- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1685
Isabella, the longstanding sous-chef, name in full only because nobody knows it, she's not front line, comes in twice a week to make Tiramisu, Oso Buco, do the prep work, she should be retired but...
...she runs into a cardboard box filled with Panettone, the hallways are tight, it struck her just beneath the eye and she imagines she sees blood...
...faints, first off, thank goodness it's not a busy lunch, she's lying on the floor, can't stand the sight of blood (or mice), imagines that she saw blood, there's no blood.
But she can't stand. The salad girl, the owner, they're on to her, we give her time to recover. Take her to the bathroom, show her her reflection - no blood, sit her down in a chair, she can't speak, won't speak, imagining her afterlife as a saint...
Eventually, 3 hours later, she's fit to leave. Doesn't need an ambulance, although we offered again and again, she feels she's fit to drive.
In the evening I reenact the days events for the mirth of the night chef and comrades...
We have a new salad girl, the old one left, she can't look at me and keep a straight face. Always she laughs, this is due, I suspect, to my little merry pranks that I play on her and her helpers. Luciana, older Italian lady, bawdy sense of humour, solid helmet of dyed red hair, sneaking up behind her to pinch her large ass with a pair of chef's tongs, she's screaming "Rape" in Italian at the top of her lungs, the salad girl merely doubles over in laughter...
...or putting a mouse, dead, caught in a trap, in a little container they use for things like cheese or olives, she shakes it up then opens it, sees it dead and curled, panics...
The owner, he quizzes me on this, I explain that I left it for the salad girl, she shouldn't have been nosy, was none of her business, the owner, he understands, it's her fault, the salad girl merely doubles over in laughter every time she sees me, Luciana, she threatens me with death. I shrug it off, you can't please everyone...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1881
He's a bit fussy, this regular, owns a high end dealership that sells cars to people with more money than imagination.
Fine cars, cars that everyone stops to admire, cars that advertise you're in the midst of a midlife crisis and can afford the very best that money can buy, but you haven't had an erection in 20 years...
You know them.
Immaculately dressed. Shoes, expensive, polished, no scuffs, suit, tailored, coat, brushed, always well put together. You'd expect this if you did what he does.
He's fussy, has a regular table, never has a reservation but expects his table to be held for him regardless. If it's not, or if there are other reservations on "his side" of the restaurant, he might just walk out. Before sitting down he wipes his chair of imaginary crumbs, inspects his wine glass for water spots, he doesn't drink wine, uses it instead for sparkling or soda water, never drinks wine, I've seen him a couple of times, at his staff Christmas party, after only a couple of glasses he's out of control, it's better he doesn't.
He orders, usually something not on the menu, a few sides, he doesn't pay extra, that's how it here, if you can afford to pay you probably won't have to, if you can't, well, don't order it...
He spends nothing, is in 4 to 7 times per week. His own bill, it's small, under $30.00, for us, that's not small, that's tiny. And he's cheap, tipping 15%, really, not worth the time or effort, but sometimes he brings in customers, friends, and they spend money, tip properly, and so you gotta put up with a lot of the bad to get to the good.
By which I mean he's not tough to serve, not a "bad" guy, but he always gets what he wants, and it's easy to be the good guy when your getting your way. The test is when you're not getting what you want, how you respond in the face of adversity, he doesn't do so well there...
He's bought an elk off of some Indians he knows, dropped it off at the restaurant, the owner offered to "help him" clean and quarter it but then the car dealer, he got sick, squeamish, couldn't deal with it, and so the owner cleaned the meat up himself and put it in the freezer and told C**** that he could pick it up anytime. He knew he was being fucked but he just wanted the meat out of his freezer...
It hasn't left the freezer. When he came in the next time he started ordering his Elk in a variety of ways, ground up in hamburgers, as scallopine in various sauces, the owner doesn't like this, it's a pain, the first time he charged him $18.00 for the service. The sauces, the sides of gnocci, vegetables and pasta that accompanied it, C**** queries me on it, "You know it's my Elk?" he asks me, "Does (*the owner) know?" and I tell him yes, he pays, grudgingly, but continues to order it.
He brings in guests, orders his Elk by saying "Tell (*the owner) I want my special Veal", excessive nodding and winking, his guests ask "What's that?" and "I''ll have what he's having" and comedy ensues. C**** doesn't like sharing, it's his Elk, and you see within this small selfishness a real impoverishment of spirit and imagination.
Every day, as he's leaving the owner tells him to take the rest of the Elk, bids the Nephew to carry it out to the car for him, it's cleaned, ready, the owner wants it gone, C**** makes excuses, he's driving a nice car, doesn't want it on the seats, he has a meeting, he faints at the sight of raw meat...
A busy night before Christmas. It's busy, C**** comes in with a couple of the restaurants regular demons, all special orders, C**** his "Special Veal", his buddy, 2 different dishes in varying portions combined as one, his buddy's girlfriend, an old school chef's salad with boiled egg and chicken and bacon and all the fixings...
...they hear the singing in the back, who can't? The owner is letting loose, opinions are being screamed at full volume, they sit hushed and quiet, they know they've taken it a bit far...
...afterwards, time to pay, leave, C**** approaches the owner "I'll pick up my Elk now..." and the owner, still busy, screams at him, another time, he's too busy now, and the sly bastard, he's still got the Elk in the restaurant freezer and is still ordering his special Veal...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1952
...That's what the nephew calls him, regular customer, older, maybe 70. Used to come in a few years ago with his Oxygen tank, would overhear him discussing his forthcoming lung transplant, hard to find suitable donors, and his friend was suggesting all the third world countries where you buy a new set of lungs, no questions asked, India, China, other places, but the Highlander, he's fussy, gotta be the right size and fresh and all...
