Pasta… for the world…

Life seemed so much less stressful when I was depressed…

It’s been about two weeks and the pasta station has been rocking… hard.

More stuff to prep and be responsible for –  and I was already coming in early…

Because this is an Italian restaurant, the pasta needs to be perfect – and almost everything is made a la minute. The pasta itself is made fresh every morning and placed onto baking sheets or in “fish boxes” that I use during service. When then pasta is called for, I need to begin preparing the sauce for each order… and we’re not talking about meatballs and alfredo.

There are butter sauces that need to made (monte au beurre can be a hot kitchen’s worst nightmare… actually it would be the worst nightmare of the poor shlub who has been tasked with making the sauce… in this case… me) with distinction from melted butter, onions and shallots need to deglazed with white wine, aromatics need to be infused, risotto needs to be carfully watched after and stirred while still managing multiple orders.

Orders that make me cringe every time I hear them…

Risotto – it takes 25 minutes to make and need constant attention. Unfortunately, I cannot say “can we not take any additional orders while I make this risotto?” because in theory, I could have made the restaurant over $200 in that 25 minutes with other orders. Because of the length of time involved, you need to stop everything and being this dish as soon as it is ordered, which sucks if you are already weeded with about 7 or 8 other dishes going on.

Fazzoletti – A layered pasta appetizer that also requires me to drop everything because it is a first course. I’ll admit though – it’s delicious. Wine, rosemary, house-made chicken ragu, chantrelles… very much the kind of thing I would have ordered as a customer with no knowledge or concerns about the poor bastard who made it.

There was no honeymoon phase for this station, it’s a constant dance of chaos until the end of service and in the rare down time, there is always prep and/or cleaning (for the extern) to do.

My every move is being scrutinized and plates are a big deal since they are now the main course, which is a thrill – when it’s not making me totally miserable…

My first night, we had 28 reservations scheduled but due to a substantial amount of walk-ins, we cleared 78, which is about two turns for the restaurant (the amount of time times a dining room is full to capacity throughout service time). Of the 78 orders, 71 were for pasta, leaving only 7 for grill, giving the other two line cooks the chance to watch me fight my way out of the weeds. In all fairness, they would occasionally help plate or finsh something if I had an insane number of orders at a time but for the a massive part of service, it was all me. And I prefer it. It’s easier for me keep track if I am doing everything – and it gives me more to be proud of after service.

When service ended, I got my “props” for not caving under the pressure and was even told that I kicked ass even though I felt like it was my ass that got kicked.

The following nights were pretty much the same deal and I was jokingly told by sous-chef that he needed be to not make my tagliatelle so delicious looking. It’s as close to a compliment as I might ever receive from him… and I’ll take it.

I worked the entire weekend (not even upset about it anymore – I would be more shocked that was given a Friday or Saturday off) and it was all the same. Tonight was my first near freak-out because I ran out of nearly everything in the middle of service. Luckily, I was able to get through the first push and scramble to replenish a few key ingredients before the final push.

Some of the more experienced line cooks are working my old station (which has to be a cake-walk for them now…) while I am working this new one and have each offered me little tips, etc. – which I humbly accept – even from a 23 year old – who happens to be a total beast and has way more experience than I do – but the 30 year old in me still feels that I am taking advice from  a 23 year-old. But I take it – and I must admit – it’s good.

Tomorrow, I’m off.