SHRIMP GUT SANDWICH

When cleaning raw shrimp it is necessary (and polite) to remove the ‘Sand Vein” from the shrimp. What that amounts to is taking out the small digestive tract of the shrimp. Only the size of a toothpick, they are usually filed with what amounts to partially digested plankton.
Shrimp Shit.
That’s all it is…
Prawn Poop.
The amount of time it spends in the shrimp is probably less than the time it takes for a human to chew and swallow a Shrimp, but in more polite company, the sand vein is considered to be quite rude.

Of course, in the kitchen there is not a whole lot of polite company in proximity, so the following recipe has been developed for the Sand Vein.
The first ingredient you need is a new guy, some youngster that is hungry for knowledge and eager to be a chef.
Add to that 100 pounds of Shrimp to clean and you have the perfect environment for making Shrimp Gut Sandwiches (SGS).
You show him how to remove the Vein and set up a little crystal bowl for him to save them in.
You help and assist him in peeling and cleaning the shrimp, all the while explaining the different variations of SGS’s.
Some folks like ’em on a Bun, some on Wheat toast.
Some folks want theirs with Mayonnaise and other prefer Remoulade Sauce, or maybe some Raw Horseradish.
Some like the Bacon SGS, some Gilled CheeseSGS and others with the standard Lettuce tomato and Pickle.
That’s how I like mine and with a thick Chocolate Shake to go with.
All you have to do is put the raw shrimp guts on any sandwich and you are ready for a real delight!

When the lad has collected enough Shrimp guts to make two Sandwiches, you get his order, how he likes it made and you prepare it along with one for yourself.
And this is the key….
When you make his sandwich you slather it with all those shrimp guts.
But when you make yours, you only put guts on half….the half that he will be able to see.
The half that you are going to take a bite out of…and this is important…has no Shrimp guts on it at all!
You’ve talked it up for an hour;
“These Sandwiches, in some cultures, are considered a delicacy!” (what isn’t?)
“Many people include them in Religious Ceremonies as a Pathway to Enlightenment and a source of Visions!” (near death experiences)
“It is medically proven to increase virility!” (results vary)

Now you both have your sandwiches and Chocolate shakes and you find out a lot about the new guy real fast.
Most of them can’t believe you just took a bite out of your Shrimp Gut Sandwich…others are curious and somewhat amazed that people can eat shrimp shit, but there is no way they are going to try…they may even be envious that their mental taste buds are not yet refined enough, and worried that they are too “close-minded” to be a Real Chef.

Then there are the few that you have to stop them from taking a big bite of Shrimp Shit.
There was even one guy that I was too slow to stop.
Son-of-a-Gun dove right in.
He told me later:
“Wasn’t as bad as one might think”.

Next up….
"How Drinking Urine has Saved Lives and Cured Everything from Diabetes to Bull-nettle"

EASY BAKER

To the tune of "The Pusher" (click there) by Steppenwolf and
with apologies to Hoyt Axton ( there too)

You know I smoked a lotta’ Perch,

Oh Lord
You know I mopped a lotta’ spills
But I never Poached nuthin’, nooo,

That would have been better Grilled
You know I seen a lotta’ people walkin’ round
With Pate’ a Choux in their eyes
But the Baker don’t care, if they live or if they die


Got dang, the Baker
I said got dang the Baker
Got dang, got dang, the Bakerman

You know the Pastry Chef is a man
With the Love Dough in his hand
He’s got Eclairs an' Tarts an' Pastries
Good God, he’s not a Protein man
Aww, The Baker for a nickel
Lord, will sell you lots of Sweet Creams
You’ll get the Body Fat and the Dia-bee-tees

There'll be Croquembouche and Confection Sugar

When you Sneeze

I said, Got dang, the Bakerman...

Well now if I were the Manager of this Hotel
You know I’d report the Bakerman

Immediately to “Personnel”
I’d truss him if he stands and

I’d roux him if he runs
I’d kill him with my Butchers mallet,

I'd Saute’ him till he’s done…

I said Got Dang, the Bakerman...

IF THE BANQUET MANAGER AINT HAPPY, AINT NOBODY HAPPY

“Mike, wake your black ass up”
“What time is it”
“Six A.M. brother man, time to rock the house
Mike was the Café Sous Chef and he came in every morning about 3;30 to start breakfast. Mike was a good guy, but when I would come in at 6:00, some days he would be on the bench in the dressing room, balanced somehow on a 6” wide wooden plank.
Sound asleep.
He would de snorin’ like a bigdog, with this huge smile on his face. He has gold tooth with a big "M" on it, and a gold earing. Of course his head was shaved right down to the ebony.
Mike liked to party.

