At this point, the transition is well underway. I am officially a manual laborer slaving away in a kitchen. For the past several weeks, I have been slicing cabbage, brussels sprouts and thick cuts of bloody prime rib. I dig deep into 20 pound barrels of mayonnaise with a spatula to reach every last bit of the prized creamy goo. I stuff chickens with rosemary and thyme, then tie them up as if they were my hostages only to consequently shove them onto a spit and stick them into a rotisserie thus further proclaiming my dominance.
And I've learned to do all this speaking almost exclusively in Spanish.
Welcome to my life in the kitchen as a minion in the world of food preparation. It's a dangerous world full of heavy boxes of hamburgers, sharp knives and for lack of better example, hot potatoes. But I have managed to escape my first three weeks here with zero major burns and only one small cut on my finger from cleaning the slicer (I was such a moron- of COURSE the extremely sharp blade can cut me through a thin towel).
However being in the kitchen certainly does have it's perks. I literally have had a hand in a vast majority of the food we make. For the most part, I would compare the kitchen to preschool, with more dangerous objects. I come home every day covered smelling like bacon, onions or some combination thereof and covered in whatever I have made that day. The massive containers of seasonings are like sandboxes. And the best part? It doesn't matter that I'm dirty because I'm SUPPOSED to be. At least, that's what I have led myself to believe.
So as you can see, unfortunately my life has taken a rather unglamorous turn. Celebrity sightings have been reduced to a minimum as I don't get to leave the kitchen as much. However I did manager to sneak out one day when I heard that Alex Rodriguez was sitting at a table. It was indeed him! The highest paid athlete in professional baseball, sitting in MY restaurant, ordering some of the strangest things I've ever heard (a caesar salad with honey-lime vinaigrette? Interesting....)
And so the next step from here is onto the line. I will be making the dishes that will be sent out to guests. I start at our sister restaurant in the mall called Gulfstream and then move back home to Houston's. Should be a wild ride.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
In The Kitchen: The First Pour
My silence over the past few weeks could indicate two things:
1.) My life has been so mundane that it hasn't even inspired me to bother trying to entertain the masses.
2.) I broke all my fingers in a freak shopping incident and thus have been unable to type.
Luckily, the former has occurred.
The past several weeks have been spent in a (gasp) management role at the restaurant. I have been stuck in this funky place where I walk around wearing a suit looking like a million bucks, but I can't quite deal with the million bucks the restaurant is worth on my own. Lots of hand-holding indeed...but little by little I'm going to begin tossing that hand away.
As a manager-in-training, my main responsibilities include (but are not limited to)
a.) walking around the dining room at a fast-pace, attempting to APPEAR as if I am rushing to take care of something, when really I just want to get to the bar as quickly as possible to check the score of the baseball game
b.) searching for a manager when a server has a real problem that I can't deal with myself (which is most of them)
c.) standing at the salad window and wiping down the edges of the plate if the salad maker gets some dressing on there
d.) going to the stock room to open boxes of wine glasses (or any china for that matter) when we are running low
Ironically enough, two nights ago when a manager was paged to the greeter desk to settle some problem and I responded, the episode of course had to involve a celebrity. The greeter pointed me towards a brown-haired lady and so I strode over to her (of course, at a fast pace). She asked if I was a manager and so I lied and said "Yes, I am." She then immediately felt it was necessary to say "Hi, my name is Orly Marley. I'm married to Ziggy Marley." (Most people wouldn't bother mentioning who they were married to in those kinds of situations, but apparently if you are the daughter-in-law of the late Bob Marley, it is imperative that you do.) She then proceeded to inquire about our hat policy for gentlemen (guys- sorry, you can't wear hats in our dining room) informing me that her husband (remember, Ziggy Marley) is a rastafarian and has long dreadlocks and so he has to wear a hat, my guess is to keep them under control. I slipped out of the issue by telling her that it was no problem and that we allow guests to wear hats for religious or medical reasons. I sure hope that we get more celebrities who have problems so I can deal with them.
Tonight was the first night of my nine weeks in the kitchen. I was a dishwasher tonight, which we more informally call Hobart in the restaurant because that is the name of the sanitizing machine. This means that for 10 hours straight, I lifted racks of dishes, cups and those god forsaken gravy boats out of the machine and placed them on the drying rack. I did get to spend a little bit of time at the rinse station as well, which means I got to fire a water pistol at bullets full of ketchup, mustard and mayo and endure the consequent spray. I walked out of the restaurant sore, wrinkled and stained but the fun isn't over yet because my company believes that 10 hours at Hobart isn't enough. No. I need AT LEAST 20. I guess the good news is that I could probably rob a bank because the chemicals of the machine are slowly eating away at my skin, thus eroding my fingerprints.
