Saturday, October 30, 2010

Best Wishes, Val

I said goodbye to one of my favorite co-workers (and regular Buffalo-Chicken-Moments reader) today. Val, a fantastic prep and line cook is moving on to new and exciting opportunities and I really wish her the best. She made my rare vacations or midweek days off possible and I always knew that I would return with the line in good shape. Her humor, work-ethic and calm will certainly be missed. Thanks for all you've done for me, Val and good luck with the next step!

I'm Begging You... Stop the Squawking!

Remember the 1995 Castle Rock Entertainment romantic comedy Forget Paris, starring Billy Crystal and Debra Winger? I'm a fan of both actors and many of the pro basketball players that made cameos but I'm the first to admit that this isn't exactly Casablanca. There is, however, one character that enters my mind every day I work at the CONFIDENTIALITY CLAUSE Cafe... Winger's senile father-in-law played by the outstanding character-actor William Hickey. In a complain sequence, Crystal bemoans his father-in-law's irritating habit of reading aloud every sign that he encounters. Here's a clip:



You are probably asking yourself, "What on earth does this have to do with food or the line cook experience?" Allow me to introduce you to the latest cafe character:

The Parrot - Unlike its portrayal in popular media, the cafe parrot is neither amusing nor lovable, and it's reasonable to question its overall intelligence. This creature insists on reading every item on every menu, to oneself or one's entire party. Sometimes this is a mother or father reading to a child but, more often than not, this is one half of a middle-aged couple that is just way too excited to be in a cafe, on the one hand, and questions their partner's ability to read, on the other. Whatever the reason, I can say that the endless drone of this customer's voice is enough to make me want to leap across the line and deck the person like Lawrence Taylor after a QB.

Adding insult to injury (to my patience), the parrot is far more likely read the entire menu item name and description upon ordering. This isn't really a big deal outside my growing irritation of having heard our menu transformed into a treatise about why I should hate people. Let me break it down: I know what the entree is... and the quesadilla, the soups, the special appetizer, you get the idea. And I want orders placed as quickly as possible. Rather than repeat every world encountered and then spell out the entire dish, give me a simple "Entree please" and let me get my cook on. Don't make me listen to all of the entree components like I'm learning new and secret information. I got it. I'm not a dufus. And here's the thing... neither is the person with you. Channel this enthusiasm into a nice quiet hobby, like knitting or underwater basket weaving.

Friday, October 29, 2010

Dear Jebus, It's Just Not that Complicated!

 Picking up with my theme from Monday, I will continue to share the most common characters that enter the cafe. Like great literature or film, my day-to-day life at the CONFIDENTIALITY CLAUSE Cafe is made of up about 10 types of people that find old and rarely unique ways to make me regret all of my life decisions leading up to this point. We've already met the field mouse and the rat, so let's move on to the next two animals:

The Ostrich - Most commonly a man (although I use the term lightly), the ostrich appears incapable of making simple decisions on his (or rarely her) own. The cafe caters (pun intended) to a broad clientele but we do have more than our fair share of couples or varying ages or families. Children under the age of 12 are my easiest customers - often polite, sometimes sweet, always absolutely sure of what they want to eat and commonly confident enough to place their orders. Men, especially when traveling with a partner, are the opposite. Too frequently I ask my regular follow-up questions ("Would you like cheese?" "chips or salad?" "small or large?") only to receive a blank stare, followed by a look of panic and then the inevitable turn to the mate and the question, "Dear?" Common foods for the ostrich are the hamburger, a side order of french fries or whatever his mate tells him to order.

The Vulture - The vulture may sound like a terrifying creature, strong and swift, maliciously feasting on the decaying remains of any vulnerable creature in sight, but the cafe vulture is more pitiable and less disgusting. First of all, the vulture is neither neither strong nor malicious... he or she is just naive, lazy, uninformed or downright stupid. And the vulture doesn't pray on decaying remains, no no. Rather, the vulture feasts on someone else's tasty meal with a healthy dose of my patience on the side. You see, I've come to realize that most people don't know anything about food - the food they order or the food they eat. The vulture is a person that waits in line, places an order, and then takes the first plate of food sent their direction regardless of what's on the plate. Here are a few examples:

