Friday, January 20, 2012
Chill Brah pt 1
There are some archetypal kitchen personalities that, for the most part I find it an added strain to mesh well with while also trying to get the job done. I say "archetypes" because 8 years into the game I continually am met with the same cast of unsavory drug-addled derelicts or in-your-fuckin-face food enthusiasts that both bring far too much of themselves to the kitchen, testing my penchant for levity and frankly making me an asshole, too. I'm not espousing some "can't we all get along" platitude but Jesus can't we all just shut the fuck up? Who is this new guy I see here with too many hardcore tattoos, whatever that annoying frame of glasses glasses frame, and one of my more hated characteristics in any cook - facial hair. Some huge-ass beard even. Shave dude - communicate your esoteric mojo through your food or do it subtly like Bourdain's weird earing or Collichio's gay soul patch. And I appreciate your enthusiasm for food, rivaled only by the mosh pit foray's of your teen years when you didn't realize drinking ruled. Sorry I didn't watch Iron Chef last night, yes blowing smoke up and ice sculpture is cool but lunch starts in 30 minutes man plus its friday plus government offices get their paychecks today so can we get back to business? After food network banter, it's on to "Oh you have this? At the restaurant I used to work..." or occasionally something more grandiose like, "At my other restaurant when I was Chef...we used to put like.." and then he will describe a whole menu item displaying stunted communication and descriptive ability i.e. "Dude at (such and such restaurant) we used to fuckin...dust that fucking shit in panko and then deep fry the motherfucker and put it on a fuckin baguette with a fuckinnnnnn roasted pepper aioli and carmalized onions and sweet gorgonzola...dude that shit was fuckinnn absurd dude." Excuse me? An absurd sandwich? Are you for real? Uh oh here comes the knife bag...I see you have a full size microplane and that little tiny zester as well. That's a real sweet 200 dollar Japanese knife you have but why the fuck are you julienning onions with the heel? Why are you shouting ticket orders to me when I am standing two feet away from you? Servers get nervous when they hear shouting, like puppies or horses or some smart-ish animal. Well that's alright, I can just go work next to the taciturn hillbilly that went to culinary school after following Widespread Panic around for however long destroying the few brain cells bestowed upon him by his consanguineous parents. He's always good for a laugh. But he can't turn sideways, he is constantly bumping into me, and using my fucking knife! I dare not broach these annoyances with him though for fear that he will spit a SKOAL-flavored loogey into my face instead of the trashcan. God forbid this gentleman should act as liaison to the waitstaff, or become overwhelmed one the line - openly cussin' and a cursin' to high hades!