Figures. I take a day off and all hell breaks loose. Not really, but drama, drama, drama.
We've had problems the last month or so with one elusive rat. It's found a way up through the sewer/drainage lines and up through the service area. It's been seen twice at night and once it ran across the bar scaring the crap out of the other bartender. It's figured out how to either squeeze through the drain covers or push them out of the way. The exterminator has tried everything, but hasn't been able to catch it.
My wife keeps the kitchen spotless and this is really starting to bother her. Something about it being a reflection of her kitchen, blah blah blah. No way of arguing with a woman scorn by a rat.
Tonight it ran across the service area and realized it was a bit too early for dinner and tried to run back, but took a wrong turn and was trapped under the server reach-in. The servers started freaking out, when the dishwasher walks up to see what's going on. He starts talking in spanish to one of the cooks then reaches under the fridge, grabs the rat, pulls it out and snaps it's neck. Eyes pop out and all. He looks at the cook and says "That's the way we do it in Mexico."
That's how you earn a raise in California.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Almost the end
It's been a busy week. Hopefully, today will be slow, since I'm not going in. Our season is winding down and that's both good and bad. We made enough to get us through the summer, so that's the good. Here comes the heat, that's the bad. Oh the heat. It's not so much the heat as what it does to people. I'm not even sure I can summarize it. It boils their vodka steeped brains. Vodka and heat make people insane...turns them into angry demons. Not good when you're the one trying to turn a profit on vodka.
Enough of that.
I took the day off, so I could come up with a special menu for the weekend. I want and need to do something that will give the snowbirds and seasonals something to remember and tell their friends about. Something they will remember, so they remember us when they come back next season.
I wanted to do an all bug menu, but Sophia said no (my wife and the chef), plus I couldn't find anything. The only insects you can find online are already dried, or canned. No bueno. I want giant dung beetles. If anyone knows where I can get some, drop me a line. Something for next season, i suppose.
I decided on alligator. That should be fun. We have a couple of different options, we're starting with a jambalaya, for those that aren't quite as adventurous. We found a ton of recipes, but we (sophia) decided on pan seared tenderloins. What's the point of drowning it in sauces and creams? Part of the joy of eating something you've never had is being able to compare it to other meats. Deep-fried meat tastes like deep-fried meat. I ordered 150 lbs, so we'll either run out pretty quick or have alligator to play with for a long time.....
I've gotta work on the drink menu. I was thinking absinthe, since I love it and it's regional to the gator....ish. New Orleans and all, but I can't get it in time and I'd have to work around the laws of selling it....too much hassle. I might wait for the gator to arrive, so I can sink my teeth in it. Pun intended.
Enough of that.
I took the day off, so I could come up with a special menu for the weekend. I want and need to do something that will give the snowbirds and seasonals something to remember and tell their friends about. Something they will remember, so they remember us when they come back next season.
I wanted to do an all bug menu, but Sophia said no (my wife and the chef), plus I couldn't find anything. The only insects you can find online are already dried, or canned. No bueno. I want giant dung beetles. If anyone knows where I can get some, drop me a line. Something for next season, i suppose.
I decided on alligator. That should be fun. We have a couple of different options, we're starting with a jambalaya, for those that aren't quite as adventurous. We found a ton of recipes, but we (sophia) decided on pan seared tenderloins. What's the point of drowning it in sauces and creams? Part of the joy of eating something you've never had is being able to compare it to other meats. Deep-fried meat tastes like deep-fried meat. I ordered 150 lbs, so we'll either run out pretty quick or have alligator to play with for a long time.....
I've gotta work on the drink menu. I was thinking absinthe, since I love it and it's regional to the gator....ish. New Orleans and all, but I can't get it in time and I'd have to work around the laws of selling it....too much hassle. I might wait for the gator to arrive, so I can sink my teeth in it. Pun intended.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
the power
That showing of brut power changed me. I moved to the kitchen almost immediately and started learning from the cooks. I learned how to hotwire a car, distill vodka, and an array of other neccesary life lessons. I didn't stay too long, though. The kitchen was not my thing. There was power, but not enough to satiate my need. I bought a motorcycle and almost got kicked out of my parents house for it. That was my first and only rebellious act against them. Never bite the hand that feeds you.
I went to college and transferred to a mexican restaurant close to campus. I finally was old enough to serve and that was more important to me than college. College didn't offer me the immediate gradification that I needed. I was bored. I eventually dropped out one class shy of graduating. Another rebellious act, I suppose, even if subconsciously.