I got dressed and headed upstairs. I was the Garde-Manger and the 1000 room hotel had been insanely busy the last 6 months. Chef kept sayin’ stuff like “After this week the bottom falls out”.
Not today, hell, not this week.
I was starting to think the Chef was just stringin’ us along and we were, in fact, confined to being busy as snot for the rest of our sorry lives. When I would tell people that I worked 85 hours last week, and that I would be having a 14 hour day today, they would nod and say something like
‘Yeah, me too” and expect that I didn’t believe them just like they didn’t believe me.
But hey, that’s Foodservice man, and right now there was a deadline to meet.

At 7:30 there was a Breakfast for 300 people and I had fruit mirrors to be placed on the Buffet.
Chief Steward would bring a Queen Mary, we’d load it up and upstairs we would go, along with Granola and bowls of Yogurt, Jelly’s and butter and we’d take Danish from Pastry as well.
Me and my four ladies of the cold food were finishing up the mirrors when I heard the ruckus. It was Bill, the Banquet Manager and he was over by the Cafeteria line.

“Where are my fruit trays?” Bill was asking a Busboy.
‘Where are my Fruit Trays” Bill was asking a Line Cook.
‘Where are my Fruit Trays” Bill was asking the Potwasher.

Bill Bobbers was always dressed to the tens. He had a handkerchief that matched his tie, and just the right amount of cuff showing out of the sleeves of his Gucci. Hell, I wouldn’t know a Gucci from a Mens Wearhouse, but Bill always looked like his momma dressed him. He had two Banquet WaIters with him, and he wore them like bodyguards
Bill had not been with us long, just several months, and he had seemed fairly capable. He had transferred from Jersey, or Boston, or Buffalo or somewhere.
I had not had to deal with him much, but I could sense he and I were about to go ‘round.

“Over here, Billbo, I’ve got em” and motioned to him. I had taken to calling him Billbo, but I don’t think I‘d let him in on it yet
“What did you call me?” He asked.
“Umm, Billbo” and I gave him my best smile.
He frowned.
‘I need those trays now” he barked.
“Well, I’m almost ready to send ‘em up, Tony (The Steward) should be here in a minute”
“ But I need em now” and he turned to the Main kitchen and announced “I need a Sous-Chef over here”
I could tell Bill was stressed and that probably I hadn’t helped with my pet name, but now I was pissed.
“Goddam you Billy Bobbers, what do I look like …Chopped Liver?”
I pointed to my embroidered "Garde Manger/Sous Chef" insignia that I had given Blood, Sweat and Tears for.

He turned and glared at me. We shouted, we cursed, we were two real idiots in the cold food area and we were about to get nose to nose when Tony pulled up with his Queen Mary.

“See Billbo, just chill out, its all happen’ just like Jaheezus the Christ planned” I said.
And you know that didn’t help any.
From what I recall, this set the tone for everyone in the hotel that day.
At about 2;00 P.M., the memo came from the F&B Director that there was to be a meeting at 3:00 and it listed about 12 people to be there, including Mike, Billbo and I.

Seated in a circle, we were going to clear the air as directed by the F&B Director, Kurt, who sat two seats down from me.
"I want us to go around the circle, and everyone just go ahead and say who they have a problem with and why" Kurt said.
Now, I had worked with Kurt for two years and it did not surprise me when he added...
‘Bulletholes, you go first”
I don't know why he picked me.
I glanced around the room. I knew that I had to try to play this right or risk looking like as big a jerk as I can sometimes truly be.
Or worse.

As this was going through my mind, I noticed Mike, my Sous Chef buddy, was just about to fall asleep. Then it hit me.

“Mike!”
Like most Kitchen people I have a big voice, that is too say, I talk too loud.
Mike jumped and I continued as per instructions.
“Mike, I know you come in at 3;00 in the morning and the odds are good you didn’t get to bed last night, but when I find you asleep in the Locker Room it just pisses me off. Try to stay F’n awake at work will ya?”
Mike just grinned at me.

