Day After Christmas Blues

It is 7:10 AM the day after Christmas. I am concurrently connected to facebook - right now I have 1 friend online out of over one thousand. Everyone I know is asleep, recovering from a long festive day that is typically defined with overeating and excessive alcohol, though the airport is bustling with travelers that are off to who knows where. Christmas was fantastic. We had a perfectly cooked beef tenderloin with a Potato-Leek Gratin, a warm Beet and Mission Fig Salad with caramelized Goat Cheese, a and a tradatitional Squash Casserole. It was a meal defined with some of the old times favorites, but was complimented with some new, rustic winter dishes that seem to work so well this time of year. They did. I think it was the best meal I have had in my father's dining room. He pulled the tenderloin out of the oven at the optimal time, let it rest, then began carving, as I broiled the top of the various casseroles to caramelize and crust the cheese on top. It was all wonderful. We enjoyed it, as we always do, though no more than the company. It was our first Christmas with my brother's wife, Liza, and it was the first Christmas that my baby niece, Elle, really started to understand the way Christmas works. Holidays to me, are always about preserving rich family tradition, while at the same time playing off of those traditions and taking changes into the future. I already miss my family, and the holiday season, and it isn't even over yet. CCH

Off To Atlanta

So, I am off to Atlanta after a long and frustrating couple of days at work. I am tired after having just gotten out of work - I always take this 630 am flight..... It works out perfectly when you get out of work at 2 am..... there is just enough time to head home, do a load of laundry, soak in the bath and pack the bag destined for the south..... It is cold there and that is how it should be. I can't wait to see and smile with my family.... See my buddy john, where we will play a round of golf and make a toast to our poorly played round with a couple of stout cigars.... I am going to try and post something in the midst of the holiday madness.... Y'all have a great Christmas - We shall talk soon......CH

A Christmas Story

It’s funny how inspiration comes from the strangest places and often in the strangest of times. My latest came while driving downtown in the cold December pouring rain. While looking at the beautiful buildings of Downtown Norfolk and thinking about my trip to Atlanta next week. I got to thinking about Christmas and what this time of year means to me.

Nineteen ninety five was the fourth Christmas in a row that my mother was bald – and it wasn’t by choice. We were what from the outside appeared to be the idyllic American family, though behind the scenes, like any other family we were, to an extent, dysfunctional, having our own set of problems. My parents worked so hard to keep our family happy and together but with four kids, two full time jobs, and private school tuitions, stress slowly took a strain on their relationship. So, during this same Christmas my parents had marital problems, but were doing their best to keep things together for us, for the kids, in what none of us knew at the time, but all but expected to be my Mom’s last Christmas.

After the Christmas Eve service at the beautiful St. Phillip's Cathedral, my dad weaved through the Christmas lights of Atlanta as the excitement and energy of Christmas resonated from our Suburban. We returned home to our already-dressed table which was decorated in coastal paraphernalia - fishing nets, oversized clam shells, and bowls that were inked with crustaceans. It was time for our traditional Christmas Eve dinner. My mother’s side of the family for as long as I know religiously steamed lobster every year, and to me this tradition has a greater importance than the holiday itself. It is a meal I annually cherish, look forward to, will never get sick of, and I vow to carry on for as long as Christmas exists.
Before sitting at the table my parents took us into the living room where a surprise was in waiting. The fireplace was burning embers from earlier in the day with which my brother and I struggled bringing back to life. My father guided us, and flames appeared, beginning to wave back and forth, almost at us. The ledge overhead was hung with stockings, manger scenes, and candles whose blazes were pale in comparison to the erratic flames below. My frail mother began speaking of her love for us - making allusions that this would probably be her last Christmas, how much her family meant, and how having each other is paramount. She had been fighting for years. Surgery after surgery debilitated her strength, though never her spirit. She was always proud, and strong, and ceaseless, but options were running out and we all knew that, but coming to terms with that is undoubtedly harder. An experimental laser surgery had failed, and the cancer had learned to combat the radiation and chemotherapy, thus eliminating options. Emotions were always tense and threshold-like, always preparing me for the worst. She didn’t say anything of it though, and neither did my dad. She merely walked into the dining room, returned with a camcorder, and the red light on the front told us that it was recording. This was our big Christmas present in 1995 – a camcorder. Though unsaid, it was so that we could remember that last Christmas with my mom – so that we could remember her voice, gestures, smile and most importantly her spirit. Looking back I am pretty sure those are things that someone never really forgets about their mother, no matter how far away, or how long away they have been gone. That voice, that touch, that spirit though at times cavernous and distant is always in the inner dwellings of a child, and inseparable. We joyously sat around the table passing the camcorder while cracking lobster claws, laughing, and enjoying each other. We were enjoying a family that had been through so much, but would in the end know what was really important ,and what really mattered. As kids, we grew up too fast and were faced with many of the harsh realities of life at a young age, though on the eve of Christmas in 1995, none of that mattered, and we spent this holiday season cherishing whatever remaining time we had together. That night we read Christmas books, held, hugged and loved each other. My mother passed away four months later. While expected, none of us were ready for it. To this day, Christmas Eve will always be synonymous with my mother, and of course Lobster.

