Am I Not Clear… Or Are You Just A Huge F$#!ing Moron?

Today, I did a lunch and dinner shift, which was great because I could use the extra hours.

There were a couple of tasks, I wanted to get done during lunch serivce and so when I drafted the prep-list for the next day, I requested for the daytime cooks to do the following
(btw, if anyone is reading this and you can persuade me that I was someone not clear enough, I would love to hear it):

Medium dice, 4 onions
(an actual size illustrastion was also presented here – with an arrow pointing to it that read “should be this size”)

Small dice, 4 onions
(a similar illustration and arrow reference)

Medium dice, pancetta (2 rolls) [they come in 5lb logs]
(similar illustration and arrow reference)

Marinate Calamari with Rosemary, Garlic, and olive oil

I also provided labeled, plastic container with the two onions and the pancetta.

One of the things that makes the kitchen such a unique atmosphere to work in, is that it is such a mix of cultures and personality types – and with little interaction with the public, we can often express ourselves with little filter. There are those who are there because they want to be and might have goals of someday having their own restaurant or becoming an executive chef – and those who bounce from kitchen to kitchen with more interest in a steady paycheck than in the food itself. I am dealing with one such person. She runs back and forth from her station for about four hours, each time remembering another thing she forgot to bring from the walk-ins, she needs to told how to prepare things between 4 and 6 times and often STILL does not get it right or even finish, she is a notorious gossip (yes, I realize I am gossiping about her but it’s adorable when I do it…) and at one minute past the end of her shift, she is halfway down the block, leaving behind a host of unfinished items. I suppose I feel a little self-righteous because I could made a hefty downpayment on a house with the cost of culinary school instead of renting an apartment that commands about 80% of my monthly income.

Here is what I got back the next day:

5 onions that were all one size – and not either of the sizes in my illustration – too small to be “medium” and too large to be “small”. Got to give her credit for pulling that one off…

The pancetta was decent but in a totally different, plastic container.

Calamari was marinated – but perhaps just rosemary and olive oil, I later discovered that she pureed about a quart of garlic and stored it away.

We playfully made bets the night before that my illustrations and detailed list would not break through but I was positive – cocky even. After all… I’m a people person. I pride myself on my ability to explain things well. All I have to say is… thank God I didn’t bet money.

When I passed by the window and say all three of my plastic containers empty, my heart sank and my temper began to flare. How could this have happened? ANYONE could have done what I needed based on that list.

When I asked her about the onions, which were all over her cutting board, she looked at me and pointed to half “These are small,” and to the other half of he board “and these are medium”. I was about to lose it… and possibly lose my job for freaking out.

“these look exactly the same and they are either too big or too little.”

blank stare…

“cut these smaller please and put them in this container” pointing to the container marker “small dice, onions”.

I needed a cigarette immediately and left to have one in the garage.

I went on a mini-rampage to one of the servers and a great guy…and actor… who constantly does impressions of Sammy Davis Jr. and/or Peter Falk. I’m not sure which.

When I returned the onions still were not small enough and she pulled another container from the dish rack to hold them. Why???

Mind you, the entire time, my list and graphics were taped directly in front of her.

I realized that I was basically on my own for the shift. I did pretty much everything, spoke very little to her and occasionally cursed. At the end of the shift, she actually asked me to make lunch for her and one of the dish washer, at which point, I had to leave the premisis. The assistant GM and I raced up the street to try Georgetown Cupcake for the first time. Thank You Red Velvet… thank you.