And I continued around the room. If I didn’t have a problem with a particular person I just made one up because there was no way in hell anyone was going to claim I was cryin’ about Bill “Bilbo” Bobbers.
And when I got to Billbo I said:.
“Bill, I don’t know what you’re problem is …maybe its just that you are a Yankee…all I know is when you open your mouth, you could say "Good Mornin” and it would still sound ugly. It would still piss me off. But I’ve never once heard you say “good anything” to anybody.

Well everyone else went around said whatever, including Mike who slammed me pretty good on…
who knows what, probably dinkin' around too much…
But by the end we were all ready to get the hell out of that room and maybe TRY to get along..

You know, sometimes us Southern folks, we can get away with saying some ugly things without sounding too ugly. I never gave anyone a nickname without clearing it with them again.

But the Moral of this story, if there is one I would say is
“If you are going to have a problem with someone, you may as well have a problem with everyone”

But there’s an even better version of that, and it fits for lot of stuff…I think it was Kurt taught me this:
‘If you think you are not part of the problem, you are part of the problem”

DAVY JONES LOCKER

"In angling, as in all other recreations into which excitement enters, we have to be on our guard, so that we can at any moment throw a weight of self-control into the scale against misfortune; and happily we can study to some purpose, both to increase our pleasure in success and to lessen our distress caused by what goes ill. It is not only in cases of great disasters, however, that the angler needs self-control. He is perpetually called upon to use it to withstand small exasperation's."

FROM "FISHERMANS LUCK"

Cap'n Hook is the Great Great-Grandson of"Fighting Joe Hooker, a bombacious and hard drinking Union General from the Civil War.
He and I became good fishing partners. He was my Supervising Sous-Chef at the Crystal Crotchless when I first started working for the Hymen-Regency.
For the first few trips we would go to a Dam below lake Granbury where we hoped to catch Stripers in the 'tailrace" below the Dam.
We would be using Fly rods- and the Fly rod is seldom seen here in Texas.

We did not catch any Stripers, but we did have a most unusual catch for a Flyrod in Texas...
Our first time out below the Dam Hook caught an 18 pound Opelousa Catfish!
We thought it was a bit of a fluke until the next weekend, when we both caught Opelousa's...his was 12lbs. and Mine was 14 lbs.

Then I bought a boat and Motor. I had been saving coins for about a year and a half. I took them to the Bank and the total came to....

EIGHT-HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS!


I bought a 15 horsepower motor with that money, brand spankin' new.

Hook located the boat...it was a 1956 Lone Star V-Hull. When it was new it had a Canopy, windshield, two seats at the Wheel and two more seats facing aft (to the rear) and a 60 HP Motor. Back in 1956 you could not ask for a better Ski Boat.

But this was 1982 and the boat had caught fire and all the seats and Canopy and Windshield and steering Mechanisms were gone....the Aluminum was melted in spots and most of the paint inside and out was burned of as well. It looked like a big ol' beer can weathered and crumpled on a Trailer.

I bought it for $75.
With a little ingenuity that I really dont have much of, I managed to turn it into a good fishin' boat.
It looked like a real contraption, but it was one tough floatation device.



HOW TO SINK A BOAT

One day at an area lake, Hook and I found a little moss bed full ogf fish. We very seldom caught many fish, but for about 20 minutes we were knockin' the fire out of them.

But our fortune was not to last...a big ol' fancy-assed Ski boat came plowin' right through our serendipitous little honey hole.
We kept fishing even as the giant wake thrown up nearly tossed us over.
Then the Bastard did it again, this time even closer...so close the spray almost bathed us.
Several times over the Son-of-a Bitch came through, until our spot was now floated with Seafoam.
All this racket is not good for the fishing.
Its not good for anything.
We gave several dirty looks to the Skipper and even tried to wave him off some, but it became apparent it we were being blatantly disrespected.

It made my Maritime Blood boil.
So... I cranked up the motor and we went else where.
An hour or so later, we decided to call it a day...

As we were heading in to the ramp, I spy the enemy vessel. It seems to be adrift, and perhaps the occupants are swimming or taking a nap or whatever. i brought my bow to bear upon the wicked craft, now only a few hundred yards away.

Hook looks to me and says
"What are you doing?"

'We are going to pay them a little visit"

I approach the boat and there are still no occupants visible.
At full throttle I circle round twice..still no one...
so I said to Hook:

"This ought to wake 'em up"

and brought my bow right in line with their beam...full steam ahead...and announce our arrival:

"HOLD FAST, YE SHEEPSHEADS...GANGWAY!!!"

