learning lots about politics. If you keep your head low and your mouth shut most of it misses you. But I am learning what it takes to make your way to the top (AND SOON I WILL TAKE OVER THE WORLD).

I saw a man today who had a really long droopy nose and it was all I could do not to grab it to see if it was real.

When prawn stock goes off it smells exactly like really rotten eggs. Only worse. And if you tip it down the sink you can stink out the whole of down stairs for about half and hour. Incidentally, apparently the kitchen’s exhaust fan outlet is right by the air-conditioning intake vent for 333 Collins street, so everyday 8000 people in suits hate us very much.