  • This week, I called out an order for and placed on the counter a cup of soup while finishing the previous customer's shrimp quesadilla. This is pretty simple. A cup of soup takes no time for me to serve while a quesadilla requires approximately 4 minutes of prep and cook time. In case there is any confusion, a cup of soup (in a to-go container) looks like this:


And a quesadilla looks like this:
When I finished the quesadilla and called out the order, placing the plate on the counter, I looked around and couldn't find the customer. Meanwhile, there was an impatient customer glaring at me. I asked what she was waiting for and she replied, "My large cup of vegetable soup." What happened? Well, my quesadilla customer either forgot his order or is so amazingly stupid that he doesn't know the difference between a cup of soup and a quesadilla. The answer to this age-old question matters not. This was just another example of a vulture swooping in and feasting on another person's food and, not least important, my patience and that of the irritated customer.

** For anyone wondering about the title, Jebus is a reference from one of the funniest Simpsons episodes that I have ever seen.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Let it Rain

After a day like yesterday, frustrating for so many reasons I can't number (but will attempt later this afternoon), I am thrilled to see a rainy day. Nothing keeps the most potentially awful customers away like some drizzle so keep fingers crossed that I can have a "get-well" day. If not, Wednesdays are often among the most packed with Buffalo-Chicken Moments so check back this evening.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

What's the Quesadillio with Dumbass Tortilla Mispronunciation?

This post has been a long time coming; in fact, the subject was part of the inspiration for this blog. After the lunch service that I experienced today, I could wait no longer. I have to ask: what is the quesadillio with my customers' inability to pronounce "quesadilla"?

For longtime readers of this still-young blog, you might remember a story that I shared about a customer  ordering a quesadillio. No, this customer was not P Diddy. It was an elderly woman who struggled to answer her friends' question about her order.

Customer: "I ordered a quesadiller... quesadill... quesa... I ordered a quesadillio!"

Remember this story? It's etched on my brain. But I won't be presumptuous. As a courtesy and to make sure we're on the same page, please observe the diacritical pronunciation and definition of the word quesadilla:

quesadilla |ˌkāsəˈdēyə
tortilla filled with cheese and heated.

Are we good so far? Fantastic! Before we move on, a confession. My Spanish language skills are abysmal, almost comical to hear in person. Some of my native Spanish-speaking coworkers are kind and patient enough with me to speak the language and try to teach me words, even sentences. Patient is the key word here because I am just so embarrassingly awful, especially considering I enrolled in classes from middle school through my first year of high school. That said, I have successfully ordered this cheesy treat since my tenth birthday. What was my secret, you might ask? Language lessons? Infused with a secret knowledge by aliens? Simple... I watched my first Taco Bell commercial. And I've been set ever since.

Unfortunately, it seems that an entire population of cafe visitors has never dined at or seen a commercial advertising my favorite fast food restaurant. What a shame, too! Does anyone else miss the chihuahua commercials? Me neither. But the food is very tasty and the commercials provide a valuable public service. Bronx and Westchester (mostly Westchester) counties are missing out.

It comes down to this. Quesadilla is not a new word. It's been around the good old US of A for a long time now. The concept shouldn't be new either. But, for my customers, it is. Some could not identify a  tortilla in a police lineup. And many have to ask me if it is a hot or cold sandwich. Dear lord, it never ends! Here are some of the bizarre pronunciations (with the diacritical pronunciation marks) that I have encountered since it was added to the menu last fall:
  • Quesadilla (kāsə dilə)
By far the most common, I used to have a horrible attitude about this one but now I respect it a bit more. At least customers are trying to pronounce the word phonetically, which is more than I can say for most of these verbal disasters.
  • Quesadillio (kāsəˈdil ēy ō)
I've already talked about this one. It makes me shake my head and want to cry.
  • Quesadiller (kāsə dilər
Really? Because it's not even close. Where's the "R? and what's with the soft "D"?
  • Quesado (kasad ō)
Go back and look at the actual word and then look again at this monstrosity. How many letters need to be removed and/or changed to get from Quesadilla to Quesado. I don't know if this is laziness, foolishness, or both. Your idea is as good as mine.
  • Quesadilia (kāsəˈdil ēy ə)
Very close to Quesadilio but not quite as funny because I can't make my standard P Diddy joke. The customer has to shorten an "L" and add a dot to get from the real to the mistake. Seems like a lot of effort.
  • Quesadiwa (kāsə dēwä)
Again, I shake my head. My best guess is that this customer is way too big of a fan of the priest from Princess Bride and purposely finds the letter "W" in every word (check out this link if you don't get the movie reference: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sbqv3MwwVd8).