And we slammed into the Ski Boat taking her broadsides.
Still no one appeared, and as I surveyed the damage, I could hardly believe what my $75 piece of crap had done to this guys boat.
It was starting to sink.
I had found its sweet spot.We got the hell out of there.



I don't know if it sank all the way or not...or where the occupants were when I rammed her...but we never did go back to that Lake.

CAPTAIN HOOK USED TO SAY...

'You can lead a horse to water, but you can't look him in the mouth"

"What a man won't do, won't get done."

...and my favorite...

'If you think you are not part of the problem,
you are part of the problem."

Cap'n Hook (thats what I called him away from the kitchen) was one of the best Chefs I ever worked with; a good Mentor and Fisherman. Over the course of two years I watched him go from an "Iron Fisted Tyrant" to being one of the most tactful managers and polite Gentlemen I have ever known.

He was there the day I sank the boat.

HE WAS RIGHT

A Chef told me long ago...
"The more you try to change things now the more you will have to try to change things later; and the more you try to explain now, the more you will have to try to explain later."

104th Dream...Lights?

I GET WORRIED WHEN i DON'T HAVE THESE DREAMS FOR A TIME...

I have an interview for a Chefs Position...I am being interviewed by a very matter-of-fact sounding fellow. He has been the Chef de Cuisine for some time, but is going to be an owner now. I am to run the operation for him, and should not expect to see him.
In fact, the interview is being done over the telephone.

I tell him all that I have done.
Washing dishes at Red Lobster for my first job.
Working as Broiler Cook for Bonanza when I was 17 and just knew I knew more than Bullwinkle, my nickname for the Manager.
Busboy and Barback at a Ramada Inn where I met Junior Love Goddesses...Barmaids with Fishnet Stockings and Miniskirts and Chemises and stuff..
From busboy to a Executive Chef in two years at a pretty nice restaurant. Started there the day after I left Senior High. I didn't really even know how to cook.
Learning to cook at a 5-Star Hotel...
then to Country Clubs and back to Hotels.

I explain to him that I think setting standards and training and communicating...my people... are more important than the business itself.
He asks if I am one of these guys that is "Overqualified".
Thats what they say about people that do not really want to do any work anymore.
I tell him if he wants to he can call around and ask about me.
"They will tell you that I am pretty Muley"

So he asks if I am one of these guys that has to have everything just so in order to do my job, that I need a perfect environment to perform.
I have to laugh.
"Perfect? There is no "perfect"...every operation has its obstacles and deficiencies; you have to be able to adapt and improvise all the time."

He wants me there at 8:00 the next morning where "Dan-O" the helper will show me around.
Duly arrived the next morning, Dan-O and I commence to firing ovens and lighting burners.
Its very dark in this kitchen, the only light coming from the burners and when you open a Cooler.
"Where are the light switches, Dan-O"
"Light switches?"
"Yeah, lights, ya know."
He just grins at me.
Just then a phone rings on the wall right beside me.
I pick it up..its the Old Chef.
"How's it goin'?' he asks.
"Ok, pretty good boss, but I hate to ask... where are the lights in this place?"
Over the phone he says in this surprised and disdainful voice:

"Lights? What? You need Lights?"

I woke up... laughin' like a maniac.
And when I tell people about it I am laughin so hard I can hardly talk.
I know its not that funny to anyone but me.
It reminds me of the beans.

A CHANGE OF HEART/ IF WE POSTULATE

(Continued from yesterday)
""my best friend and assistant, Jeff looked on in horror" as I carreened about the waiters station."

In the years before the incident I described in yesterdays post, my only experience with Gays had been through Drama Club in High School, where it had been whispered that certain members of the Department were "queer", and a few waiters I had worked around being a Chef. There was a big part of me that still didn’t believe someone could be truly gay and that the only reason they behaved in that manner was that they were lonely and just wanted to be touched and did not have the charisma to attract the opposite sex. I still didn’t quite believe they did what they did. There must be a mistake. They were Gay by some kind of default.
I figured that probably they just lacked the courage and confidence to get a woman. I figured it was just a cop out, a way to be unreal, that the people and the relationships they were in were invalid.
In 1982 there was only a whisper of a disease running through gay communities in larger cities. It was called AIDS, and over the next few years would affect the lives of a great many people, including myself. Not that I had AIDS, mind you, but 'Free Love" was about to be a pretty risky investment.