Dani. Older than the typical restaurant manager, and not quite as rough around the edges. Atleast it appears that way from a distance. Before every shift her name swirls around curse words as waiters gripe about the difficulty of working with her. Surviving a shift with Dani is somewhere in the neighborhood of walking on coals…. Chinese water torture…. Waiters stroll in a couple minutes after ten – most are hungover. They had 45 minutes before the pre-shifting meeting to get everything ready for service, and they gossip while brewing iced tea, straightening tables that are poorly dressed from the previous night, and fill sugar caddies with the appropriate sweeteners. The abundance of light beaming through the patio windows reveals crumbs, used cocktail straws, and dirt, from the night before which is swept by the busboys who are readying their stations. The private dining room needed to be set for a thirty person pharmaceutical luncheon that would be arriving at eleven-thirty. The party had a pre-planned menu on which the kitchen was currently working. The restaurant had 700 seats. 20 waiters and waitresses. A six page menu, a fifty seat bar, and one kitchen. Every piece of food eaten at this restaurant came out of the eight man kitchen which included four fryers, a ten foot grill, twelve burners and a six-foot flat-top. Maybe two of the eight kitchen guys spoke passable English. Kitchen language was Spanglish at its finest.
Lunch is always chaotic. For two hours it is a constant flurry of business meetings. Executives walk ten minutes each way from neighboring buildings. They only have 45 minutes between meetings. Do the math. They need a full meal in twenty to thirty minutes – this is impossible. For the typical lunch shift there is one seating around noon, and then another 45 minutes later, and for the duration the kitchen is in a constant scurry, never looking up, never pausing, and never speaking. Dani always worked meticulously and systematically at the expo window. Responsible for sending each plate out of the kitchen to the appropriate table, she was the liaison between the kitchen and the service staff. At a quarter til eleven she gathered the front of the house staff for the pre-shift meeting.
“Hey everyone, before we get started, I have some terrible news I need to share with everyone,” Dani started then paused trying to gather strength. She comes across cold, hardened and resistant to pain. She continues,” Jennifer Jones passed away last night. I got a phone call from the police department this morning, and they said that she was found on the corner of Baldwin, and 12th Street. She jumped off a building there, or was maybe pushed. They don’t really know, but they are running blood tests, are trying to get some answers and will most likely be in here later this afternoon to question some of you. Especially any of you who might have been out with her last night.”
The previous night Jennifer and several other servers worked, then headed over to Spirits- the watering hole for local restaurant people. Servers and bartenders in the area flood the bar around midnight, when their work days are over. They smile at the bartenders and begin the relentless ordering of shots and drinks as they talk about their abnormal, and underachieved lives being lived. Some sneak off to the bathroom to fuel their bodies with cocaine, or other foreign substances. Some sneak off to the bathroom to vomit after one too many shots of Jagermeister. Restaurant workers form familial relationships that are often, confused, incestuous and a dysfunctional. These people work long, hard hours, together. They finish work when others are already asleep, and are out partying when others are nearly rising for the new day. The night before would be a blur, and receiving news of Jennifer’s death would be all but traumatic, since most aren’t alert enough to comprehend what was just said. Some were out with her the night before. Some were close to her….. Close in a restaurant sense. They had become friends through circumstance…. Through being thrown into this chaotic, whirlwind lifestyle, void of equilibrium. These relationships are born out of necessity. Born out of a need to fit in, and to be a part of something…. They existed because they had to, not because they were meant to or destined to….
This kind of news didn’t surface often, but the staff would find a way to see it through. They always did. Everyone is caught off guard, sitting silently for several moments thinking about the life that was lost and what that meant. Why did this have to be her denoument, her time to exit the stage? It was hard not to think about that, but at the end of the day life moves on, and so does the restaurant. Dani continues, in character as always, a couple moments later, and conveys the specials for the day nonchalantly, as if nothing has happened. She then gives specific instructions regarding the private party, and discusses some featured wines that would now be offered by the glass. It’s lunch - nobody drinks wine during lunch. Regardless there are two whites and a red, all from Australia….. One of the male waiters, under his breath notes that Jennifer never liked Australian wines, and Dani glares with disapproval.
11 AM arrives, waiters tie aprons around their waists, review the specials scribbled in their books, and Dani unlocks the doors to the world outside. The bartenders finish cutting fruit as guests trickle in. The hostess directs them to a table. “Y’all enjoy your lunch.” She returns and more guests are waiting for a table. She seats them, and each subsequent return to the front desk results in a larger crowd waiting to be sat. The lunch rush has begun, orders trickle into the kitchen and some to the bar, and then speed up exponentially as noon approaches. The pharmaceutical party is seated, and the two servers working exclusively on the party scurry to get drink orders.
“I need food runners,” Dani yells as servers walk directly past her and into the kitchen where drinks are made for the customers who have just been seated. By noon everyone has a full section, the kitchen has twenty tickets, and there is a line at each computer terminal where servers wait impatiently to place orders. Each one is different. Different items with different modifications, and different cook times. These kitchen guys were cooking, but not fast enough - they were running nearly twenty minute ticket times. Twelve was the goal during lunch, but when there was food for a group of thirty coming out of the same kitchen, twenty minutes wasn’t all that bad. “I need food runners, goddamnit!” She scolded each server that walked by her that was too busy to run the food that was for their customers….the ones who were tipping them... So now, the food was not only taking too long, but when it was finally ready there was no one there to deliver it to the table
“I swear to God, the next person to walk out of this kitchen without food in their hands isn’t going to have a job. I fucking mean it!” This was Dani in her early stages of stress. She is seemingly refined until the pressure begins to mount. In the kitchen plates are finished and garnished , but have nowhere to go – the heat lamp under the expo window is full. Why should the kitchen hurry to pump food out of the kitchen, if it is going to sit in the window for three minutes? Frustration mounts in the kitchen that is dealing with ninety degree heat. Tickets print and are called out by Jose, who runs the kitchen – he ensures that the appropriate cook knows of the incoming order. Dani, reads the ticket that is printed on her side, and mentally notes any special modifications that she would need to look for when the food was ready some twenty minutes down the road. Every couple of minutes a server hurries over to the window. Dani, I need the sauce on the side for the Chicken at 26. I need that steak sandwich medium rare, not medium at 33. The Tuna Salad for 42 needs to be cooked all the way through, she is pregnant. I need the calamari for 42 as an appetizer. Sorry. Every time one of these mistakes is made Dani interrupts the kitchen from what they are doing, and explains the mistake, and makes a note on her ticket. The problem could have been avoided if the server paid a touch more attention. The kitchen and Dani would now both be out of rhythm in the middle of a busy lunch shift. From here, things could easily spiral out of control if attention wasn’t refocused immediately. The first turn is made, the busboys hurry to change tablecloths, and reset tables with water glasses and still warm silverware. The restaurant is on a twenty minute wait, but that will change soon, because the first group of diners all arrived within minutes of each other, and would therefore leave within minutes of each other as well. The kitchen would then have the chance to get caught up before being hit with another influx of tickets, with new modifications, and new mistakes from the waiters. Atleast there wasn’t a private party to deal with this time around.

