It is a sad truth that I no longer work in the food industry. Often I miss it, but then i remember I actually make enough to eat the food I once sold, so my inner spoiled brat allows me to forget how asinine my job is for a little while longer.
My job asked me, and a host of other people to work new years day. “we’re going to cater the event, I’m pulling out all the stops to make you guys happy–I know no one wants to work on New Years Day.”
That much, sir, is true.
“I’ve asked J to cater, she has worked at some fine restaurants and will make us all very happy.”
that much, sir, is not.
Our catering, which cost us $500, consisted of food that very well may have come straight from safeway–badly fried chicken bits, iceberg lettuce mix store bought dressing disguised as home-made (the tip off? it never separated.) Some kind of ghastly beef in a hot plate, a piece of smoked salmon that still smells like the shrink wrap it came in, and berry crap. All of this in quantities befitting the number of people to be served (15)
it sits in the break room, 1/10th consumed.
fuck you, caterer. you’re a fraud.
damnit, i’m fucking hungry too.
On saturday a few weeks past, I was 1 in a crew of 4 catering a wedding in Estacada on a commune. The bride was a hippie, the groom Indian. While we were there to do dinner service on the first day, they planned to parlay that into a three day hippie psycho-trance fest (the groom is apparently the ‘it’ DJ in the Portland house party scene). So imagine, if you will, the extended family of two very hip people trying to keep up with their very hip friends. Extended family is never hip; in this case we had some good ol boys drinking coors out of plastic bottles vs. Sari-laden extended family from the groom’s ancestral home.
Anywhoo, the worst part of the job was that the kitchen and the serving area were about 200 meters apart. lots of running. in clogs. with hotel pans full of food. On one of these jaunts, with a platter full of vegan-carrot-wedding-cake, one of the hip ‘friends,’ who was obviously about 25-40 minutes into her roll, attempted to take me down. I wasn’t having any of that, no sirree, i wasn’t going down. It was a scene out of a bad sports commercial–i stiff armed her and spun deftly to my left and just barely avoided a crippling bear hug (with a 24″ silver platter on my palm, mind you).
“You are SO amazing!!! your food is SO amazing!!!! I love you!!!!”
My apron flaired out and added dramatic effect, as did the glow sticks that had been attached to me by a very adorable 6 y.o. pair of fraternal twins while I explained to their mother that all the food was vegan, then listened to her rave about how much good Karma we were bestowing upon the young couple. all very weird. this was 3 hours into service, which was…13 hours into my day. (i ended up on my feet for about 20 hours.)