In 1982 I was Saute Chef for the Crystal Cactus, the gourmet restaurant at the Fort Worth Hyatt. The broiler man was Jeff, and he and I had a lot in common. In just a few months we had acheived a familiarity that allowed us to be a very good team as cooks, and also best friends, that with just a word or a glance we could be on the same page on just about anything. We were both pretty well read and could launch into scenes from ‘Moby Dick’, “Hamlet” "Lord of the Rings".
Our favorite was from "Guildenstern and Rosencrantz are Dead". Its a spinoff from "Hamlet" in which the two guards of Hamlets fathers tomb toss a coin that comes up heads 99 times in a row.

They contemplate the odds...
"If we postulate " says one.
"And we just have" replies the other.....
"Ninety-Nine Times!", both in unison.

While it started out to be purely extemporaneous, we both knew the material so well and had become such good friends that we could be quite entertaining at the drop of a hat. Well, we thought we were anyway. We would be in attendance at after work parties that went on 2-3 nights a week and lasted till well past dawn. The greatest thing about working in foodservice? Waitresses!
But Jeff never partook of waitresses and any time I suggested we go to here or there to chase women, Jeff always seemed to have something else to do. Still we managed to do something together at least 4 night a week. If it wasnt a party, then it was a game of “Risk” or all night Frisbee. Jeff was as good as I with a Frisbee and we would throw together for hours at a well lit park around the corner from my mothers house where I lived. Jeff was a deep and Philosophical person and as we threw we talked. He became one of the best friends I have ever had.
My mother had had a stroke which was part of the reason I lived with her. My father was in a V.A. Hospital with Alzheimers. He had been for years. Over the course of a year Mom met Jeff several times.
Ever since her stroke my mother’s speech had changed in the typical stroke victim fashion. She now talked like a little girl with a bit of a lisp and sing-song cadence.
Getting ready for work one afternoon, I mentioned that Jeff was on vacation to New York and I had a new guy to train.
My mother gets an odd look on her face and asks what he is doing in New York
“He says he is going to see as many plays as he can in 4 days” I tell her.
“ Did he go by himself?’ she asks.
‘No, he went with a couple of the waiters from the Restaurant”
Mom looks at me over the top of her glasses.
“Steve, is Jeff gay?
“NO, Mom, why do you ask?”
And in that sing-song voice she says “Well, he...just seems... like he might... be gay.”
Now in 1982 my Mom was 65 years old and had been a housewife all her adult life. I doubt she had ever met a gay person. I was surprised that she knew the word.
I thought about it all night and finally determined that she was probably right. My best friend in the whole world, with looks and energy and charisma to burn; the guy that I hung out with 4-5 nights a week and could leap at least 4’in the air covering 10-12 feet and catch a Frisbee behind his back or between his legs; that I found myself on the same page with, completely in sync, time after time after time; my best friend that I was so proud to know....was Gay!

It was a real awakening; these were real people in real relationships and there wasn’t anything wrong with them. Whatever I had been thinking about Gay people was incompetent, immaterial and irrevelant.
Jeff left the Hyatt in 1986.
I found myself behind him in a checkout line in 1988. He had not seen me.
"If we Postulate..." I said very loudly.
He flinched but didn't need to turn around.
"...And we just have..." came the reply.
In unison as he turns around;
"...NINETY NINE TIMES!" and we embrace.

I never saw Jeff again.
I got word that Jeff had died from AIDS in 1993.
I can scarcely think of him without weeping.

I would like to dedicate this one to Barbara, http://www.blogger.com/profile/5665351
who is lucky enough to have a lot of friends, many Gay; and a fellow that used to Blog named "Broken" who told me he had never really had a Gay friend and in doing so inspired me to write this many months ago.

PUT THE FLAME TO THE HEAT

Grizzbabe http://grizzbabesden.blogspot.com/ has insinuated that I have teased you badly concerning an incident where I almost ended up unemployed. She is right, it should follow the story about Chef Felenczak, as he certainly was one of the players.

I had been at the FW Hyatt for about 30 days when I got my first promotion. I was to be the Lead cook for the Gourmet restaurant for the evening shift. The Restaurant was named ‘The Crystal Cactus” but I affectionately called it “The Crystal Crotchless” and every waiter in the place was Gay. Now back then, in my world at least, gays were a bit of an exception. I had worked in restaurants where there were no Gays, but here at the Hotel, the Crystal Cactus and Room Service were filled with Gays. To me there was something a little unreal about them as though they might be Gays by Default...(to be continued)
After work, walking to my car in downtown Fort Worth, many was the night that several carloads of these gays would beckon to me to come and join them. The smell of Marijuana wafting from their car windows, my usual response was to moon them. Man, did that ever fire them up as I pulled my pants down and flashed my milky white ass cheeks- they would hoot-n-holler and get out of their car and I would hitch up my pants and run for my life.
I called them the “Boys”.
I let it be known as often as I could that I had no respect for them whatsoever.
AIDS was still relatively unknown.