Skip ahead 12 years, countless restaurant jobs, and several moves that eventually landed me here - in the desert - and that's where I am now. Bartending with a mortgage and a great deal on a little restaurant about two miles from my house that I could not pass up. Now I have the best of everything. I own the place and bartend. Imagine the look on the pissed off customers when they ask to see the manager after i've been rude to them.
"Sure, I'll do you one better. I'll get the owner." Turn around a complete 360.
"Hi, I'm the owner, get the fuck out of my restaurant before I unleash the dogs in the kitchen."
This can only end poorly. I try to keep a low profile on the owner thing. It's a trap I set for unsuspecting bugs foolish enough to land inside my cilia.
We do alright. The place was once a butcher shop. The kitchen is huge and we can seat about 20 tables inside and another 8 on the patio when the weather is cooperating. We change the menu on a weekly basis to keep the regulars guessing. Since it's a butcher style kitchen, we buy full cows, pigs, buffalo, ostrich, anything that will fit on the table so my chef can hack it apart and let her mind and training run wild. We mostly survived on the happy hour crowd, though. If you've ever lived in the desert or a golf community, you know what this means. Drunks.
So much power to control. Maybe, too much. Three years of this and we've made a name for ourselves. We never have an empty seat. Not too shabby. Problem is these pigs expect more and more. Give 'em and inch, they want a foot. Give 'em a foot and they want the whole leg.
I needed a change or something that resembled happiness, so I married the chef. It worked. The stress has simmered down. Maybe dreams do come true. We're happy for now.
I went to college and transferred to a mexican restaurant close to campus. I finally was old enough to serve and that was more important to me than college. College didn't offer me the immediate gradification that I needed. I was bored. I eventually dropped out one class shy of graduating. Another rebellious act, I suppose, even if subconsciously.
Skip ahead 12 years, countless restaurant jobs, and several moves that eventually landed me here - in the desert - and that's where I am now. Bartending with a mortgage and a great deal on a little restaurant about two miles from my house that I could not pass up. Now I have the best of everything. I own the place and bartend. Imagine the look on the pissed off customers when they ask to see the manager after i've been rude to them.
"Sure, I'll do you one better. I'll get the owner." Turn around a complete 360.
"Hi, I'm the owner, get the fuck out of my restaurant before I unleash the dogs in the kitchen."
This can only end poorly. I try to keep a low profile on the owner thing. It's a trap I set for unsuspecting bugs foolish enough to land inside my cilia.
We do alright. The place was once a butcher shop. The kitchen is huge and we can seat about 20 tables inside and another 8 on the patio when the weather is cooperating. We change the menu on a weekly basis to keep the regulars guessing. Since it's a butcher style kitchen, we buy full cows, pigs, buffalo, ostrich, anything that will fit on the table so my chef can hack it apart and let her mind and training run wild. We mostly survived on the happy hour crowd, though. If you've ever lived in the desert or a golf community, you know what this means. Drunks.
So much power to control. Maybe, too much. Three years of this and we've made a name for ourselves. We never have an empty seat. Not too shabby. Problem is these pigs expect more and more. Give 'em and inch, they want a foot. Give 'em a foot and they want the whole leg.
I needed a change or something that resembled happiness, so I married the chef. It worked. The stress has simmered down. Maybe dreams do come true. We're happy for now.
Monday, March 31, 2008
I guess it's time to start this thing.
I've been haunted for many years. I like to think I'm in control of my path, but sometimes that's hard to believe. There are events in my life that could have only lead me to one path. I'd like to think it was the quick money and open schedule that has kept me in restaurants for this long...but it's not. It's the power. And that's what everyone really wants. Power. Control. A belief that we are some how in control of our destiny or their lives. We all know it's not true. We can't stop death or control it. I guess the next best thing is to control other people. Do I kill you or save your life? Oh now there's a rush.
I've walked too far down this path to turn back now. The rest is just a race with death. How and when he will catch up with me are the challenge now. How long can I keep him at bay? I will not live to sit on a porch and yell at the kids as the trample my lawn. I will not know the aches and pains of arthritis.
I was a kid when I was drawn to the power of the restaurateur. And when I say the restauratuer, I mean the real restauratuer, not the owner - the employees, because they are the ones that own this beast and control it. They nurture it when it is still young. They defend it when it is under attack and they breathe life into it when it is dying. The 'real' owner is merely a sperm donor planting a seed.
