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I was sitting reading American Zoetrope, contemplating my future when I realized that somewhere, I have my first ever writing rejection letter from them.  It's probably tucked away in a broken shoebox with the "warm fuzzies" from my City Year days.  A warm fuzzy is a note, usually anonymous from another Corps Member telling you how singularly awesome you are.  They're silly things, really, but I kept them all because until that point in my life, very few people told me that I was even decent, let alone awesome.  It's odd how I've chosen to store those things in the same place.

*yawn*

I am worn out. I can't wait until my body acclimates to my new all work lifestyle. My eating habits have become cartoonishly bad. I had mashed potatoes for dinner last night... It was the only dish I recognized out of staff meal and I only managed a bite or two of them cause I was in the weeds when I got to work and the were saltyyyyyyy as *&^%. Despite all of that I've dropped approaching 20 lbs.
In any case, I must have been doing much better than I've thought because I got a raise two nights ago, so... I don't suck!
I really do feel like I've pretty much got the station under control. I need to get it organized in a way that I can handle and get the last bit of the prep under my belt. One of the things that I don't think that my bosses get is that just because I know how to make a dish, it doesn't follow that I know how they want a dish made.
Squash soup for instance... chef wanted it cooked in a wider pot. Cool. I followed the standard proceedure for making a pureed vegetable soup and added parsley to make it green after which I find out minutes before service that they puree roasted garlic into it. It wasn't a hige deal (unlike me leaving two other major items off my station). There doesn't seem to be a "recipe book" which is frustrating in a way, but also forces some independence. You see how to make something once, then you make it from memory from then on.
I guess I'm going to be on the station myself soon, which isn't that exciting to me. Contrary to what seems to be popular belief... it's not a one man station; especially on a night like tonight, when we've got a hundred covers on the books. a pretty big night. And it's not like Applebee's kids, where some people order an appetizer and some don't. It's rare for a customer to have less than three courses, which means at least one plate off my station for every table, often more.
After my trainer is gone, I guess on big night I'll get some help from the back staff... better brush up on my espanol.

Another week...

Going into my third week and I'm happy to be settling into my routine. I'm getting my prep done faster and am more sure on my feet around my station. I'm getting yelled at A LOT less, which is a good thing.
We got crushed yesterday, 130 covers in two hours; but we just rolled through it. We were in the weeds from the start, but we pulled through without any real trouble. I work it solo tomorrow. Hopefully it'll go well, as in no freaking tomato salads.

It's gonna be a long week

I'm not off till Sunday.
It seems my schedule was crafted with the specific intention of *&#^%@# me in the !#@!
Oh well. Things have been going well. Chef is a tough man to work for. You might think I'm going to qualify that with some sort of honorific positive, like those guys that are "tough but fair" or any number of combinations that end with me saying that he's basically good guy. I'm not gonna do that.
I'll say that I still have a lot to learn about that place and the food. I'm stilled pumped about the work and I'll reserve judgment on Chef.
Yesterday was supposed to be my first day on the garde station by myself. Turns out some of the prep staff was out sick so my trainer was called in. It would have been ok I think because the place was kind of dead.
I felt way less useless yesterday, hands are a bit less shaky. My first ticket of the night was all three of the plates I hadn't done, so way to get that out of the way. The tomato salad plate is a beast, but I'm getting faster with it. Now I have to get the prep list down so I can stop spending so much extra time in there.
One of my burns is getting all blistery and peely, it's kinda cool looking.

Day two in the can...

As I sit here gnawing on my ice cold McDonald's cheeseburger, I can't help but reflect on another exhausting day, and wonder is it by providence or some darker influence that I take so naturally to this work and tried out and accepted this job. What a pay cut?! I guess I'll keep trusting the guidance I feel like I've been getting and hope my path leads me where I want to be.

I learned some things today. Firstly, if you want a job in a kitchen, for goodness sakes, show up with the right outfitting and equipment. A guy came for a tryout today and I promise you this is the conversation I heard on the pass.

Chef: What's the deal with the guy back there in tennis shoes?
Sous S: Uh, he's from Australia and...
Chef: So they let you wear tennis shoes in kitchens over there?

Not good...

The poor guy came on the line, pale, and asked to borrow some things out of my kit, which is a big no-no, but I let him cause things weren't going well. Turns out - they made him fix a dish Top Chef style. I asked my trainer if they'd made him do that. He silently shook his head no. Me neither. And thank goodness. Everyone grabbed forks and tried it, weighing in. I didn't want it. I can't bear the taste of shame... It might have been delicious, but an hour later he was gone. He was a nice guy, an Aussie. Hey - if you say no worries to an Australian dude, does he have a patriotic duty to kick your ass? I hope not. I really wasn't trying to be funny, I just say that a lot.

I asked about him. My trainer said he was just on a stage (tryout), probably went home. I replied that I worked till close on my stage. He shrugged and we went on about the evening.

I also learned that they want all of their cooks to be clean shaven. IIIIII thought that meant a well trimmed beard. They think it means shaving all of my facial hair off. I thought for about a hundredth of a second about quitting. The look on my face MUST have been priceless. The guy that told me looked at me and asked "Is it that bad?"

Yes it's that bad! I haven't seen my chin in like, 10 years or so and I've had a mustache since I was freakin' 16!

Anyway, I'm gonna do it. I'm certain I'll hate my face... they take and they take and they take!

I plated amuse bouches (beet salads with chevre) tonight and worked on some other garde manger plates. My fingers aren't quite as shaky and I don't feel so much like vomiting,which means I'm less nervous I guess.

Everybody is telling me to exercise my right of way and stop jumping out of everyone's way unbidden and to stop apologizing so much. Not my fault I have home training.

Back on the line

So it's my first day back. The kitchen is insane! Everything is shiny and top of the line. Robot Coupes and Cryovacs. A bank of walk-in's. Tilt skillets and super-mega hot broilers. Really talented Chef's and Sous Chefs.
It's been a long, long, long time. I've been out of the industry proper for some time and last night was reinstatement by fire to a french brigade style kitchen. Meaning tough. It what I want, but make no mistake... it's hard.
I haven't cut myself cooking, well... ever, till last night, not to mention the burns and the fact that I got my trainer so far in to the weeds that chef cursed him out on line. Sounds like a lovely evening, right?
The thing about being the new guy, is that everyone looks at you as though maybe you'll be better than the last new guy, when there's really one universal truth to being the new guy in a kitchen on any station... you're new. You don't know how this kitchen operates or what the plates are. You don't know that they mean cook, when they say blanch. How in the heck would you know where to look for the spice grinder?
It's so hot, and you're on your feet for 7 or 8 hours. You bend, you stoop - you get burned and you get cut. You say "yes chef" and "no chef" to a guy that is going to say really awful things to you... it's just a matter of time; and egos are inflated past the point of sanity cause to be a cook, you have to have swagger.
Why do I love it? Is it because I look so damned good in chefs whites?
Is it because I get to test myself and see what I'm made of in one of the hardest jobs out there?
Or maybe because I love to feed people?
Possibly a little bit of all of them, but mostly because it's what I love to do.