So on New Years Eve 25 years ago as the night wound down, the “Boys” started to bring me Kamikazes... I don’t know exactly what that is but its either Vodka or Gin and after about the 3rd or 4th I began to feel the effects.
It was about this time that one of the boys, his name was Frank and he looked just like Peter Lorre, only weirder, approached me and asked me a question;
“Steve, why don’t you like us Boys”
As I searched my alcohol racked brain for a proper answer, I spied a Fire extinguisher hanging on the wall.
I had my answer.
I reached over, grabbed the extinguisher. I hung the handle from my apron, holding the 2 foot long nozzle in my right hand. The big red tank hung swinging from my apron, between my legs.
I started to laugh, but it wasn’t funny yet.
I pulled the pin.
I looked Frank dead in the eye and said;
“Why, Frank, I like you boys just fine” and let him have it. A thick stream of white reatardant came very forcefully from the nozzle, leaving Frank looking like something out of a 3 Stooges bit.
"In fact, I like you Boys a lot".
Then I began careening through the Waiters station, that big tank swingin down between my knees and long thick nozzle (in both hands now) hosing down every waiter I came across. Laughing all the way. My best friend and assistant Chef, Jeff, looked on in horror.
It was about the time that I ran out of foam that Security had me and escorted me to the nearest exit.

I don’t remember filling out an incident report. I don’t think they needed my contribution.
I was off for the next three days and worried that I would lose my job.
When i came back, they did not stop me at security. A good sign.
When I got to the main kitchen there was not a representative there from Personnel to escort me away. Another good sign.
But neither was Chef Felenczak there to inflict whatever discipline on me that I most certainly had coming. It would be two long hours before he got to the Kitchen. That's how long it took him to save my ass.
I was slicing meats when he appeared at the door of the Chefs office. He looked across the Kitchen and our eyes locked. He pointed at the floor next to him with his finger. I went.
I don’t know how badly he put himself in hock for me, but I came away with a 3 Day suspension when by all rights I should have been fired.
After that, Chef always called me his "little Troublemaker".

Thanks Chef.

A FLY IN MY SOUP?

I tell this story very well... lets see if it works on paper........

Steve Felenczak was the Chef that opened the Ft Worth Hyatt in 1981. He was Polish, proud and a very good Chef. He had graduated from CIA, the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park NY. He was the first Certified Executive Chef I had ever worked for. After the second time that I called him “Bossman” he explained to me that “Bossman” was the guy that ran the Penitentiary and that I should call him “Chef”.
He also taught me that the first thing you say to Potwashers and Dishwashers was “Good Morning” or “Good Evening”. This has served me very well over the years. He also explained to me that we were not here “Just to learn about cooking”.
After 1 and 1/2 years at Ft. Worth Hyatt, a 900 room property, Chef got a big promotion. He was to become the Executive Chef at the Baltimore Hyatt, a 1700 room Hotel. It was to be a huge promotion with more money in a very prestigious part of the Country.
The day before his last day, the Health Department showed up for a routine inspection. Within a few minutes it was apparent that the Health guy was in a foul mood. He began taking off for the slightest of things. As he toured the kitchen, Chef and the health guy began to argue and get louder. At some point the Mr.Health has seen enough. They go to the Chefs office where he tells the Chef “I am SHUTTING YOU DOWN!!!”
Chef says “You can’t shut me down”
Mr. Health counters with “Like hell if I can’t”
Chef reconsiders and says “Well maybe you can, but not before we go to see the General Manager”
So up to the G.M.’s office they march. As Chef is leaving the kitchen he is livid.
He points to us all ( all the Kitchen Staff has been standing around watching this event) and says in an angry whisper “Get this place cleaned up!”
Once in the G.M.’s office, Mr.Health tells the G.M. that he is "shutting this nasty-ass kitchen down."
The G.M. proclaims “You can’t do that!”
“Like hell if I can’t” counters Mr. Health.

The General Manager knows he has been upstaged...
“Well maybe you can, but not before we go to the Mayors office."