I heard four of these gaffes today alone. And yes, I did have fantasies of bludgeoning these people with whole wheat baguettes until they got the word right. Oh, a cook can dream...

But let's not stop there. I am compelled to share the most ridiculously culturally narrow-minded comment I have ever heard about a quesadilla. Four well-dressed, guessing mid-fifties women stepped on the line and, after perusing the menu, one said to the other, "Oh look, Mary. Quesadillas! They have ethnic food here!"

Even sadder than the comment? Even that woman got the word right.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Lights are Off... Go Home, Damn It!

A cafe, like any job, serves up its fair share of characters and ours is no different. Over the next week, I'm going to introduce a few of the most common characters, starting with two of my least favorite rodents, the field mouse and the rat.



The Field Mouse - Not a single day passes without at least one encounter with a few field mice, customers that try to enter the cafe after we've closed, seeking refuge from the cold, food-less world outside. Sometimes a single person looking for a late afternoon coffee but more often a family looking to fuel up before getting into the car to return home, the field mouse is never deterred by our locked door. In fact, these customers try ever door (including the exits) and, if still unsuccessful, will search for a side door that might remain unlocked while the utility team cleans inside and out. They pull on the doors and press their faces against the glass. Some wait until someone from the staff (occasionally me) approaches to shoo them away, always asking with a voice full of surprise, "Are you closed?"

Hmmm, I often think to myself. We shut off the lights, working in darkness in hopes of avoiding these types of distractions. Every door is locked, there is no food in sight. Sure, we're open. Come on in! Or not! It's not dignified, begging for scraps. Just get back in your car and cook for yourself or your family. That's what I do - it's rewarding, character building, cheaper. In short, get your tail away from the cafe so this cat can get home.

The Rat - Like the field mouse, a rat is a customer that tries to get into the cafe after closing. But the rat is far more devious and resourceful. Somehow successful in gaining entry to the darkened cafe, the rat quickly scours for food, sometimes removing items from speed racks or the sandwich/salad display area, maybe filling a cup with soda from the fountain while artfully dodging our staff. The rat plays naive with cashiers, expressing surprise that the cafe is closed and confusion as to the meaning of "closed register." And then, the rat tries to rationalize the merits of receiving her or his items for free, to free us of any further inconvenience. Oh, how considerate. Let me thank you by picking up a can of Raid.

We have a couple regular rats that have even gone so far as to lie to our managers about staff involvement in their raids, sometimes even complaints about our poor customer service. Of course, the managers are savvy enough to have security on speed dial. Really, a cafe should never be a target for a small-time Westchester grifter. Just come during business hours, buy your food, and ponder your next investment banking scheme to secure your riches. Leave me and my hourly alone.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

This Week's Top 5 Most Irritating Customer Comments

I'm back from a week-long hiatus to share five exchanges that got under my grill during the week. Unfortunately, these questions and comments are pretty routine. Here they are in all of their non-existent glory.

5. "So, what's good today?" Okay, I pride myself on honesty, especially with my regulars. And no cook is perfect despite best intentions and sometimes we swing and miss (outside of a Keller establishment, of course). But this question just bugs me. Of course, as a customer service professional and face of the cafe, my response is always "Everything" followed by a long roll of the eyes that I hope the customer sees. No cook appreciates the presumption that some of the food is good and some is not, especially when forced to engage the presumption. The question is also a waste of time. If a customer is interested in hearing suggestions... ask! Offer some information about yours tastes or palette. There is nothing useful or charming about asking "what's good today." When your line cook hears it too much, the food may be good but the attitude will sour quickly.