When service slows down, Dani leaves the expo window feeling confident that the servers are caught up enough to run their own food. The kitchen crew cleans their cutting boards, as the service staff polishes silverware and wine glasses that will be used for dinner. The busboys take fully loaded bus pans to the dishwasher and unload them. The food runner hangs around to make sure the final tables receive their food in a timely manner as the cooks step outside for a cigarette. The dining room empties by 2 PM, aside for a well dressed gay couple who was lingering over a final sip of white wine. They, surprisingly, actually did sell some wine today. Dani sees this then heads to the office for a cigarette where she can rest the legs that seem to be getting to old for this. Working expo during a stressful lunch is as straining as it gets. It is only for a couple hours, but more intense than dinner, because of the time crunch. People expect to be in and out in shorter than possible, and she knows this. Everyone knows this. Dani is always thinking of ways to make lunch less stressful. Maybe we can shorten the menu, bring in more cooks, or an additional food runner. There has to be something we can do, she keeps telling herself – she has been doing this for nearly four years, at this restaurant and has tried everything. It was the nature of the beast. Atleast the stress is short lived, and only comes in spurts. She then thinks about Jennifer, something exponentially more important. Did it really matter how fast they could get the food out on a day like today. One of her employees killed herself the night before. One of her employees was so disturbed that she took her own life, and of all ways did it by jumping off a goddamn building. She imagines those final thoughts from atop the Atlanta skyline. The clouded thoughts that were swirling painfully, telling her life wasn’t worth the trouble. Those troubled thoughts will never be told, and are lost forever. That is a good thing – they couldn’t have been encouraging, or uplifting. Maybe Dani was too hard on them. This was a business, not personal and when she is hard on them, can they distinguish the two. In business its never personal.