I'm sure I will have lots of great kitchen stories on the way. Lord knows, there is plenty I can mess up.
1.) My life has been so mundane that it hasn't even inspired me to bother trying to entertain the masses.
2.) I broke all my fingers in a freak shopping incident and thus have been unable to type.
Luckily, the former has occurred.
The past several weeks have been spent in a (gasp) management role at the restaurant. I have been stuck in this funky place where I walk around wearing a suit looking like a million bucks, but I can't quite deal with the million bucks the restaurant is worth on my own. Lots of hand-holding indeed...but little by little I'm going to begin tossing that hand away.
As a manager-in-training, my main responsibilities include (but are not limited to)
a.) walking around the dining room at a fast-pace, attempting to APPEAR as if I am rushing to take care of something, when really I just want to get to the bar as quickly as possible to check the score of the baseball game
b.) searching for a manager when a server has a real problem that I can't deal with myself (which is most of them)
c.) standing at the salad window and wiping down the edges of the plate if the salad maker gets some dressing on there
d.) going to the stock room to open boxes of wine glasses (or any china for that matter) when we are running low
Ironically enough, two nights ago when a manager was paged to the greeter desk to settle some problem and I responded, the episode of course had to involve a celebrity. The greeter pointed me towards a brown-haired lady and so I strode over to her (of course, at a fast pace). She asked if I was a manager and so I lied and said "Yes, I am." She then immediately felt it was necessary to say "Hi, my name is Orly Marley. I'm married to Ziggy Marley." (Most people wouldn't bother mentioning who they were married to in those kinds of situations, but apparently if you are the daughter-in-law of the late Bob Marley, it is imperative that you do.) She then proceeded to inquire about our hat policy for gentlemen (guys- sorry, you can't wear hats in our dining room) informing me that her husband (remember, Ziggy Marley) is a rastafarian and has long dreadlocks and so he has to wear a hat, my guess is to keep them under control. I slipped out of the issue by telling her that it was no problem and that we allow guests to wear hats for religious or medical reasons. I sure hope that we get more celebrities who have problems so I can deal with them.
Tonight was the first night of my nine weeks in the kitchen. I was a dishwasher tonight, which we more informally call Hobart in the restaurant because that is the name of the sanitizing machine. This means that for 10 hours straight, I lifted racks of dishes, cups and those god forsaken gravy boats out of the machine and placed them on the drying rack. I did get to spend a little bit of time at the rinse station as well, which means I got to fire a water pistol at bullets full of ketchup, mustard and mayo and endure the consequent spray. I walked out of the restaurant sore, wrinkled and stained but the fun isn't over yet because my company believes that 10 hours at Hobart isn't enough. No. I need AT LEAST 20. I guess the good news is that I could probably rob a bank because the chemicals of the machine are slowly eating away at my skin, thus eroding my fingerprints.
I'm sure I will have lots of great kitchen stories on the way. Lord knows, there is plenty I can mess up.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Steps in the Right Direction
The last time we spoke I was just about to become something incredibly fun, important and meaningful: a bartender. This newest page in our saga was a quick read- meaning I was only to spend two days at the bar in the restaurant. Hard to imagine, but my 22 hours spent at the bar are over, and in the blink of an eye. I have a new appreciation for the people behind the counter and I've decided that I could not be a bartender for this company because I am just too short to reach those Johnnie Walker and Cachaca bottles on the top shelf.
Some of my highlights during this two day period include the new friends I made. In two short days, I met twice as many interesting people at the bar than I did working at the greeter desk and as a server combined. On example of a lasting friendship I created starting yesterday evening. I met a man named Jacques and I made a random comment within two minutes of meeting him about how I overgeneralize on occasion. Naturally he said "OK so what can you say about me?" Quickly remembering that his name was Jacques, I said "Well, your name is Jacques? That means you're a Frenchie. Because you're a Frenchie, you don't bathe and the only foods you eat are cheese, chocolate, red wine, and rich meaty stews." Today he came back in (to my surprise!) and said "I bathed with water today!" to which I responded "Jacques, don't lie. I know you didn't bathe in water, but red wine."
Today there was another guy who came in and sat at the bar and I was totally convinced he was a major rock star from the 80's. He had big blond hair that looked like he had stuck his finger in a socket, wore huge Ray Ban sunglasses and was wearing a tweed blazer. I was bothering all the other bartenders asking them who he was and they didn't know. So naturally, I gave him a lot of extra attention because I was trying to make friends with a major rock star. Making small talk, I asked him if he was originally from L.A. and if he had a long drive home from the restaurant trying to gauge exactly who he might be. When he left I grabbed the credit card slip from the other bartender...and...!!... he wasn't anyone. Foiled.