4. "Can you make me a small salad fresh to order?" On face, this sounds reasonable, right? Wrong, especially when I have a line extending to the door and I've been pulling teeth trying to herd my cattle, I mean customers, down the line. Every time our lunch service features an entree accompanied by a fall, spring or winter salad, at least a dozen customers request something off menu. Don't get me wrong, I'm sympathetic. But not with a line. Keep it moving people, especially after you get shot down. Don't stand and try to argue your case. The line cook cares about one thing - clearing the line and restocking before the next wave. Oh, and one more thing... the pre-made salads are just as "fresh" as anything I could make from my mise en place. In fact, they are kept cooler and exposed to less air.

3. "Oh, I'm so glad I got here before the crowd. What's ready? Can you toast a bagel?" This string of questions is a pre-service special. Here's some context. There is a limited amount of prep space in our well-stocked and organized kitchen, so I do my prep work on the line. Every morning I work with a sense of urgency to finish my sidework, restock my mise en place, clean, prep panini and tarts and help the lead cook when I have time left over (which is very rare). So imagine how frustrated I am every time an early customer presumes the absence of a line means that I have time to help them early? Customer service before service is a serious trade off. Add on the dash of naivete from the customer that thinks my time is their time and I'm not busy, and you get a ticked off line cook.

2. "What kind of cheese do you use in for the grilled Vermont cheddar cheese sandwich?" I don't even need to touch this one.

*** The final exchange is more than a simple question - enjoy ***

1. Today, we served a butternut squash and apple puree soup, which most people simply in their orders as "butternut squash." It works, no arguments here. But this shorthand became an issue with a customer that didn't read any of our menus before ordering.

Customer: "Would you be willing to give me the butternut squash instead of the side salad or chips? Please, that's what I really want."

Des (my line cook partner on the weekends): "Sure, David will get you a small butternut squash."

David: "Small butternut squash" (passing a small cup of soup to the customer).

Customer: "I didn't order this. I asked for a side of the butternut squash."

Customer's Embarrassed Friend: "That is the butternut squash; it's a soup."

Customer: "Oh, well I really just want roasted squash. Can I have that instead?"

David Thought Bubble: If not for your ability to pronounce panini properly, I would roast you more than the squash that we don't have available in my next blog post.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

The Joke's On Me

Re-reading some previous entries, I realized that I might sometimes come off as superior. Of course, I am. But that's not the point. Every now and again, the unintentionally ridiculous comment or foolish moment might come from me. As was the case today.

Before I relay my brief tale, a defense. Cooking is a dangerous, sometimes painful job that involves accidents. All line cooks have war stories involving cuts, burns, bruises, more burns, even deeper cuts, battling live squid or lobsters... you get the idea. Even the most careful, skilled and deliberate cooks make mistakes.

Today I suffered one of the most lame cuts of my culinary career, slicing about 1/4 inch at a beautiful bias into my left index finger when I was cleaning my chef's knife at the end of service. No glorious war story here. I was cleaning my knife. Pathetic.

The other cooks treated the wound with the appropriate amount of teasing and dismissiveness but for a few co-workers outside the culinary arts, my soothing comments included the following:
  • "Oh, don't worry, that's not all my finger." In response to the shocked look at the sanitary towel that caught plasma and a little flesh. My co-worker was actually looking at a bit of artichoke heart that came off my blade.
  • "Just goes to show how important it is to have a sharp edge - look how clean this cut is!" Working with a dull knife is much more dangerous than a sharp one. A sharp knife cuts clean and a dull knife is completely unpredictable.
  • "Serves me right for making fun of your tip slip." One of my co-workers had a more dramatic incident earlier in the week and, like a good friend, I joined many of the other cooks in teasing him mercilessly. We reap what we sow.

Friday, October 15, 2010

Queen of the Cardiac Club

It's half past midnight and I'm about to fall asleep. Friday is such a special day in the workweek. TGIF, right? Wrong. First of all, I work Saturdays, so Friday is nothing more than a tease for me. My dear sweet regulars wish me a happy weekend and I think... yeah, I'll get there soon enough. But really, Fridays are full of dread for the inevitable visit by the Cardiac Club and their queen that I like to call Eliza DoNothing. You'll get the reference in a moment, although I admit this name isn't my finest.

