So I went into the cafe today to get a copy of the menu for tomorrow night where I am filling for Jasper at Luke’s request. Not only was the menu not written, but nothing had been ordered. A sell out crowd and no food to feed them. Jasper is fucking his job up more than usual to try and make my night shit, screwing Luke over for his own petty gains.

 

What do you mean Chef is not a chef?

 Well I opened up yesterday and held my own on my own and apparently did very well. I only seem to screw up when the site manager is there. She had a chat to me this morning telling me how she had recieved good reports about me. We then moved onto the topic of Chef. Chef, despite having worked in many kitchens for many years and being our head chef has never finished his apprenticeship. Technically Chef is not a chef (although because cheffing is compentancy based with the ammount of work he’s done it would be a simple thing for him to become qualified)!

Listening to: Michael Gray “The Weekend”

 

Fear

I start my new job as hot cook in 8 1/2 hours and I’m as anxious as all hell. You would think that because I know half the staff that it would be a good thing, but it’s not. I don’t fear being unable to get along well with the rest of the staff, I fear failure. The knowledge of fact that if I fail then I fail in front of people who know me isn’t exactly helping at this point in my slightly hysterical preperation. Failure is not an option, it’s success or death. I have identified four major areas in which I must be extra careful.

Firstly, as I do not eat fish (although I do eat other seafood) I have a limited idea of what fish is supposed to be like: beware the fish.

Secondly, people tend to be very critical about their steaks, I’m relatively confident having dealt extensively with scotch fillets before, but I cannot be overconfident: beware the steak.

Thirdly, when patrons are waiting it seems like they have waited three times longer than they actually have, so a five minute wait seems like a quarter hour to them: pick up the speed.

Fourthly, and somewhat related to my third point, I must look ahead at incomming dockets so I can ensure that I have all my mise en plus things on hand (yes, I do know how redundant that is): plan ahead.

Other than that, I just hope I can understand the head chef. I know that last time we worked together I had difficulty understanding his accent (he’s a new Australian). I spoke to him just after he had returned from Paris, and while I did manage to understand him, his accent looks like it’s there to stay.

Ohh, and don’t stick your hand in the deep fryer…

 

Yeah, I’m pretty destitute…

 Old mother Adrian Hubbard went to the cupboard, but the cupboard was bare. I spent all my money on taxis and covercharges last night (I only managed one drink) so now I am broke. I had enough money to get a packet of chips from the vending machine this afternoon, but I’m still two days away from payday.

I opened the meatlocker, tonight I am eating cheesy rice with tomatos, sweet chillie and soy sauce. It could use some meat and veg. Good lord, if I’m like this now how will I be at the new job where I will earn far less? Or even more worrying, when I go to university next year! How will I pay the bills? Suddenly the future seems a whole less bright. The fact that for the last few weeks I’ve been sick isn’t really helping the prospective.

I refuse to surrender, I refuse to give in, I am determined to succeed!

Listening to: “Pictures” by Timo Maas

 

1, 2, 3…

Testing, testing, this is very testing…

Yes, I have indeed been convinced to open up my own blog rather than bore others needlessly. I feel like I have accomplished something by muddling my way around to get this thing up and running (I hope) with the aid of my friend Colin. I would link to his exciting page, but alas I’m out of blu-tack and I am not quite so sure as to how I would make a link. That being said I am still patting myself on the back for adding this to my list of household chores. It makes me feel rather like Martha Stewart, but, ya know, without the hard jail time, the prision sex, that whole making crystal meth in the bathtub thing and the billions of American dollars, as well as legions of adoring fans and, well, I’m sure you get the idea…
Well, I guess I should probably start by telling you about my day: After I brokered a lasting peace deal in the middle east and eliminated world hunger I went and slaved myself for the mimimum wage for a few hours at work. Luke’s mother was visiting for Luke’s birthday, happy birthday Luke; I quit! I feel bad for Luke, but if I stay much longer I fear that I will physically hurt Jasper.

The tale of the mystery soup:

Cleaning out the secondary fridge today we found a 50L pot of mystery soup. No one knows how long it has been in there, nor what it consists of, or even what purpose it was created for. It was frozen, which is probably what saved it from acquiring an aluminium taste (ergh) so I defrosted it in order to ascetain the quality of it. Curiously enough when I asked Jasper about it he pretended to have no idea, which is odd as he was the one who made it.

On the new job:

By this time next week I will have finished my first day at the new job where I will be a hot cook (yes, you can all hold your applause and giggles until the end of the paragraph). While I have had some experience in this type of job I always find myself rather anxiety-racked every time I am about to start something new. Furthermore I wonder how exactly I am going to survive, for while I will recieve a higher rate of pay I will be doing far less hours. I have three choices: a) skimp and scrape; b) get a second job (I have an in (no, not THAT kind of in! Well, actually, erm, nevermind!) with a guy at another cafe); c) go back to the restaurant and admit defeat. I tend not to think of ‘become unemployed and starve to death’ as an option.

<A href="http://www.therapyinthemaking.co.uk">Colin Brooks</A>