He's still around, in once or twice a week, he's gotten his new lungs but the cancer's spread, he's got skin grafts and bandages all over his body, his face, bandages, obvious scars where he's had tumors removed, it's not just lungs, he's now a composite of no less than a dozen people, he's ignoring all clear signals that it's time to depart, he's got some unfinished business and so the doctors keep swapping out parts and adding new grafts, the nephew's convinced, despite his dire appearance, that he's going to live forever...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1677
And in my absence, covering my departure, a variety of new servers. One younger, pretty, the nephew hired her hoping to throw a leg over but she's resisted him so far, perhaps her undoing, she's not a good server and without his patronage she'll probably get let go. The other 2, both older, my age-ish, one, a pleasant English lady with a substantial edge, not really fine dining, but a good worker - when she comes in, she's had a variety of issues, emergencies, family, personal, in just the first three weeks I was back she missed 5 shifts, last minute call-ins, there's something up, a junkie or an off-the rails alcoholic, the owner, he's begun to hate her, no one is sick there, no one, ever, and she's pulled off 6 days already in the busiest season of the year...and she breaks things, lots of things, glasses, plates, it gets worse as the day wears on, she needs to feed the demon...walking into the dining room with a couple of desserts, she stumbles, they fly onto the carpet, "Just put some more whipping cream on, they'll never know..." I yell loudly, the customers laugh nervously...
...and finally there's T***. T*** Baloney, career waiter around Calgary and the neighboring mountain villages, he knows everyone, maybe only a single degree of separation from any of our customers, he and the new waitress, they recall the golden days of serving in Calgary together, many a shared acquaintance or friend. But there's something up there as well, his hair, long, grey, slicked back to reveal a pronounced widows peak, blue eyes, goatee, he looks for all the world like a bad hypnotist in a worse nightclub, he's always asking about tips, the tip outs, this isn't going to wash, while I'm happy to divide things equally the nephew won't be so easygoing, I know. And he's a talker, no sooner than he discovers the degree of separation from the customer than he stands there conversing for an hour about his experiences at this restaurant or the other, prides himself on almost being a sommelier and when customers ask about a wine he goes into long discourses about "fruit forward or tanning forward? what year were you thinking?..."and a simple question becomes an opportunity to showcase his knowledge and one-up the customer.
Neither of them will last, but it's not my problem. A slower night, the nephew's taken a couple of extra days off while his uncle is on vacation, when he's back I try to grab the early departure, started at 10:00 AM, it's 9:00 PM now, maybe I can go..."NO way buddy, in a week you'll be gone and I'll get no days off...". He's hunched over his cellphone, reading the internet, facebook, texting, both similar and the complete opposite of Rodin's "The Thinker", Calgary's own equivalent, "The Idiot". So I suggest letting the others go, we've only a single table after all, and he dismisses this as well, we're all on the same salary, we can all hang out bored together...
He's made his bed...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1786
...December and we get a visit from M***, brother of J****, the nephew's x-roomate. M*** and his Fiance, M***, major partier and junkie, but he's looking good, well dressed, he's lost a lot of weight, complexion is clear, he's sporting a giant bright gold pendant, Chinese in style, "24 Karat Gold" he tells us as we admire it, it's inset with tiny gems and is cut to give the maximum flash, he's got on a large gold bracelet and ring as well, and as we notice he tells us "24 Karat Gold" without being prompted.
It's his reward to himself, he's been up on the farm in Northern Saskatchewan, 4 months, no booze or cigarettes, "I'm clean" he tells us, this bling is all to celebrate his conquering of his demons. It's hilarious, for me, alcohol and cigarettes, they're a problem, a vice for sure, for him they're a bloody virtue, but I know what he means. This was the guy that a couple of Thanksgiving's ago at J****'s place fucked the turkey in the middle of the dining room, and carried on long after anyone found it funny...the nephew still tells the story, one of many in his repertoire of stories about M***.
I notice his watch, nice, Rolex submariner, stainless steel, this sets him off, he tries to persuade me that it's an investment, shows me graphs on his phone as to how they've kept their value over the years, I hum and haw, I'm not so convinced, but if he likes it that's all that matters...
Talk, politely, of other things, he figures he's going to hang in Calgary for a few months, 'til the end of winter, asks about the cost of hosting his wedding, brings the conversation around to the subject of his watch again, he's merely swapped addictions, constantly rewarding himself with the most expensive and outrageous jewelry he can find, the arguments over investment, their his excuse. He's doomed, the nephew and I know it, there's no chance of him staying clean in Calgary, all of his friends, family, they're all partiers, junkies, addicts, his only hope is to get back to Saskatchewan, tonight...
***
He's in again, a couple of weeks later, he's not holding it together, he's sketchy as all out, we can all recognize it, the nephew guesses Oxycontin, he's come in for the sole purpose of arguing the value of Rolex Submariners his fiance tells me, he's got more graphs, wants to debate the relative value of investments, Rolex Submariner vs Real Estate, Gold, other investments, it's funny and I don't want to wind him up, try and let it slide, he's eating risotto with his fingers and wiping them on the tablecloth, he's not wearing his bling, his 24K Clean out the window, this restaurant, we just cater to a better class of addicts...