It is this group of people that set the perverbial ball rolling for me. I was a child and knew nothing about power, other than my parents had all of it, and that was that. Nothing to argue or get bent over. It would be years before I knew or wielded any power. I was a new busser in a mexican restaurant. My first job. I wanted to buy baseball cards, or was saving for a car or I just wanted to get out of the house and see the world. It doesn't matter any more. I don't remember much about that job a few things here and there. Employee of the month three months in a row. All the waitresses thought I was cute, but too young. A dark and sinister kitchen filled with pirate film rejects. A mean group of alcohols (to a 15 year old) that had no shame when it came to the waitresses and no forgiveness when it came to the customers.
I might not rememeber the details of the job, but the night that this whole post is leading to is in my thoughts weekly, if not daily. It defined restaurants for me. It began a definition of me. We've all heard this story before, but the ending maybe new...God I hope it is. The thought that there might be another person formed in the same manner as me is more than I could bear.
A guy comes in 5 minutes to close on a slow Tuesday night. The kitchen is pretty much closed and the hostess is in the bathroom (or she would have turned him away). The man seats himself and waits. and waits. and waits. Then he starts yelling at me, as I bus another table, to take his order and get a beer. Who yells as an insecure child that's carrying a bustub that weighs almost as much as he does? I run and get a waitress and his chips and salsa. More yelling when I get back because his beer is still not on the table. I tried to explain that we were closing, only to be cut of and reminded of the time. As if he were a knight of the round table and his watch were his shield.....I guess it was....The front of the house couldn't touch him until 9:01.
He orders the steak, well done. The grill is off. Do I need more details here?
He waits because the kitchen has to turn the grill back on and thaw the steak, which they could have done with the heat from their rage.
He stiffs the waitress and she comes in the kitchen throwing things, while I'm trying to be as small and quiet as possible. Of course he stiffed her, he'd been eating that steak for 40 minutes. I saw that coming and I'd only worked in the restaurant business for 2 weeks. He was flexing his power. A move I'm sure he regrets to this day.
Did I mention he sent the steak back?
The back kitchen doors lead to the parking lot. In that parking lot, I saw this man get the shit kicked out of him. It has been the definition of ass-kicking to date for me. It wasn't rage, it was a reckoning. My pirate crew had been wronged and they were evening the score. Rage would have been violent and messy and chaotic. This was a symphony of pain. He got the message. We all got the message. You do not fuck with the kitchen.
He never called the cops, there was never an incident report. I don't know that I ever saw him again. If I did, I think I would have remembered his face.
This was the first time I had seen real power. This is probably the reason I've stayed so long. There is so much subtle power in a restaurant. The customers think they are in control and maybe 9 times out of 10 they are, but that 10th time can really even the score.
I've walked too far down this path to turn back now. The rest is just a race with death. How and when he will catch up with me are the challenge now. How long can I keep him at bay? I will not live to sit on a porch and yell at the kids as the trample my lawn. I will not know the aches and pains of arthritis.
I was a kid when I was drawn to the power of the restaurateur. And when I say the restauratuer, I mean the real restauratuer, not the owner - the employees, because they are the ones that own this beast and control it. They nurture it when it is still young. They defend it when it is under attack and they breathe life into it when it is dying. The 'real' owner is merely a sperm donor planting a seed.
It is this group of people that set the perverbial ball rolling for me. I was a child and knew nothing about power, other than my parents had all of it, and that was that. Nothing to argue or get bent over. It would be years before I knew or wielded any power. I was a new busser in a mexican restaurant. My first job. I wanted to buy baseball cards, or was saving for a car or I just wanted to get out of the house and see the world. It doesn't matter any more. I don't remember much about that job a few things here and there. Employee of the month three months in a row. All the waitresses thought I was cute, but too young. A dark and sinister kitchen filled with pirate film rejects. A mean group of alcohols (to a 15 year old) that had no shame when it came to the waitresses and no forgiveness when it came to the customers.
I might not rememeber the details of the job, but the night that this whole post is leading to is in my thoughts weekly, if not daily. It defined restaurants for me. It began a definition of me. We've all heard this story before, but the ending maybe new...God I hope it is. The thought that there might be another person formed in the same manner as me is more than I could bear.
A guy comes in 5 minutes to close on a slow Tuesday night. The kitchen is pretty much closed and the hostess is in the bathroom (or she would have turned him away). The man seats himself and waits. and waits. and waits. Then he starts yelling at me, as I bus another table, to take his order and get a beer. Who yells as an insecure child that's carrying a bustub that weighs almost as much as he does? I run and get a waitress and his chips and salsa. More yelling when I get back because his beer is still not on the table. I tried to explain that we were closing, only to be cut of and reminded of the time. As if he were a knight of the round table and his watch were his shield.....I guess it was....The front of the house couldn't touch him until 9:01.