Now the stage is set. The Health Department wants to shut down the most prestigious Hotel in the city on the day before the Chef is to go on his big promotion. It could put the promotion in jeopardy. Chef was sweatin’ bullets. To the Mayors office they march, Mr. Health, The G.M. and Chef. Once in the Mayors Office, Mr. Health tells the Mayor of all the Violations and how filthy the Kitchen is. The Chef pleads that this is all “Mickey Mouse” stuff and just not that bad.
The G.M. says “Mayor, this is the finest Hotel in the City, it’s the Chefs last day and they can’t just shut us down”.

“Like Hell if they can’t” says the Mayor, who cannot let his Health Department become without muscle; “But not until I see this Kitchen for myself.”

The Mayor wants to tour the kitchen personally and may have the final say as to whether Chef actually gets his promotion.
Can you imagine? The day before he is to leave?
So back to the Hyatt they Parade. Mr. Health, Chef, the G.M. and the Mayor walking the long six blocks to the Hotel. The whole while the Chef is trying to plead his case to the Mayor.
What was going through the Chefs mind I can only wonder. Can you imagine such a Black Eye on the Eve of a promotion so large? His entire Professional career may hang in the balance.
So through the lobby they go and pass the double- doors through the Waiters Station and into the Main Kitchen where….

There is the Banner that reads;

BON VOYAGE CHEF

strung over the entrance to the Main Kitchen and the “going away” party is all set up. Chafing dishes with food, carving Station w/ tenderloin and a Wet Bar. Spared no expense, the Mayor and Heath guy were in on it from the get go. In fact the Mayor and Health guy are now shaking his hand and slappin' him on the back. Half of the Employees of the hotel are lined up and clapping.
Three cheers for the Chef.
The look on the Chefs face is unbelievable. Talk about relieved. He says to me “ I could’nt figure out why you’se guys were just standing around lookin’ STUPID”.
This is the coolest and possibly cruelest thing I have ever been a part of…now, I’ve written it down. I only wish I knew who dreamed it up and if it has ever been used again!
http://eclectictales.blogspot.com/
OLD LADY... Have you ever heard anything that approaches this?

WHERES MY WAITRESS?

I was steady into recounting a few of my Psycho Dreams for you all when we were called away; I owed you another sweet Lily story, and the balding Annelisa asked that we bare our weirdness.
I give us all 'A''s.
So now that the cat is out of the bag, I would like to finish with a Dream that illustrates the Question Barbara asked....why do we Dream these things?
It also makes me wish that I were as smart awake as I am asleep...

AFTER 10 YEARS OF BEING OUT OF THE KITCHEN, I STILL HAVE KITCHEN NIGHTMARES- THEY SELDOM HAVE A VERY HAPPY ENDING… THIS IS NOT ONE OF THOSE!
In my dream I have my Cutting board set up, I have surrounded myself with food to process and I am all set …except people keep coming to me with all manner of requests. The General Manager needs me to measure his office for book shelves, the valet parking guy needs me to come and jump a car off, maintenance wants me to show them how to fix the tile in the mens dressing room (I did tile for 8 years) and its like one thing after the other keeps me away from doing my job. But in the Foodservice Industry, the answer is always "Yes" and Foodservice people ALWAYS help.
Finally, all the BullShit tasks completed, I step up to my cutting board, knife in hand, ready to rock the house. I’m doing Cantaloupes. I have cases of them stacked to the ceiling. I reach for another to shave the peel off and notice that there is someone standing next to me. I look up to see what could only be described as an English “chap”. He is wearing a Tweed Jacket, Scarf and little Riding Cap. He is in his 60’s, has one of those Curly-Q Mustaches, a pipe and is wearing a Monocle. He is the mental picture you get when you say “Chap”.
“Can I help you?” I ask. Foodservice people always help.
‘Thank you , young man, quite possibly you can. I am looking for a pair of ‘Knee Socks’”
“Knee Socks” says I…
“Knee Socks” says he.
I glance around the Kitchen and clear my throat.
“ Does any one here have a pair of Knee Socks” I announce.
All movement in the Kitchen and Waiters Station stops.
Foodservice people always help.
Out of the corner of my eye I detect some movement by the Ice machine. There is a Cocktail Waitress there, she is looking right at me and I can tell that she is going to answer my request.
“Knee Socks?” she asks.
“Knee Socks” says I.
Very daintily, she reaches down and with thumb and forefinger of one hand, and grasps the hem of her skirt. She slowly raises her skirt to just reveal a garter belt and Fishnet Stockings. She raises her heel and on pointed toe flexes her knee to the inside slightly to further advertise the Product. Very nice.
“Like these?” she asks, in almost a whisper...
I look to the Chap; he is rather shocked; his eyes widen, the pipe dangles from his lower lip, the monocle pops from his eye and he shakes his head “NO’ very quickly. I look back to the Waitress and give her a wink.

