Kinda Long Winded - but I hope you enjoy....
Cars come and go, soccer moms stroll their children down the sidewalks gossiping of the Junior League as older couples walk their poodles and Yorkies. I sit on the patio of a Starbucks on the corner of a modestly busy intersection here in Ghent. Restaurants line these streets and the waft of baking bread scampers past me every couple of seconds as I check my emails, go over the sales numbers from last night’s dinner service, and chat with liquor reps about upcoming promotions and product launches. My night ended around 2 AM when the last, half drunk patrons stumbled out of the bar and into the safety of a cab. I ensured that the kitchen was ready for prep in the morning, and that the bar was reasonably clean, after all this is a restaurant and a working one at that – one that gets dirty then clean and dirty again – on a daily basis. I made sure all important equipment was adequately turned off, secured all exit doors to the world outside, and counted the money, assuring it was in order. I took a shot of whiskey at the bar hoping it would sufficiently sedate me so that my arrival home would be nothing more than a brush of my teeth, the guzzle of a bottle of water and a tumble into bed – maybe I should have made sure my cell phone was charging, because now it is only half full and it will undoubtedly die when I least need it to – probably when one of the cooks calls out, or when a supplier calls saying that he has ran out of god knows what. Murphy’s Law right? I think that defines our industry. I can’t remember the last busy night we had when at least something didn’t go wrong, and that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It is just the way it is…. And we know that……
Cars come and go, soccer moms stroll their children down the sidewalks gossiping of the Junior League as older couples walk their poodles and Yorkies. I sit on the patio of a Starbucks on the corner of a modestly busy intersection here in Ghent. Restaurants line these streets and the waft of baking bread scampers past me every couple of seconds as I check my emails, go over the sales numbers from last night’s dinner service, and chat with liquor reps about upcoming promotions and product launches. My night ended around 2 AM when the last, half drunk patrons stumbled out of the bar and into the safety of a cab. I ensured that the kitchen was ready for prep in the morning, and that the bar was reasonably clean, after all this is a restaurant and a working one at that – one that gets dirty then clean and dirty again – on a daily basis. I made sure all important equipment was adequately turned off, secured all exit doors to the world outside, and counted the money, assuring it was in order. I took a shot of whiskey at the bar hoping it would sufficiently sedate me so that my arrival home would be nothing more than a brush of my teeth, the guzzle of a bottle of water and a tumble into bed – maybe I should have made sure my cell phone was charging, because now it is only half full and it will undoubtedly die when I least need it to – probably when one of the cooks calls out, or when a supplier calls saying that he has ran out of god knows what. Murphy’s Law right? I think that defines our industry. I can’t remember the last busy night we had when at least something didn’t go wrong, and that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It is just the way it is…. And we know that……
I look at our lives as restaurant workers and the subculture that stems from it. On six hours of sleep, with my veins half pumped with roasted coffee beans I look at my life, where I am, where I want to be and how the restaurant business has helped me get here. Or has it hindered me? The lives of restaurant employees are albeit unique in the sense that we are in the business of making people happy, whether we stumbled into this business transiently or if we are in it by birth right, or we make a conscious, goal driven decision to be here. We do so by working some of the oddest most stressful hours conceivable, and by doing so create some of the strongest bonds imaginable under the most unique of circumstances. Things are frantic, and fast paced and after pouring drinks for 8 frantic hours, or grilling off steaks a dozen at a time while concurrently reducing sauces on a full stove during the dinner rush we can’t help but look at our lives and wonder how we ended up here, whether we were destined to or not. These are the things we talk about over drinks in the dimly lit ambience of the bar after the doors are locked, after the outsiders have long since come and gone. Some of us are in the restaurant industry because we are raising families and it is a decent, though challenging way to make a living and provide for the ones that need us. Some of us are here, because we are in school, are working for tips and there is nothing that pays comparable with such minimal amount of commitment and responsibility. Then there are some of us that are here because it is what we truly love. We love making people happy - Seeing our guests smile , cutting into that rack of lamb that is perfectly dressed with sauce sitting over a flawlessly cooked risotto, as the fragrance of rosemary and parmesiano reggiano liven the tastebuds of the neighboring tables. We love the hustle and bustle of the dining room on a busy Friday night – watching waiters slide by each other with inimitable grace- their nimble steps nearly missing each other and the guests as they weave in and out of the rows of occupied tables. Guests converse, laugh, banter, and are carefree, simply enjoying a night out at a place they truly love. It is their escape, and we know that. We love the chatter of orders incessantly pouring out of the kitchen printer signifying to the cooks that they are about to be buried with tickets and stressful waiters for the next couple hours in the 90 degree heat of the kitchen. This is the trenches. This is our moment to shine – our stage, our theater, where we are under the lights and are destined to shine. We love rejoicing at having made it through one of these nights…. Maybe the A.C. went out, a bad storm came through outing the power, or a ten top showed up 30 minutes late on a night where every table was accounted for, for at least 3 turns. Something happened, it doesn’t matter what - we all reacted with exuberance, resolve and determination. Why do we do this? Why do we work in this industry? We are here – for how long? It doesn’t really matter.
So, I am finishing up my paper work, here on the same patio where I started writing this piece a half a day later. The autumn sun has since gotten warmer, and my iced coffee is perspiring, nearly leaking over to my computer. My arms are a shade browner than they were when I woke up and my face has taken on a few subtle shades of red. Anyway, I did get a phone call, but it wasn’t a cook calling out, but rather one of my waitresses. What does this mean? Nothing really…. It’s the same old… nothing will change…. It will always be like this. This is why we do it. Because every day is different… an excitement, and utterly, well… a different world….. Roll with the punches, paddle through the storm, hell that is the only way to stay afloat - at least in the world of restaurants.
CCH.
CCH.
This one made me wanna get back into the chef game. Your right though. you do it bacause you love it and for the instant satisfaction of the smile on the patrons face. We are a special breed indeed , the Nightwalkers. Our happy hour is their sleeptime. our dinner their breakfast, we truly live by the phrase"its 5 o'clock somewhere."
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