Pitch Black Kitchen Wars

After each morning of enjoying the sun, going on a hike, or journalling a bit, I find myself entering the kitchen door once again. Following this ever so usual action, I begin my shift by preparing roasted garlic, throwing a pan of beef tenderloins, osso bucco, and baked potatoes in the oven, and hydrating myself with a big glass of water of course. I always get distracted by brief interactions with the AM line cooks headed out or chatting with my friends from pantry, but if anything, the work gets done.

I will not lie. It has simply been one of those weeks, clear blue skied and intensely sunny, during which every day at about 2:30pm I try to convince myself that calling in would be worth-it, just this once. Of course, I have as much success calling in as I had skipping classes in high-school. (For those of you who didnt know me then, know that I never really ever skipped class.) So, if anything, I throw on my black and white checkered pants, proudly put on my chef jacket, and cover my bunned hair with my black chef hat. Complete with my name tag, I travel on to work.

This week began with a series of events that proved work in the kitchen to be unpredictable and vitally requiring flexibility. On my Monday (code word for first day after my weekend. This is different for everyone and can be quite confusing. Of course, when it is someone else's Monday, you give them sympathy. When it is yours, you have no choice but to drain others of their sympathy.) The night began like any other night. Yet, within 45 minutes, two shortages of power sent a thrill throughout the kitchen. However, this wasnt our usual two minute power outage. The blackout menus came out after 20 minutes of losing power. I quickly began to realize the effects of no power on broiler. My ovens were off, my garlic mashed potatoes and sauces were getting cold, and eventually my eyes were playing tricks on me so I could barely see the beef tenderloin I was cutting. "Hmm, I think this is Medium." I am confident the green glow sticks and scarce amount of headlamps did the trick.

After two hours, the lights came on and life was slightly normal again. I must admit, there was a quick burst of adrenaline sent through my spine when I realized I was working in the pitch black serving bison and lobster tails.

And then, never fails, I was ready to start my weekend when I walked in yesterday. Within the first 30 minutes of serving I had at least 20 large medium bison on my grill. Whew. To top that, I was slightly frustrated that my "hot spots" had moved, and every bison that looked mid well on the outside was definitely rare inside. Clearly, I found out at the end of the night that half of my grill wasnt even set up right. Hmm. There are practical mechanics to everything I presume.

I really do love my job. I cannot complain as these random turns of events creates an atmosphere of wonder and new expectation. When all else fails, we just start singing random songs on the line, calling out our usual quotes, and if anything, pulling out the floor mats to start the cleaning process and go home. To do it all again the next day.