When I first found out I was going to be employed as a chef, I fully expected chilled out days, cooking myself into getting laid and working my magic with knifes. I mean what was not to like?
Before I went to Scotland in 2002, I never really watched any Food Channels. I had no interest whatsoever in going into the catering industry. For me, going to the UK was just going to be 2 years of getting pissed and occasionally doing some loose-end jobs to finance my yet under developed drinking habit. I was going to be employed as a waiter but then I asked a friend who was already working there if he couldn’t get me in somewhere else. I managed to get in to the kitchen thinking to myself what poor bastards my friends were for taking bar/waiter jobs. I had it made… I soon realized that I made a huge error of judgment…
1. Sandwiches
Working in a massive hotel with guests passing through the whole day and night, requires shit loads of sandwiches. I’ve had mornings where I’ve had to make 400 to 500 sandwiches. If you visited this Hotel in early 2002, chances are that you probably got VERY good value for your money when buying a sandwich.
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| Eat your heart out The Shining |
To me fish was fish and ham was ham. Unfortunately this is not the case (as we all obviously know). So let’s just say that when I ran out of cheap, canned tuna, I substituted the tuna for fresh salmon. Ran out of ham? Fuck it. Use Parma Ham.
I’m sure none of the guests minded though.
2. Hours
Let me say this right off the bat: I will never complain about my work hours again.
Work days there sometimes lasted from 05:00 – 00:00. I mean sure this wasn’t always the case, but it happened. When the whole world starts getting ready for the weekend, chefs start feeling an urge to commit suicide. The day you find it absolutely hilarious that someone spills a pot of BOILING lentil soup on themselves, you KNOW you’re too tired.
3. Being called a cunt numerous times a day
I will never forget this for as long as I live. You see we were very understaffed, so they stuck my untrained ass into the veg corner. Except for the obvious, one of the responsibilities was also to make all soups. So when I saw “Orange and Carrot” soup on the menu, it sounded simple enough. Orange juice and carrots thickened with some cornflower. Right before service, I tasted it and it TASTED FUCKING HORRIBLE. But I thought to myself: “hey, these bastards eat black pudding, haggis and all kinds of other shit, so who am I to judge?”
Cutting a long story short, after the 200th portion of this orangey, carroty abortion was sent back, I was less than popular. Being called a cunt and everything else by all the chefs as well as the dining room manager in front of the waiting staff, is not fun. The hate that I saw in everyone’s eyes is beyond what words can describe. I was only 18 for God’s sake!!! Let me just say, I have never met a chef who is not homicidal.
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| Actual Customer Reactions |
Anywho, I didn’t cry that night. That was reserved for…
4. Nights it all falls apart
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| Gary Busey |
One of the most important things about being a chef is probably prep. The way it worked was we got the number of guests expected to dine in the dining room. So it goes without saying that you obviously did not want to under prepare, but also not over prepare.
If it was a quiet day, you could get your prep done in the morning and for a sleep until about 5 in the afternoon when it was time to get everything ready for service. You see, days consisted of working and evenings partying. You had to catch all the sleep you could get.
So when I got back from my afternoon nap and saw everyone in the kitchen looked as pale as ghosts, I knew something was up. You see, in the time that I took my nap, 3 fucking busloads of German Tourists arrived unannounced. So instead of the expected 100 people, there were 400 or so.
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| *sigh* I wish |
Let me tell you, that night was something out of a Gary Busey sex dream. To cut a long story short, I ran out of food 60mins into the service. Having so little experience, I couldn’t get myself back up and running. I think that was the closest I’ve been to a nervous breakdown. The guys took pity on me and sent me home to get some rest (go to the bar and get pissed).
Hands down, the worst night of my life.
5. Dickshit Customers.
Telling customers to get fucked started becoming 2nd nature to me. I don’t want to go into the whole. We had a book with Customer Feedback Forms in the staff smoking room. The one read something like: “some of the chefs’ language is unacceptable especially with children around”.
When that comment was read out loud, everyone present just went “SHHHHHAAAAAAUNNN”.
I was never quite sure as to why I didn’t even get as much a warning for this or any of my other spontaneous outbursts. I guess they were probably just glad they didn’t hire me as a waiter.
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There are still plenty more stories to tell, but I think this will do for now.
I guess some of you might be wondering how the fuck I managed to stay employed. Well, I will be quite honest here. I managed to learn and improve. I actually got very good. In 2003 I ran my own kitchen and regularly received praises. I’m not and will probably never be a Michelin starred chef, but I still rock.
And if the above paragraph sounds like me sucking my own dick, you’re absolutely correct. This is my blog after all.
PS: I’m not chef anymore by the way!!
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