“Service, please.”
The two waiters standing in front of the order counter picked up their respective serving trays and went into the sea of dining tables and hungry patrons. I took a brief moment to catch my breath and wipe the few drips of sweat from my forehead.
“Christ,” I mumbled, “We’re really in the shits today.”
In the middle of my few seconds of peace, another waiter approached the counter and handed me two more ticket orders. Undoing the top button of my chef jacket to let some air out, I faced the kitchen and read out the orders to my staff.
“New orders in, listen up.”
Every person kept at their stations, cooking orders and preparing the dozens of incoming meals, as I read off the tickets. It was lively both inside and out the kitchen, everybody on their toes and working like a well-oiled machine. Dishes were leaving the kitchen at a rapid pace, compliments from satisfied customers came back in droves, and everything had a whiff of delicious food. This was the peak performance of my crew.
But tonight was a different story.
Wellington coming up behind you, Chef!”
I heard the metal cling of a dish hitting the hot plate. I looked over and grabbed the wellington, cutting it open to make sure it’s the right temperature.
“It’s fucking raw!”
I picked up the wellington and went into the kitchen, shouting for everybody to stop and come over to me. I slam the wellington on the table and tell them to touch it, all of them coming to a fast agreement that it was indeed raw.
“If one more raw dish comes up to me, I’m kicking all of your sorry-asses out.”
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Copyright © 2021 by Luka Tatsujo
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