Tonight I was on my own a lot making drinks. I am now a master at making a mean margarita, cosmopolitans, mojitos, lemon drops, and just about any other mixed drink or unmixed drink you can think of. During one episode tonight I was making another routine rasperry lemon drop and was in the midst of my shaking phase. During a particularly fierce upward arm pump, the top of the shaker flew off and a sizable portion of the sweet sticky drink flew up out of the shaker and all over my shirt, pants and face. With my good fortune, the acidic lemon liquid ended up in my eye. I think I'll stick to managing.
Tomorrow is a day off and hooray for that. I'm going to a massive flea market at the Rose Bowl and the Sharks/Kings game. Work shall reconvene on Monday and on Tuesday, the other managers-in-training and myself are going on a field trip! Yes that's right. Fun days away from the norm don't stop in pre-school. We're visiting our meat and produce distributors to see how those kinds of operations work. I'm really looking forward to walking through the meat plant in the early hours of the morning with cow parts hanging all around me. But I guess I'll have to wait the few days until it comes.
I hope the colors of fall are painting your lives. They are non-existent here.
Some of my highlights during this two day period include the new friends I made. In two short days, I met twice as many interesting people at the bar than I did working at the greeter desk and as a server combined. On example of a lasting friendship I created starting yesterday evening. I met a man named Jacques and I made a random comment within two minutes of meeting him about how I overgeneralize on occasion. Naturally he said "OK so what can you say about me?" Quickly remembering that his name was Jacques, I said "Well, your name is Jacques? That means you're a Frenchie. Because you're a Frenchie, you don't bathe and the only foods you eat are cheese, chocolate, red wine, and rich meaty stews." Today he came back in (to my surprise!) and said "I bathed with water today!" to which I responded "Jacques, don't lie. I know you didn't bathe in water, but red wine."
Today there was another guy who came in and sat at the bar and I was totally convinced he was a major rock star from the 80's. He had big blond hair that looked like he had stuck his finger in a socket, wore huge Ray Ban sunglasses and was wearing a tweed blazer. I was bothering all the other bartenders asking them who he was and they didn't know. So naturally, I gave him a lot of extra attention because I was trying to make friends with a major rock star. Making small talk, I asked him if he was originally from L.A. and if he had a long drive home from the restaurant trying to gauge exactly who he might be. When he left I grabbed the credit card slip from the other bartender...and...!!... he wasn't anyone. Foiled.
Tonight I was on my own a lot making drinks. I am now a master at making a mean margarita, cosmopolitans, mojitos, lemon drops, and just about any other mixed drink or unmixed drink you can think of. During one episode tonight I was making another routine rasperry lemon drop and was in the midst of my shaking phase. During a particularly fierce upward arm pump, the top of the shaker flew off and a sizable portion of the sweet sticky drink flew up out of the shaker and all over my shirt, pants and face. With my good fortune, the acidic lemon liquid ended up in my eye. I think I'll stick to managing.
Tomorrow is a day off and hooray for that. I'm going to a massive flea market at the Rose Bowl and the Sharks/Kings game. Work shall reconvene on Monday and on Tuesday, the other managers-in-training and myself are going on a field trip! Yes that's right. Fun days away from the norm don't stop in pre-school. We're visiting our meat and produce distributors to see how those kinds of operations work. I'm really looking forward to walking through the meat plant in the early hours of the morning with cow parts hanging all around me. But I guess I'll have to wait the few days until it comes.
I hope the colors of fall are painting your lives. They are non-existent here.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
A bit of this...a bit of that...
Greetings to all near and far!
With this fine publication, "the los angeles nibbler," I begin my third odyssey in the blogging world (powerupgambia.blogspot.com; xanga.com/jzutz). I can hear you scoffing at the title from here. You're thinking to yourself, "Why is this Stanford-educated nitwit not using capitalized letters in the title of her esteemed blog?" The answer is quite simple. In Los Angeles, style supercedes all and so you may as well just throw that degree onto Santa Monica Blvd. so it can be run over time and time again by manaical Southern California drivers because in this situation, lower-case letters are cool.
My purpose in starting this blog is simple. I have moved to Los Angeles to train for my first foray into the working world as a manager for the Hillstone Restaurant Group. I will be learning the ropes here in Century City for the next three and a half months and will consequently be placed in another one of the company's 49 restaurants. Though living on the left coast is not new for me, working 11-hour days at odd hours is, and so I have found it increasingly difficult to update everyone on my status. Ergo, the birth of the los angeles nibbler. It is my intent to provide a little bit of this and that (as this post's title would indicate). I hope to keep you informed about my worklife, as well as my adventures in the City of Angels.