The Cardiac Club is a group of older women who sometimes walk, sometimes jog, but always find their way to my cafe every Friday. In fact, they have been visiting our venue longer than anyone currently on staff including our GM or longest tenured prep cooks. And with their seniority (in every sense of the word) comes a sense of ownership, over the space, the menu, the staff... you name it they think they own it. And none more so than Queen Eliza DoNothing. The Queen is among our many retired guests (hence DoNothing) who distinguished herself within my first weeks as my most despised customer. Join me as I take a stroll down memory lane.

I am in my first weeks, perhaps my second Friday on the job, working behind my line, prepping and getting acclimated with the space. Lunch service begins at 11:00 AM but the doors open at 10:00 for guests who might like an early cup of coffee or one among our pastry or baked goods items. Of course, there are those unfortunate patrons who disturb my prep time, seeking lunch or, worse yet, conversation, since I must not be busy with so few people in the cafe.

Side note: prep time is equivalent to "me" time. I work hard and focused but also with a certain amount of levity with my coworkers, getting into the right mindset for the day. I don't like being disturbed by impatient patrons.

Thirty minutes before service and a stern but possibly sweet woman approaches the line. She stops, sizes me up and asks, "What happened to the Latin woman who used to be here? I liked her." Great start, didn't make me feel at all self-conscious at a time that I wanted to learn and take ownership over the line.

I responded, explaining that my predecessor was no longer with the company, pursuing alternative career options (fun with euphemisms). And then the floodgates opened. She came at me with a barrage of questions, which I foolishly answered thinking that customer service should take precedence over my prep and that there was anything I could do to curry favor with this beastly person. After several questions came the backhanded compliment that raised my ire, "You know, you are surprisingly well-spoken for someone in your position."

Gee whiz, thanks! That wasn't at all obnoxious. Of course, it should be surprising that I can speak in complete sentences because all line cooks are ruffians. There are other assumptions underlying her comment but I'll leave them be only because they are so obvious. Instead, I got a bit defensive and replied, "I'm glad my PhD level education at Research 1 universities isn't going to waste." And then this exchange took the nasty turn that still shocks me today. She glared at me, paused and asked if I ever worked with a speech therapist because she could detect the remnants of a lisp in my speech.

Seriously?! Please explain how this is remotely appropriate conversation or observation in any context other than one person trying to put another, in an obviously powerless position, in his or her place.

Again foolishly, I answered that yes, I visited a speech therapist in elementary school but ceased the visits when my diction was deemed reasonable by the counselor. Her reply, "Well, maybe you should begin again. Why be only 90% of the person you should be?" Catching on to the Eliza reference yet? Shocked and now terribly self-aware of my speech, I detached from the conversation, returned to my prep work, and made a pact with myself to never engage in extended dialogue with this person again.

So tomorrow, I will once again face the patron who managed to get into my head unlike anyone else. She doesn't make me nervous anymore. Really I just think she is sad. But I do not forgive people that expose vulnerabilities, especially when the victim of the exchange is in a lesser position of power. Every time she waddles into the cafe, I keep my interactions brief and can sense her frustration of my refusal to make her relevant. It's really the best revenge.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Things Not to Say to Your Line Cook

The Wine and Food Festival is over, the weather is beautiful and I am back to work full-time at the cafe, which means the buffalo chicken moments are picking up again. The Tuesday shift was uneventful except for an unfortunate couple that remained convinced (even after a polite correction) that they properly ordered a "panari." Of course, my mind so influenced by cartoons as a child, went directly to images of a hybrid grilled sandwich/canary that spoke like Tweety Bird. Boy I wish I was more familiar with PhotoShop.

Today was a different story. Wednesday lunch service is always more eventful than other weekdays for reasons my confidentiality clause will not allow me to divulge. Needless to say, my delightful regular customers are augmented by tourists, elderly patrons looking for a bargain, and the occasional non-working parent with children a bit too young for school. I know what you're thinking - recipe for frustration. You're right. And while I like a busy line, working at a quick clip, I find myself wishing against wish, hoping against hope, that these Wednesday patrons could keep their comments to themselves and let me enjoy my service. Here are a few examples of things I don't want to hear from customers on a busy day:

  • "Well hello David!" and you may substitute any other greeting that includes my name. Seems like I'm being pretty cold, right? Wrong. Just because I wear a name tag doesn't mean that you know me personally. I am happy that my regulars know and use my name. They've earned it. But don't think that correctly reading my name tag entitles you to a personal exchange, especially when I'm busy.
  • "Wow, it looks like you could use an extra set of arms!" Really? Well I think you could use a little common sense. If I'm working so hard that I could use an extra set of arms, do you really think I have time to listen to witless banter, let alone participate? Here's the thing. A customer may say things like this in appreciation of my speed or effort, but it always sounds like an insult. Just like when I hear people say...
  • "I can't believe you're out here all alone. You could use another person." Thanks. Actually, I feel pretty good about serving nine people at once, each with multiple items in their order, that I am able to keep organized and serve hot together. Besides, the greatest impediment to fast service is any among the follow: customers not moving down the line, ordering food item by item, taking another customers food instead of one's own, and forcing the line cook to engage in that witless banter when s/he is clearly trying to bust through some orders.
  • "Oh, you mean the panani is a sandwich? I thought it was ____ (insert embarrassingly incorrect food item here)." Where do I begin? We've already been over my issues with sandwich mispronouncitation. My biggest issue here? If you don't know what a word or menu item is, ask before ordering. Don't wait the three minutes I take to cook the food only to stop me when I want to move on to customers that have waited patiently for my attention. Questions come before ordering, not after.
I recognize that some of my issues might seem unreasonable but know this: cooks are prideful  attention-mongers that like the thrill of working quickly, but we will never feel good about unreasonable wait times. We need to work with customers to make sure food gets out hot and fast and we need customer assistance to get that job done. Minimizing the not-so-supportive chit chat is a great way to help.

Knowing what one just ordered also helps. And asking reasonable questions early in the process is the way to speed things along. My total lack of knowledge about food can fill hundreds of books but I always ask questions quickly before ordering. That's how I learn and make things easier for the cooks at the same time.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

That's A Spicy Meatball!

As some may know, I am dedicated my free time and a day off work this week to volunteering at the 2010 Food Network Wine and Food Festival as a Team Leader. Thursday was a full day of food festival fun, beginning at noon with a trip down to the Grand Tasting tent where I would later return for my team leader assignment. The tent looked spectacular and, as expected, filled me with great pride and appreciation having worked so hard on Monday to make make the set-up possible.

With four hours before my commitment, the outstanding team from the Food Bank for New York City and Share Our Strength sent me to the Meatball Madness event, assisting with delivery and set-up for the evening's event. I worked with a collection of retirees, culinary volunteers, temps and college students, all happy to be part of the festival in a helping capacity. I won't lie - there was nothing glamorous about this job. There rarely ever is anything glamorous about event volunteering. But I came away impressed with the graciousness and enthusiastic appreciation that we saw from the visiting general managers and chefs (executive and low level) for our swift attention to their product. Warm fuzzies all around. And, I can't neglect to mention just how wonderful the food smelled. How I wish I could have stayed for the event.

I had to leave just as things were getting busy, returning to the Grand Tasting tent for a walk-through and brief conference with the volunteer coordinators before meeting my volunteer team. The volunteers were phenomenal! Patient when we were between tasks, good humor about the physical aspect of our job, and full of good will. I felt so lucky to work with them. One volunteer even ventured to Chelsea Pier on a food run for the evening security guard, dedicated to protecting his post but regretting his lack of food for the evening. What a decent thing to do.

Sunday is my big day, serving as team leader of between 30-50 volunteers at the high profile Carts in the Parc event, featuring host Andrew Zimmern of the Travel Channel.

http://www.nycwineandfoodfestival.com/2010/event_detail.php?id=102

Friday, October 8, 2010

Pun Fun

It was a slow day for buffalo chicken moments - good for my patience but bad for the blog. Sure, I dealt with my fair share of surly elderly customers but that comes with the territory, especially on Wednesdays and Fridays. But really, things moved smoothly. I worked the line alone, had a few fun rushes, and saw a dozen of my favorite customers.

