I work in a great restaurant, but i haven’t always been so fortunate. My ascent from places that merely existed to ones that thrive has been a six year journey littered with highs and lows. The past few years I’ve been lucky enough to have a few days off surrounding the Christmas holiday. In years prior, I’d been forced to work. Now, it would be one thing to go in and cook the food that dreams are made of, in a way that would leave Santa feeling both stuffed and proud. It’s another thing, however, to show up to work and participate in the biggest shit-show of a dinner service that this world has ever seen… on Christmas Day
“It’ll be easy. I’ve got a plan. It’s going to be fine.” I’ve never been one to offer such statements if I couldn’t guarantee them, but my chef at the time seemed to have a different policy. Those are his words up there, and he must have said them to me and my colleagues approximately 100 times in the weeks leading up to our Christmas Day dinner service. Simply put, it wasn’t easy, his plan was horseshit, and it wasn’t fine at all.
The circumstances were as follows: 100 people, one five o’clock seating, and a three course menu with a few options per course. There were four of us in the kitchen, and had plenty of time to prepare. It was the kind of kitchen built for a night like this. I’m talking about steam tables, steam ovens, proper ovens, and an enormous line. For whatever reason, we used none of these things to our advantage. The one major flaw in the “plan” was that among the three options for the main course, there was prime rib, and for whatever reason we were asking people how they would like it prepared.
The doors opened and a stampede of festively dressed hungry people spilled into the dining room. It wasn’t long before the servers took their orders simultaneously, only to drop them on the kitchen like a piano that they didn’t know how play. The printer didn’t stop for about 15 minutes. Meanwhile, the first course of “soup or salad” was being capably pumped out by some guy with a ladle, and a kid we knew as Teen Burger. Chef seemed to know what he was talking about for the duration of the first course. However, we handled course two like a blind person playing with a rubik’s cube. Instead of tallying all of the orders, we did things one bill at a time. This worked out only for the first few tables, with the plan’s efficiency fading as each family waited a little bit longer than the last. I’ve wiped most of this night from my memory, but I seem to remember it taking an hour and a half from the time that the first plate of course two, to the last. Santa would have been mad, Jesus furious, and Gordon Ramsay righteously disappointed.
The worst bit of this has to be that we were working in a completely open kitchen. We were the embodiment of a train wreck, and they couldn’t take their eyes off of us. Their glares transformed from curious to murderous, and eventually to shock when the food finally arrived in front of them. Perhaps the sweet taste of gravy would lead them to forgiveness, but I doubt it. We pissed off 100 people on Christmas Day, and not even gravy could fix that.
Strangely, the night ended without any of the customers throwing their food at us. I’m sure it was under consideration, but by some kind of christmas miracle they chose not to. If I’d caught a ramekin of cranberry sauce with my teeth that night, I probably wouldn’t be cooking today. I’ve never felt so much shame in my life. In fact, I’m still embarrassed. Ultimately it wasn’t my plan, and it wasn’t my fault. Though I do feel just a little bit responsible. This is how I imagine it would feel to be the bass player from Creed. He may not have written those shitty songs, but he played them, and therefore he is guilty for his crimes against humanity. Me too, but instead of humanity, it’s 100 people who shouldn’t have been out for dinner on Christmas fucking Day in the first place. Come to think of it, I’m not sorry, people. We cooked for you like we had the day off, because we should have had the day off.
Happy Holidays.
Your Friendly Neighbourhood Line Cook,