He orders the steak, well done. The grill is off. Do I need more details here?
He waits because the kitchen has to turn the grill back on and thaw the steak, which they could have done with the heat from their rage.
He stiffs the waitress and she comes in the kitchen throwing things, while I'm trying to be as small and quiet as possible. Of course he stiffed her, he'd been eating that steak for 40 minutes. I saw that coming and I'd only worked in the restaurant business for 2 weeks. He was flexing his power. A move I'm sure he regrets to this day.
Did I mention he sent the steak back?
The back kitchen doors lead to the parking lot. In that parking lot, I saw this man get the shit kicked out of him. It has been the definition of ass-kicking to date for me. It wasn't rage, it was a reckoning. My pirate crew had been wronged and they were evening the score. Rage would have been violent and messy and chaotic. This was a symphony of pain. He got the message. We all got the message. You do not fuck with the kitchen.
He never called the cops, there was never an incident report. I don't know that I ever saw him again. If I did, I think I would have remembered his face.
This was the first time I had seen real power. This is probably the reason I've stayed so long. There is so much subtle power in a restaurant. The customers think they are in control and maybe 9 times out of 10 they are, but that 10th time can really even the score.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
random acts
This industry requires a constant grooming of the soul. Some use drugs, alcohol, sex, tobacco...the list is endless. I'm in the middle of our busy season. Hordes of tourists, rich retirees, kids on spring break - all trying to cleanse their souls and recharge thier batteries, by draining mine. And I let them. It's easy for me to recharge. I pull out a book, meditate, and smile on my hammock in the endless beauty of the desert mornings. I think to my greater moments. The moments when I was one with myself.
I'll share one with you now.
When I lived in Los Angeles, I was an apartment manager and had copious amounts of free time. I filled this time with various projects; building surfboards, welding cars, writing, etc. I can't remember what made me start my next venture, a moment of clarity maybe...a desire to feel that I was doing something 'right' for a change, for whatever reason, I'm glad I did it.
I decided to wash cars, but not just any cars, the dirtiest ones I could find. I would 'stalk' cars in mall or grocery stores parking lots and wait till their drivers went inside. I would pull in next to them and as fast as I could I would wash their car with sponges, soap, and buckets of water I'd prepared in the trunk of my car. If I was making good time, I'd towel dry them. Sometimes I'd just wax a clean car. When I was finished, I'd leave a business card that said, "your car was washed by random acts of kindness. Have a great day." Sometimes I'd wait to see the owners face, often I'd just leave with a smile on my face.
That is a moment, or moments, that define me. I am a bartender, yes, but that does not define me.
I'll share one with you now.
When I lived in Los Angeles, I was an apartment manager and had copious amounts of free time. I filled this time with various projects; building surfboards, welding cars, writing, etc. I can't remember what made me start my next venture, a moment of clarity maybe...a desire to feel that I was doing something 'right' for a change, for whatever reason, I'm glad I did it.
I decided to wash cars, but not just any cars, the dirtiest ones I could find. I would 'stalk' cars in mall or grocery stores parking lots and wait till their drivers went inside. I would pull in next to them and as fast as I could I would wash their car with sponges, soap, and buckets of water I'd prepared in the trunk of my car. If I was making good time, I'd towel dry them. Sometimes I'd just wax a clean car. When I was finished, I'd leave a business card that said, "your car was washed by random acts of kindness. Have a great day." Sometimes I'd wait to see the owners face, often I'd just leave with a smile on my face.
That is a moment, or moments, that define me. I am a bartender, yes, but that does not define me.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
the natives are getting restless
I've been in this business a long time. I've seen trends come and go. One thing that has never changed is how people treat each other. I don't get it. It's either getting worse or i'm losing my mind. I don't get that people have to take their dogs with them everywhere and that they carry 'working dog' cards for pomeranians. I don't get that people get bent out of shape when they are cut off after 3 hours of hard core drinking. I don't get why people open doors by pushing on the glass instead of using a handle. When did we become a society of individuals? We are no longer a society of people or even communities. The family unit is dead. "fuck everyone else, what can i get for free?" "What's the quickest and easiest way to make a buck?"
This isn't even just the food service industry. It's just easiet to spot in a restaurant, because everyone eats out...because it's easier to pay someone else to cook for you. It's all about cruising down easy street. Why? So we can race home and watch american idol? What happened to a hard days work?
