L'Enfant Terrible

I woke up with a start.
Jeez, bad dream, wow.
I looked over, and Will was sleeping soundly. It was three thirty am.
"Oh, good, I have another hour to sleep."
But what a dream:
I am standing in the kitchen, and there is no one around. I cant find the chef or the sous chefs or the other cooks, and there is a line a mile long of people demanding food that I dont know how to make, things I have never heard of. And all I know is that I must do it, while these people yell and scream and demand things in a language that I dont really understand. I have no choice but to keep working as furiously as possible, trying to keep my head above water. But there is more and more work, and I cant seem to get a handle on all of it, and I am drowning....
And that's when I wake up.


Today I arrived at work to find Francine back. If you recall, a couple of months ago I blogged about a woman who was totally taking advantage of me. Making me do her work and not telling anyone that I was carrying her load.
Well, four weeks ago today, I was moved to the breakfast buffet to work with her, this woman named Francine. She is older than me, about 35 or 36 and thinks she is the boss of the world.
I worked with her for one day a month ago, and the next day, she didnt show up at all.
Nor has she shown up for four weeks, claiming that she was ill.
Today is when her vacation and sick pay ran out, and so she came back to work.
She wouldnt talk to anyone though, and was pretty pissy all around.
She arrived at 5:30am, like the rest of us, and went to working on the hot line. I did too on the cold buffet. Marc, another cook and a good friend, was helping Francine on the hot line, until we discovered that the person who is supposed to cook for the employee kitchen wasnt able to get to work today because of the ongoing train strike, so Marc was moved to the employee kitchen. Francine would do hot line and I would do cold, and that would be that.
About an hour after showing up, Francine decided to take a break... for a half hour. She just sat in the lounge, sipping her coffee and looking aloof.
Later she came back and peeled some tomatoes, and that was too much to handle, so she took another break.
That was fine though, as the morning was a little slow.
Marc came back for a while, as things for the cafeteria were prepped and helped on the hotline, so Francine took another break while things picked up in the restaurant.
All the while, I am scurrying back and forth, cutting salmon, making jams, slicing fruit, bla bla bla.
Marc took his leave of us to get to work on the cafeteria, and I was alone for a minute. No problem.
Then a Korean man asked for an omelett. I told him that I would get the chef, if I could just find Francine. Not in the lounge... Not in the Lady's.... Not in the kitchen...
Then one of the sous chefs came running up to me: "Mark, Francine just took off. She walked out and got in her car and is gone. You are alone in Apollo. Call me if you need anything." And he left, to do what, I dont know.
All I knew was that I was left alone to do three people's jobs.
That's when the Koreans came down for breakfast, and you know how that is.
I dont know how to make Kim Chee or Korean breakfast noodles or sticky rice.

At the same time I am cutting salmon or preping cheese or bringing out fresh croissants, chocolate croissants, baguettes, sandwhich bread and jams, fresh fruit, turkey, tomatoes, butter, mousse, yogurt, etc., I am also making French toast, pancakes, waffles, bacon, fried potatoes, baked tomatoes, sausage, and scrambled eggs, not to mention attending to a line of people who can order whatever they choose.
It was a catastrophe waiting to happen.
And when I saw that line of people ambling towards me, clean, empty plates in hand, that's when I remembered my dream.
And that is what made me think of Joseph Conrad. He wrote Heart of Darkness, 'member? "The horror... the horror..." The horror indeed, there, Joe.
Anyway, he has this quote that suddenly made perfect sense to me:
"We live, as we dream: alone."
Being in an area of the kitchen that I am not trained on, with no help, swamped, while everyone is expecting me to hold the line, and while a line of hungry customers is waiting for me to fill the orders, that scares the shit out of me.
And I thought, "So, I'm scarred. So the f@!* what"
and I went to work.
I dont really know how to describe being, as the French say, dans le merde (in the shit). If you have ever waited tables or worked in the stock exchange, you get it.
You dont think, you percieve and act. It is action without thought; motion without propulsion. Your eyes never stop moving, and your mind is ten steps ahead of your hands. Time passes super quickly, and you arent even aware of it.
It is really zen, and it was this state that I quickly fell into.
At the same time I was slicing salmon or making jam or bringing out fresh croissants and bread and fruit and mousse, I was making pancakes, French toast, poaching eggs, etc.
The hot line consists of bacon, sausage, sauteed mushrooms, baked tomatoes, fried potatoes, hard and soft boiled eggs, rice, silver dollar pancakes, French toast, waffles and eggs anyway you want them.
I did it all at the same time I was doing I was putting out the cold buffet.
Here is your omellet, Madame. Bon Appetit, Monsieur!
It was service with a smile, and I meant it.
If you have read the blog recently, you know I am no fan of our Korean guests, but when that line formed and they demanded, "Me want omelett yes," I found that before I could grimace and judge them, I was asking, "French or American style, Monsieur?" And I meant it.
My mind whirred; my hands flew. And you know what? Not a cut, not a burn, not a freaking scratch.
I sliced fermented cabbage in spiced sauce: voila- kim chee.
I boiled down stock, seasoned it and added salt dried noodles. Presto! Korean breakfast noodles.
I over watered rice and let it dry, so the extra water would make the starch bind it all together. Sticky rice.
It was my biggest fear: coming here, being overwhelmed, not speaking enough of the language, not knowing what to do or how to do it, and everyone watching me fail.
I even dream about that fear.
Today it showed up on my doorstep.
Something I have learned here: when those dark places show up, when the merde really hits the fan, usually I make a joke or run for help or complain before tentatively stepping out to take it on, or at least, I close my eyes and wait for it to be over.
I am not ashamed to admit it.
But not today, and not anymore.
In the end, I worked cold buffet, hot line, the restaurant crowd and room service. When it was over, I went to help Marc in the employee kitchen. When he found out that Francine had just taken off and left me alone, I got an extra big, "Oh, la la, la la!" (They throw in two extra 'la's if they really mean it).
Later, as I was walking to the lounge for a much needed break, I passed the kitchen where I had been working this morning. It was spotless. I had cleaned that thing from top to bottom, neck to nuts, and left it better than I had found it. Freaking spotless, y'all.
Today, for the first time, I was a Chef.
I dont know if Francine will be back tomorrow or if I will have help or what, but today?
Today I kicked ass.
Consider the house rocked.
Can I get an Amen?