Monday, August 25. 2008
From a non server to other non servers
When Erik and I hatched the plan to cook through out the state at different wineries, I failed to realize that I had to serve people their meal.
Over the summer I have learned the intricacies of existing on the other side of the apron. Here's how the last dinner went.
20 people are seated. 7 of them, all women, belong to the same party. All 7 women are under the impression that they are the super special center of the universe.
Course One:
Caprese Salad with Farmer's Market Greens andFeta
A member of the super fabulous 7 reads the menu and asks where the feta is on the salad. We decided against the feta and I tell her so. Not to be deterred from her feta, she leaves her chair, prances up to me and asks for a side of feta in a practiced child voice. As if saying something in a high pitch will make her less demanding. I tell her we don't have any feta, we left it behind. She pouts and wants salt and pepper.
Who knew feta, or lack there of would inspire so much distain?
Each course is paired with a wine. At the end of course one, another of the fab 7 (or was it 8?) asks for more wine. I tell her that the next course is coming and she'll get another taste of wine at that point. She and her friends are incredulous.
Somehow, I need these women to chill out without dropping muscle relaxant in their water or bopping them in the head with a seal club.
Course Two:
Zucchini Fritters with Babaganouj.
I ask the girls how they are enjoying things. They sneer, say things are fine and then return to their conversation about wanting to go to Honduras. As if Honduras has feta.
I did nearly knock them in the head and make them move their glasses when I land the fritters. Eye rolling ensued.
Other members of the table are perfectly delightful. I have a nice conversation with a couple of women at the end of the table who are genuinely delightful. One of whom is the pastry chef at Crow and Betty in Seattle.
Course Three:
Steak with Corn Succotash and Farro
As we are plating up, a question about plating comes up. A normal, easy question becomes more difficult with the fact that the Valkyrie of the Banal are squirming behind me. I've officially become the bitch waitress and I embrace the role with all of my soul.
While cleaning and doing dishes in the back, Erik comes and finds me and gives me a glass of SB.
Things get better after that.
Course Four:
Fruit Crostada
I don't care anymore. One of the pouting women (Gorgons have more charm) asks what the dessert is. I tell her. She corrects me, it's not peach, it's nectarine.
I still don't know what her question was.
The meal ended. Erik gave a beautiful speech. I cleaned up. We left.
In the end, I think I will either have to get much better at serving people food or people are going to have to wear helmets at the table.
Over the summer I have learned the intricacies of existing on the other side of the apron. Here's how the last dinner went.
20 people are seated. 7 of them, all women, belong to the same party. All 7 women are under the impression that they are the super special center of the universe.
Course One:
Caprese Salad with Farmer's Market Greens and
A member of the super fabulous 7 reads the menu and asks where the feta is on the salad. We decided against the feta and I tell her so. Not to be deterred from her feta, she leaves her chair, prances up to me and asks for a side of feta in a practiced child voice. As if saying something in a high pitch will make her less demanding. I tell her we don't have any feta, we left it behind. She pouts and wants salt and pepper.
Who knew feta, or lack there of would inspire so much distain?
Each course is paired with a wine. At the end of course one, another of the fab 7 (or was it 8?) asks for more wine. I tell her that the next course is coming and she'll get another taste of wine at that point. She and her friends are incredulous.
Somehow, I need these women to chill out without dropping muscle relaxant in their water or bopping them in the head with a seal club.
Course Two:
Zucchini Fritters with Babaganouj.
I ask the girls how they are enjoying things. They sneer, say things are fine and then return to their conversation about wanting to go to Honduras. As if Honduras has feta.
I did nearly knock them in the head and make them move their glasses when I land the fritters. Eye rolling ensued.
Other members of the table are perfectly delightful. I have a nice conversation with a couple of women at the end of the table who are genuinely delightful. One of whom is the pastry chef at Crow and Betty in Seattle.
Course Three:
Steak with Corn Succotash and Farro
As we are plating up, a question about plating comes up. A normal, easy question becomes more difficult with the fact that the Valkyrie of the Banal are squirming behind me. I've officially become the bitch waitress and I embrace the role with all of my soul.
While cleaning and doing dishes in the back, Erik comes and finds me and gives me a glass of SB.
Things get better after that.
Course Four:
Fruit Crostada
I don't care anymore. One of the pouting women (Gorgons have more charm) asks what the dessert is. I tell her. She corrects me, it's not peach, it's nectarine.
I still don't know what her question was.
The meal ended. Erik gave a beautiful speech. I cleaned up. We left.
In the end, I think I will either have to get much better at serving people food or people are going to have to wear helmets at the table.
Made me do a spit take. Now I have to figure out how to remove red wine stains.
...To the Google!!!!