On days like this - a bit slow if not manageable and me maintaining a good mood - I take delight in one of my favorite linguistic exercises... punning. Here are a few of my favorite puns of the day.
  • With Cuban Black Bean Soup on the menu, I eagerly waited for the handful of customers who requested a "small black bean." Of course I knew what they wanted, but what they got was a small soup cup with a single black bean sitting at the bottom of the cup.
  • Between the temperate weather and a TGIF attitude, more than a few customers treated this day as a burger and fries day. My favorite game? When a customer requests a fry or a small fry. Once again, I know what they want. What do they get? A single french fry, size determined by their modifier.
  • Outside the bounds of a pun, I also have fun with passive aggressive questions. Here are a few examples: do you have a paper plate? Do you know what's in this sandwich? Do you know the soup of the day? I heard all three of these questions today. My answer? "Yes." And then I walk away.
I know I'm pushing my luck, but, especially on slow days, I really must keep myself entertained.

Speaking of being entertained, my colleagues and I sometimes find a few laughs in the expectations of our customers. Our standards are remarkably high for a cafe - we keep things fresh and prepared by expert cooks. But today, one of my colleagues was amused by a customer's question about whether or not our burgers are from grass fed cows. Sorry, folks, this isn't Per Se. I understand that the customer really wanted to know if the meat was organic, which is an easier question to field (pun intended, of course). But we aren't going to know that level of minutia. Likewise, I received a question about whether or not our salmon was caught in the last two days. We use very high quality product, but please

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

You Must Be Clucking Kidding Me

I can't believe I'm back here a second day in a row. After the duck incident yesterday, I hoped that I might have at least one day off from customer inability to distinguish one common food from another. Before I begin, I'll share the special of the day as described on our menu: pan fried pecan chicken, served with candied carrots, creole rice, and praline sauce.

Lunch service was moving at a quick pace, a welcome change after several days of rain-dampened sales, quick enough that I removed the lids covering each of my entrée components. A woman peered at each component, pointed at the candied carrots and asked:

"Is this the chicken?"

All I could do for those first moments was stare, speechless. My thought bubble: "What hole did you just crawl out of?" Offering another helping hand to alleviate any confusion that might linger:

Chicken - may or may not have come before the egg. But poultry nonetheless
Carrot - great for eyesight, which could come in handy looking at cafe food
I don't know what else I could say. I don't know how to interpret this problem. I just don't know.

On a more serious note, the chef shared with me his motivation for serving this dish... a tribute to his childhood friend who lived and recently passed away in New Orleans (RIP). I didn't know his friend but I do know the passion and love that cooks and chefs put into their food. Out of respect for this entrée and his memorial, I offer this post in dedication to his memory.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

You Can't Seriously Be that Dumb?!

A dreary day outside put a slow day on our menu at the cafe, but it was not too slow to avoid one of the most plainly idiotic questions that I have ever heard. But first, I'll return to the display plates. I love display plates. They look nice, offer an opportunity for the chef or myself to play with the aesthetics of food and there is something gratifying about hearing compliments followed by orders. But the effectiveness of a display plate is tied to the mental and visual capacities of our guests.


Today's special was braised duck leg (swimming in a brown onion and mushroom sauce) served with roasted acorn squash and a warm lentil salad, garnished with mango chutney, toasted pumpkin seeds and walnuts. The display plate was quite nice, each component artfully arranged with an extra kale leaf, the reds and purples accenting both the plate and the squash.

A customer looks first at the display plate, then our soup menu, and then she moves directly in front of the display plate. She points at the dish and asks "Is that the Wisconsin Cheddar and Beer soup?"

There were no words in that moment.

My thought bubble: Oh my lord, are you really so absurdly naive to not know what soup looks like? Did you grow up in a soup-a-tarian household that rejected not just the tasting but knowledge of soups? Why are you trying to punish me?

My comment: No, ma'am. You will find the soup in these large containers over here. I recommend that you take a glance at our specials menu.


It's buffalo-chicken moments like these that make me want to cry. So, for anyone out there that needs a hand, I offer the following example:

Duck... yum yum!
Soup... also yummy but very different indeed.
I can see the room for confusion. Both are wet but only one has legs. Both are tasty with mushrooms, but one will slide off a plate into a puddle on the counter. I could go on and on but this question made my head hurt.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Building Rome in a Day: The Grand Tasting Tent

The soft tones of the trombone cut through the screech of the screaming subway train, melancholy sounds from a melancholy man. His crooked smile matched his rusted horn, warped bell and bent slide. Was it really a surprise that everything he played was so hauntingly perfect?