I have been gainfully employed for three weeks and I have already learned a great deal about the restaurant industry. For instance, it took me approximately 10 minutes to learn that gravy boats are indeed the worst possible way of serving salad dressing. As if the gravy boat, a silver vessel that must be polished every day, yet still looks as if it was retrieved from the sunken carcass of the Titanic wasn't a bad enough idea, my restaurant complicates the lives of servers and managers alike by insisting that the boat must be served on a plate with a spoon. The gravy boat slides all over the plate causing the dressing to slosh around (especially if it is one of our less viscous dressings) and inevitably, you will lose either the spoon, the boat, or both. On my second day of server training, I did just that. As I wove through the bar area on a busy Friday night, a guest jumped back suddenly into my path. My lightening-quick reactions dodged this shifty patron, but the boat flew off the plate and blue cheese went all over the black granite floor. By some random stroke of God, none of the stuff landed on a customer but it was the beginning of a dark relationship.
Other than the gravy boats, I'm beginning to appreciate the whole business. I have already completed server and greeter training and next I move onto unit accounting and bartending. Server training has by far been my favorite stage, but I think that's because on my first day I was blessed with the good fortune of serving sushi to Leonardo DiCaprio. Which brings me to my next objective in this blog- celebrity sightings will always be novel, and always will be mentioned.
I am actually enjoying life in Los Angeles a great deal. The whole city is like a big zoo to me, and all of the people in it are exotic animals. I can't help but look at them as if they are Siberian white tigers or giraffes or something. They just dress so...oddly...and do such...strange things. Today I watched a woman run around an entire intersection and go back the way she came. Tomorrow who knows what will happen.
In any event, I hope you all will join me as frequently as I post. I will admit that my hours are strange and quite often, I crawl home from work at the wee hours of the morning. But I am very excited about this opportunity and can't wait to welcome you all to savor my glamorous S0-Cal life.
With this fine publication, "the los angeles nibbler," I begin my third odyssey in the blogging world (powerupgambia.blogspot.com; xanga.com/jzutz). I can hear you scoffing at the title from here. You're thinking to yourself, "Why is this Stanford-educated nitwit not using capitalized letters in the title of her esteemed blog?" The answer is quite simple. In Los Angeles, style supercedes all and so you may as well just throw that degree onto Santa Monica Blvd. so it can be run over time and time again by manaical Southern California drivers because in this situation, lower-case letters are cool.
My purpose in starting this blog is simple. I have moved to Los Angeles to train for my first foray into the working world as a manager for the Hillstone Restaurant Group. I will be learning the ropes here in Century City for the next three and a half months and will consequently be placed in another one of the company's 49 restaurants. Though living on the left coast is not new for me, working 11-hour days at odd hours is, and so I have found it increasingly difficult to update everyone on my status. Ergo, the birth of the los angeles nibbler. It is my intent to provide a little bit of this and that (as this post's title would indicate). I hope to keep you informed about my worklife, as well as my adventures in the City of Angels.
I have been gainfully employed for three weeks and I have already learned a great deal about the restaurant industry. For instance, it took me approximately 10 minutes to learn that gravy boats are indeed the worst possible way of serving salad dressing. As if the gravy boat, a silver vessel that must be polished every day, yet still looks as if it was retrieved from the sunken carcass of the Titanic wasn't a bad enough idea, my restaurant complicates the lives of servers and managers alike by insisting that the boat must be served on a plate with a spoon. The gravy boat slides all over the plate causing the dressing to slosh around (especially if it is one of our less viscous dressings) and inevitably, you will lose either the spoon, the boat, or both. On my second day of server training, I did just that. As I wove through the bar area on a busy Friday night, a guest jumped back suddenly into my path. My lightening-quick reactions dodged this shifty patron, but the boat flew off the plate and blue cheese went all over the black granite floor. By some random stroke of God, none of the stuff landed on a customer but it was the beginning of a dark relationship.
Other than the gravy boats, I'm beginning to appreciate the whole business. I have already completed server and greeter training and next I move onto unit accounting and bartending. Server training has by far been my favorite stage, but I think that's because on my first day I was blessed with the good fortune of serving sushi to Leonardo DiCaprio. Which brings me to my next objective in this blog- celebrity sightings will always be novel, and always will be mentioned.
I am actually enjoying life in Los Angeles a great deal. The whole city is like a big zoo to me, and all of the people in it are exotic animals. I can't help but look at them as if they are Siberian white tigers or giraffes or something. They just dress so...oddly...and do such...strange things. Today I watched a woman run around an entire intersection and go back the way she came. Tomorrow who knows what will happen.
In any event, I hope you all will join me as frequently as I post. I will admit that my hours are strange and quite often, I crawl home from work at the wee hours of the morning. But I am very excited about this opportunity and can't wait to welcome you all to savor my glamorous S0-Cal life.
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