I remember growing up and everyone in my family cooking. Someone was chopping vegetables, setting the table, making the salads. Maybe that could be a new Wii game. family cooking! or family lawn care...oops we're out of gas for the mower...we'll have to walk a quarter of a mile to the gas station....but no ipods!!!!! we have to talk!!! Nintendo could make a mint from that. Hell, the Wii carnival game is much more fun than a real carnival, because you don't have to interact with morons or people trying to get shit for free.
"It all boils down to the loss of person to person communication," he writes in his blog. LOL - good thing they have acronyms or I might have had to actually type laugh out loud. Another necessary time saver.
I'm not even sure there's much to talk about anymore. It's all been done for us. I don't have to do anything. I can have it all brought to me. So when my girlfriend asks me 'what did you do today,' and I say, 'nothin.' It's a true and complete conversation.
Maybe when they find a way to insert a cell phone into our brains we'll have more to talk about.
This isn't even just the food service industry. It's just easiet to spot in a restaurant, because everyone eats out...because it's easier to pay someone else to cook for you. It's all about cruising down easy street. Why? So we can race home and watch american idol? What happened to a hard days work?
I remember growing up and everyone in my family cooking. Someone was chopping vegetables, setting the table, making the salads. Maybe that could be a new Wii game. family cooking! or family lawn care...oops we're out of gas for the mower...we'll have to walk a quarter of a mile to the gas station....but no ipods!!!!! we have to talk!!! Nintendo could make a mint from that. Hell, the Wii carnival game is much more fun than a real carnival, because you don't have to interact with morons or people trying to get shit for free.
"It all boils down to the loss of person to person communication," he writes in his blog. LOL - good thing they have acronyms or I might have had to actually type laugh out loud. Another necessary time saver.
I'm not even sure there's much to talk about anymore. It's all been done for us. I don't have to do anything. I can have it all brought to me. So when my girlfriend asks me 'what did you do today,' and I say, 'nothin.' It's a true and complete conversation.
Maybe when they find a way to insert a cell phone into our brains we'll have more to talk about.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
we're calling th cops!
This is the perfect first blog entry. A fruitloop walks into a bar and orders a drink. The waitress cards her and she doesn't have an ID. So she tells her to talk to the bartender and see if he will serve her (knowing that I will not. This server and I have a good time making people jump through paper hoops into a brick wall. Long story, I don't server her and she's, of course, ticked. "But I come here all the time, I just left my ID in my luggage." She goes back to her party, I ask anyone if they recognize her, no one does. Now on staff today we have me, I've worked there 3 years +, 2 waitresses that have worked there longer and 2 that are at about 2 years...you would think someone would know her. The party (geniuses) ask for a new waitress, because the first wouldn't serve her. THey also shift over one table and the manager notices that the wine glasses are now in the middle of the table and everytime someone walks around the corner one member is watching. Sadly, what they didn't realize is that I can now see the table from the well. I wait and I watch....there she goes grabbing the glass and drinking. Now she's mine.
I walk over to the table and let off some steam. She replies with, "the waiter didn't even card him and that's the funniest thing. I'm getting a hard time and he's underaged."
"Thanks for letting me know." and I yank all the drinks.
Turns out the last waitress on knew them and they were both 21, but they decided to cause trouble and were said they were going to call the cops. Then they started asking for my information and before I could get to them the other manager on duty gave them my FULL name. I'm surrounded by morons. Fortunately, she spelled my name wrong.
Can you imagine that call to the cops. I'd pay to hear that recording. "so let me get this straight...you weren't served because you didn't have id, but they served your friend without ID and you're both over 21? So what laws were broken? Oh he took your drinks after you said you weren't 21? And that's a violation of? Are you currently in a motor vehicle?"
click.
I walk over to the table and let off some steam. She replies with, "the waiter didn't even card him and that's the funniest thing. I'm getting a hard time and he's underaged."
"Thanks for letting me know." and I yank all the drinks.
Turns out the last waitress on knew them and they were both 21, but they decided to cause trouble and were said they were going to call the cops. Then they started asking for my information and before I could get to them the other manager on duty gave them my FULL name. I'm surrounded by morons. Fortunately, she spelled my name wrong.
Can you imagine that call to the cops. I'd pay to hear that recording. "so let me get this straight...you weren't served because you didn't have id, but they served your friend without ID and you're both over 21? So what laws were broken? Oh he took your drinks after you said you weren't 21? And that's a violation of? Are you currently in a motor vehicle?"
click.
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