A couple of things came and went that I’ve simply been too lazy to talk about. Hence, the delay between postings.
The first being, New Years Eve. As usual, it was a never-ending punishment on the line. I think we turned the restaurant nearly three times. On top of regular a la carte menu items, we offered a tasting menu.
All I can remember at this point was:
Butter poached lobster with braised leeks and caviar
Foie gras with cannelini beans, local chard and apple cider gastrique
Pan seared venison with glazed root vegetables and red wine sauce
and I think some sort of fish with saffron broth?
In any case, 80% of this was coming off of my station, which meant that I was wishing a very unhappy New Year to every customer who ordered it… which was everyone. So I was pan searing, butter poaching, and sauce heating my ass off while simultaneously juggling the hot soups, Parisian gnocchi and mussels while wishing for everyone’s death.
Chef…sort of….included.
The only thing that got me through it, was my ego.
Chef must think I’m so awesome to load me up like this. He has no doubts of my ability to handle this. effortlessly.
You do what you have to do and think what you have to think to get through such a shit storm without bursting into tears.
More than likely, chef gave no thought to an even distribution of tasks and simply dreamed up whatever he wanted… and then later realized that it was all me. He was still riding high from the second BIG THING to happen. That being, that we were named in The Washingtonian Top 100 Very Best Restaurants.
This was a very big deal for us. and we were thrilled. I’ll admit, I tapped into my inner diva a couple of times.
A few days after the posting, I went to the sales office of the hotel to pick up paychecks for the cooks and had an exchange with one of the reservation agents – I can’t remember what it was about but I DO remember that I finished the conversation with “I’m a top 100, I don’t have to take this…” and jokingly knocked over a small stack of papers on her desk. Again, it was a joke…. but I didn’t stop to pick those papers back up… it felt GOOOOOD.
Much of my satisfaction came from how thrilled chef was about the write-up. Two years before I joined the staff, the restaurant had been taken off the list and he has been fighting his way back ever since. He had plans for how he wanted the restaurant to function and be reworked and what direction he wanted to take the menu in but had very little support for executing his plans. Now he’s back on and staff-wise, there’s only one thing that changed during that time…
MMMEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!
Alright, I’m over myself now.
Seriously, everyone in the kitchen did a great job this year. after being pushed a little (a lot)…
But also seriously, I worked my ass off to help chef move in the direction that he wanted to go because 1.) I’ve been trained to do so and 2.) I have daddy issues – but now it seems like it’s totally paid off. Chef’s talent and my desperate need for approval are a winning combination.
However, since the start of restaurant week, the worst two weeks of the year, I actually hadn’t given a thought to placement or ranking… and in fact, totally forgot about The Washingtonian.
Any cook worth his or her knives, hates restaurant week. For thirty dollars, culinary tourists get to invade the dining room, critique everything in sight (under the guise of being a “foodie”), try to swindle as much free stuff as they can through a barrage of complaints about service, portion size and misunderstandings about menu descriptions.
I’d like to exchange this for something else (like the dish is a sweater from The Gap). I didn’t know it had artichokes. I don’t like artichokes (after eating nearly everything in the salad except the artichokes).
Our hearts of palm salad with artichokes? What would you like instead (you illiterate cheapskate)?
With the week finally over and food ne’er-do-wells back where they belong, I’m back to obsessing over the one thing that, despite its significance, has been given very little of my time.
Gay Pari…
I’ve been trying to get there for over twenty years. In my mind, it’s where it all begins…
What I neglected in my fantasy of life in Paris, was looking for employment, finding a place to live (that I can actually afford) and struggling to speak the language without sounding like a moron. I’ve been hyping this journey up in my head for so long that I’m driving myself insane from the pressure to find romance and be successful. I almost can’t stand to talk about it anymore due to the stress of trying to make this the trip of my dreams – the be-all and end-all. Essentially, I’ve given myself a couple of weeks to hop on a plane, master a language, find the love of my life, gain a successful career and live in a prime area of the city.
It was getting to the point where just he mention of Paris would nearly evoke hyperventilation.
Thankfully, after a late night gab-fest with my “hag” and best friend in the world, without whom none of this would even be possible, things started to fall into perspective.
I may not fall in love. I may not even find a job. I may embarrass myself a little in conversation but I am, even if only for a few weeks, going to live in my very own apartment in Paris – and that is nothing to be upset over.
I realize now that hearing me lament over Paris is just as annoying as complaints from people about not being able to gain weight, only being appreciated for your looks, or having too much money.
Sorry about that.
