Table for One, Party of Many
Working in a restaurant is stressful. Let’s face it, where else does a customer go and expect a plate of food to be in front of them in no more than fifteen minutes. If you are getting your tires rotated or seeing the doctor, you are prepared for the hour-long wait time.
The people that work in a restaurant must work together. Teamwork is paramount. Job sabotage that you read when scrolling does not occur in the restaurant industry (unless it is directed towards a patron).
The people I work with in the business are my family. We tell each other our secrets, our goals and our dreams over dicing, slicing and sautéing. We spend hours together; each ticket is a new experience. Someone wants to substitute, someone else has dietary restrictions and then there is always the person with allergies that comes in at the peak of service.
We laughingly (usually) accommodate the patrons, wanting their dining experience to be a good memory. But more importantly, we communicate with each other. Sometimes the stress boils over into profanity at the idiotic request, but we still make it as perfect as we would want it.
The cooking shows focus on the expediter (the final approval before the dish goes to the patron) but there is so much work involved before the dish hits the counter for final approbation.
The team knows what it takes, and everyone works towards the common goal, making service go smoothly. Multitasking is a must, and keeping orders in your head as the tickets are punched in keeps us all from getting in the weeds.
If a steak plate goes with a fish plate, the grill station and the sauté station must communicate. A piece of fish will dry out quickly under the heat lamp. Food placed on a hot plate continues cooking, so the timing must be exact. The server wants both dishes ready at the same time, and their tips depend upon us doing everything right.
We achieve this using kitchen slang, “2 minutes on beef” or “risotto coming up”. The other person or people working on the same order repeat the phrase to show it has been heard and acknowledged.
When service is done, the cleanup and prep for the next day behind us, we always give each other praise and high fives-much like a football team. The camaraderie comes with the job, and I would not trade it for anything. These people working in high heat, hot oils and sharp knives are my family. If I ever needed someone to bail me out of a predicament in the middle of the night, these are the people I would call. I can rely on them, as they can rely on me.
Now that I am retired, it has been pointed out to me that I tend to talk too loudly. I also yell “behind” when I walk by my sibling in the kitchen. Some habits are so ingrained they will never die.
My birth family accept my idiosyncrasies, but I still miss my restaurant family and the high fives at the end of a Saturday night.