“I don’t think so, little honey” I say “But you are looking real good today”

What I have to wonder is…. did my mind have this dream worked out from the start or did I make it up as I went along? I find it difficult to believe that I could come to that conclusion without having planned it in some way that i am totally unaware of. I have to add that I have dreams like this, dreams that have foreshadowing and plot and beginning, middle, and end…. a lot.

What do ya'll think?

LUCKY DOG DAY

This post is inspired by Barbara, http://looking2live.blogspot.com/ a great lady lucky enough to be let loose in France with what seems to be a fairly well educated palate and a great group of comrades. The pictures she has sent back of various foods encountered are quite impressive. The "Haute Cuisine" from yesterday is no doubt First Rate and not wasted on she and her group. There was a picture of a plate of Osso Bucco a few days back that made the short hairs on the back of my neck stand up. While I always used Lemon Zest as a Garnish, this appeared to have 1/2 an Orange braised right in, a very robust alternative. I like it.
I can qualify all this by saying I was a Professional Chef for almost 25 years.

I found towards the last few years in the Kitchen that I excelled as the #2 Man; the “Executive Sous Chef “. At times I could be a little too edgy to be the Chef. I lacked a certain cool-headedness and tact that can benefit a manager. In other words, I was an asshole.

But I do real well when I am able to freewheel it. As Chef I tended to be too conservative in my thinking, playing everything down the middle, but was very creative as the Sous, and this allowed me to come up with hair-brained schemes,  and find the better practice most of the time.
I found it very satisfying to use my 20+ years of experience to mentor a relatively inexperienced up and coming Chef. One of the highest compliments is to have your boss tell you that you are taking care of things he never thought about when he was in your position.

At a high end city Club in Dallas, Dwight was my Chef. He was a real good guy, 3 years out of Chef School in his 1st job as Chef. He had worked with the likes of Stephen Pyle and Ken Rathburn, and another one of these celebrity type chefs that cooks and plays guitar and has lost all his knife skills.
I was his Executive Sous, his assistant.
My forte is production.
I do everyones thinking for them and make sure everything is ready ahead of time and in place for service. This requires a very thorough list and I can make a heeluva list and I know how much can be done in any given amount of time.

On the day before my day off I leave a list of what should be done when I am absent. And there were some days my list was not being completed. So I had to talk to Dwight about my list and what I expected. Told him that he had to set the pace, the more intense he was towards getting the list done the more intense the guys would be. And that I did allow for things that may come up during the day that might hamper completion. I can walk into our kitchen in the morning and have a pretty good idea about what went on the day before within about 10 minutes. I had this kind of conversation with Dwight several times and it would get better for a while, then start to slip again.

I came in one morning from my day off, took a look around, and was fairly disgusted with what I saw- not only was my list mostly incomplete but the Kitchen was in enough disarray that it could only mean business was not taken care of. It really looked like they may have had a "playday" where nothing got done. And to top it all off, centered on the Chefs desk, there was a most puzzling item- a bowl of Dried Navy Beans with the numbers 1-60 meticulously inscribed in fine felt tip marker. I wondered “What the Hell is this?”.

So the Chef comes in an hour later, and I jerk him into the office to explain, once again, what I expect from him, and to find out why my list is not complete. He tries to explain the time away, "something" came up, but I’ll have none of it. He thinks I’m being unreasonable and the issue is somewhat unresolved. In other words, I am ready to drop it in the ineterest of not going completely ballistic on his ass. I am about to leave the office and get to work when I spy the bowl of beans.
“Oh yeah. Chef, tell me what the hell is this bowl of beans on your desk with all the numbers on them?” I ask.

He gets the most sheepish look I have ever seen on a man and looks at the floor. He clears his throat and very softly says;
“Me and the guys were picking our lottery numbers yesterday.”
I slowly nod my head and look him right in the eye. Very softly I say;
"We aren't ever going to have this conversation again, are we?"

Who says I got no tact?

If anyone wonders why I am not a Chef anymore, please re-read this post!!!
Really, I do miss it so.