The Kitchen as an Office

Some days in the kitchen are downright awful, looking more like the first few rounds of a Rocky fight stretched across ten hours, which is basically The Passion Of The Christ. I’m not saying we’re Jesus or anything like that, I’m saying we’re Jim Cavaziel as Jesus. It’s different.  Anyways, I sometimes find solace in thinking about the things that a day like that isn’t. If you’re in the right place, it isn’t boring, it isn’t quiet, and it most certainly isn’t a haven for censorship. The bottom line is this: the kitchen is absolutely nothing like an office. I’ve had some fun imagining how office behavior would parlay into the kitchen, knowing that it would surely be disastrous. It should be noted that my idea of an office comes from watching the TV show “The Office”, just like how most people’s idea of a restaurant kitchen is based on “Top Chef”.

Slowly but surely, not early nor on time, the brigade files past their stations, eventually stopping at the coffee maker to discuss the results of last night’s Hell’s Kitchen. It soon becomes evident that Ronathan (yes, Ronathan) wasn’t going to show up that day. Word is that he’s “not feeling very well” and “didn’t get much sleep last night”. Joe immediately goes to the card shop to buy a “get well” card for everyone to sign, which he’ll deliver in person during the hour long lunch break. Everybody scatters to their various stations, where some of them fiddle mindlessly with their cellphones, while others occasionally get up from their seats to stretch. Since everyone has been there for two hours, they all get up from their seated cutting stations and head to the break room where they will sit for sixteen and a half minutes, eating snacks and regaling one another with impressions of Gordon Ramsay.

As time expires, the team begrudgingly makes its way back to the kitchen; the lone bright side being that it’s only an hour and a half until lunch, and Rhonda brought a birthday cake for Karen.  It was black forest, because on the last birthday it was a pineapple upside down cake, and everybody complained that it wasn’t made of chocolate. This time, it was proclaimed, there would be less cake related disappointment.

Meanwhile, some so and so found themselves bleeding slightly while butchering meat, so the elected safety representative arrived on the scene with bandages and all of the requisite paperwork. Ten pages later, narrowly escaping several paper cuts, this certain so and so discovered after washing his hands that the blood actually belonged to the cow. This resulted in even more paper work to explain the initial paperwork and time spent dealing with a non existent finger wound.

Finally, after one mighty goose chase and plenty of clock watching, the cooks break for lunch. The hourlong break was welcome, as a few people needed some time away from the onions that had been making them cry all morning.  It could be the onions, or it could be that they’re tremendously worried about Ronathan; everybody knows that when he gets sick, he gets sick. It didn’t take long for everyone to dig into the cake, but once it was discovered that the cake was made with alcohol, nobody could bring themselves to enjoy it. They spat out their mouthfuls of chocolate and boozy cherries, fearful of inebriation. Nobody wanted a repeat of the time that Al brought in a box of chocolates filled with liquor, which unfortunately led to Al getting hammered and telling the chef that he had the fattest ass in town, and then proceeded to use a baguette as a very inappropriate (but somewhat accurate) prop in his re-enactment of Mark Wahlberg’s reveal at the end of Boogie Nights.

Lunch ends and the cooks return to their stations, depressed about Ronathan and the fact that they couldn’t have any cake. The promise of another birthday not too far in the future, with another cake (alcohol free), would provide the inspiration to last until the next break. The printer had been going steady throughout lunch, but since everybody was on their break, nobody was willing to do any cooking. The scroll, looking like a completely unrolled roll of toilet paper, was filled mostly with orders for soup. Since that was Ronathan’s job, nobody else was trained to make soup. The chef informed the front of house manager, who then informed the servers, who then told their customers that the only person capable of making soup wasn’t working today, and that they could come back on a day when there would be soup. This resulted in synchronized obscenity laced tirades from the disgruntled customers. The fuming patrons voices soon tired and decided to try their luck elsewhere, but not before filling out customer comment cards.

For the record, the ambiance ranked an impressive three out of five!  Everything else, however, ranked quite low, but those marks just couldn’t be counted because Ronathan wasn’t in the building. The cooks shrugged it off, and spent their next break talking about how next year they’re making Ronathan get a flu shot so there won’t be another terrible soup shortage. Never again, they said. Never again. With only an hour left in the day, it was time to put the radio on at half volume. Everybody agreed on the station with the least talk, and the most soft rock. Gently serenaded by the sweet sounds of a softly played saxophone, the team cleaned up for the day. There would be no dinner service because nobody liked working nights. The owners understood, and were glad to oblige, ignoring completely their need to make money. Everybody left at 5pm sharp, with some tasks left unfinished because time ran out. They’ll get them tomorrow. There’s always tomorrow.

~ Jacob Galbraith