#2 We Have Way too Much Fun (don’t tell anyone)

 

All the hype these days in print and on reality tv etc. make us kitchen help seem like a hardcore military band of brothers. We love to wax on about how hard we work yada yada but truth be told…..we screw around……a lot. Don’t tell the GM! There is a lot of down time between shifts and even during when you get those lulls in business. And those lovely sleeper evenings when all we do is stand around and talk. We tell each other everything. We talk about growing up–the prefered method of punishment doled out by our parents, childhood injury stories, first love stories, fight stories. We make up nicknames for each other. I remember “fucker boy” who just said fuck repeatedly when he got busy, “the goo master” who put butter in or on everything, “pluma negra” the black feather “quite a dancer” who terrified another young cook who woke up from a drunk to find a horny pluma doing an almost lap dance for him. Scary. There’s Chato (flat faced like a bulldog), Cookies, Torta, Primo (lots of those) and on and on.

We heat up pans and plates to burn each other and others and we think its funny. We do things with dough–bean it at each other or throw it up in corners. Some dick heads even pull the fire alarm for a chuckle. Cartoon names are bestowed on unsuspecting members of the front of the house. Miguel is very accurate. There are eating contests–think the record is ten chicken breasts and ten slices of bacon stacked in a sandwich. Really sick. We hit each other in various ways with towels, bread, utensils etc. Anything to relieve the boredom and make each other laugh.

When you get to know all these little things about each other you use them mercilessly. For instance when a guy is down you can remind him of the dance he went to when he was 12 and he cut a rug “just like Michael Jackson”. You demonstrate a retarded moonwalk, imitate getting the girl (with another unsuspecting cook) and deliver the faux kiss he says he “will never forget”. Or the guy who told you about a girl puking on him during a blow job–when he’s pissed he gets the universal blow job sign–hand to mouth, tounge to cheek. This brings good cheer and more hoots. Things can get real dirty too. Sick actually, but we’ll keep that in the kitchen where it belongs.  Fantasy is a common tool used to survive a shift. Your dream house, your dream lay, your dream life….all babbled about between tickets.

Trouble finds me

Music is a big part of the day too. Some guys play their own tunes on their phones in their pockets–pantry will be Neal Young, sauté: Pitbull, middle: Neal Dimond “Sweet Caroline da da da DA…good times never seemed so good”, broiler: nothing but weird smiles, prep kitchen: could be anything–Molotov-CHINGA TU MADRE or Lady GaGa all freaking day. Or it could be salsa, classical, Joss Stone, Henry Rollins–ya just never know who will hook up their iPod.

And then there is food. There are food battles. Who can make the best soup, the best stock, the best burger, the best jambalaya. We are always thinking about food. What we will eat next is the all important question. When we are not busy, we eat A LOT!! We create new dishes together and that is the most fun because you get to be part of something magic. Something totally new. Something delicious. That’s the best.

You get the picture. We work hard most of the time. We play hard the rest of it. And sometimes we just sit on empty dish racks and eat ice cream 🙂

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~ by abmccune on June 6, 2010.

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