Dani receives a call from the hostess stating that two gentlemen are here police department. They are waiting for her in the reception area. What information would she have for them? Jennifer’s job was stressful; at night she drowned her stress with alcohol, and dulled the pain of life with drugs. Dani couldn’t speak of her family or her past. Remember, the relationship is never personal. There are a thousand other girls just like her dealing with, and struggling with what they saw as inadequately lived lives…. Jennifer’s was a life that was supposed to be so much better, but somehow, and for some reason it wasn’t…Somewhere along the way things went terribly wrong….Atleast there was no more pain. Dani took the final drags of a lipstick stained cigarette and lumbered to the front of the house trying to figure out what to say. For maybe the first time ever, she had nothing.

A Saturday Night Off.....

This writing gig seems to be getting harder and harder, as my life seems to be getting busier and busier but I am determined to keep it going, as it is so enjoyable from my end, keeps me striving towards my goals, and keeps me in constant reflection at my life and things that matter to me. I am sure that some of you laugh at the idea of writing about food and how that could translate into intense introspection. That is okay. At the end of the day I guess as long as we understand each other, where we are coming from, recognize that the presence of passion in life is paramount and is what makes waking up everyday meaningful , then it is a good thing that we all come from different backgrounds, ideologies and centers of passion. I am just grateful that I am passionate about something, that I have people with whom I can share it, and hopefully atleast some of you might be getting something out of it. I know I am. I know this writing will take me somewhere. Where? I am not quite sure yet….

I am in the process of writing a piece entitled “What We Do When We Are Not Working” ….. it is a story from this past weekend with my cousin Alec, and my buddy Vin. What do us restaurant workers that typically work every weekend night do when we get that infrequent night off. I worked the day shift so that I could get off work and watch the Alabama vs. Florida SEC Championship game………Rarely do I get the opportunity to have a weekend night off, but I was off by halftime, and sitting at the bar enjoying the game with my cousin over a couple of Yuenglings. Before the second half started, Alabama was winning by a considerable margin, we were both buzzed from a shot of Goldschlager, and I couldn’t have been happier. The night only got better…. Well more interesting…Foggy….. Foggy almost always means a good time, and yes a good time was had. Expect the full story in the coming days…. Hopefully Tuesday afternoon……