On the surface above the 14th Street station, biting winds were unforgiving to pedestrians walking under umbrellas, cold but energetic, happy for a break from the once steady downpour that eased to an equally steady drizzle. The scene was like something captured in a movie, set in Ireland but filmed in Canada, beautiful but not quite real.
Gray, haze, traffic and waves not far away on the Hudson. And through it all, I could tell that something good is about to happen.

The Grand Tasting is the Food Network Wine and Food Festival's signature event opening a dreamscape for foodies and industry pros. It is spread across four weekend sessions in an 800 foot long tent, featuring promotions, free food and beverage samples, and cooking demonstrations from some of the finest retailers and restaurants in NYC. It's a temple for all things culinary. And today, I both watched and participating in the building of that temple from the ground up.

My task as a Volunteer Team Leader was not at all insignificant leading a small team ranging from 4-7 people depending on the temperature and time of day, measuring and marketing every booth, display and table space for over 600 vendors and sponsors. The volunteer staff was very good (mostly) showing tenacity, professionalism and the type of refreshing energy and commitment that makes events like this one so special. We had our ups and downs, mostly ups, before the volunteers left one by one into the haze in search of more comfortable places.

But my recollections are mostly about the surroundings and crews that are constructing this event, people that, if they do their jobs right, will never be seen or even considered by the average festival guest. The evening security guard with a handshake so strong I thought my fingers would crack, whose warm smile and generosity with his time were shared frequently with crew members needing access to our gated lot. The tent and signage/electrical crews, bundled up in thick jackets and yellow ponchos, huddling around wood crates with venue diagrams, schedules and notes creating a jigsaw puzzle that they attacked with ease. In a matter of hours, an open space on Pier 54 had windows, doors, skylights, electrical sources... and that's only what I witnessed this day. The Operations Director and Event Producer, managing people and expectations, vendors, sponsors, staff, volunteers, city regulations, and a complicated pizza order with speed, grace and humility. I can only take these snapshots because a thorough description would take too much space.

I am proud of everything that my team and I accomplished today but this post is for all those people that make events such as this one run, rain or shine. The security guard told me, as he unlocked and unwound the chains securing our gate, "You know, it's almost always like this... a few rainy, miserable days. But you know what? It's going to be a beautiful weekend."

And that's exactly the thought that dominated my thoughts as I sat in a foldout lounge chair with cup holders, bundled so tightly in my jacket that I might have been mistaken for Kenny (from South Park) if we were a bit closer to Halloween. The conditions were brutal but the promise of everything that comes next is nothing short of thrilling. I can't wait until my next shift on Thursday.

Grand Tasting Tent Here I Come

It's cold, raining and generally miserable outside but I'm excited to be heading out in about a half hour to begin my project setting up the Grand Tasting tent for the 2010 Food Network Wine and Food Festival. The project should last all day with follow-up work on Thursday evening in final preparation before the weekend festivities.

I'll be back at work tomorrow wracking up more buffalo chicken moments for your reading pleasure.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Drying Out

Not without regret, I passed on my volunteer evening at the Great World Brew Fest, which opened tonight from 8 PM - 12 AM. It looked like a promising event so I will look forward to hearing comments from anyone who may attend in the next two days.

I am still on for my much anticipated volunteer commitment at the Food Network's Wine and Food Festival, beginning with set-up early in the week and hopefully a few additional evening events on the weekend. Even though a departure from the theme of the blog, I plan on keeping everyone well up-to-date on my experiences working for the Food Bank of New York City. If it's anything like last year, the next week will be one to remember.

This Just Sounds Dirty! Couples Talk Panani

The storm that many weather people are calling epic slowed business almost to a halt today, but even a powerful front like the one that left freeways and city streets flooded, trees downed, and mass transit massively stalled, could not deliver a day free from buffalo chicken moments. While most potential customers stayed away, our old friend the unfortunately sexual sounding "panani" returned today in fine form.

A sweet couple (probably the other side of 55 and, based on my recent experience, probably visiting from the Midwest) entered the cafe under the watchful and professional guidance of one of my favorite regulars. Must be an important customer, I thought, so I did my best to put on the charm. Imagine the difficulty I faced during this exchange:

Kindly Woman: "Oh my, so many choices. You know, I think the panani looks very good. I'd like a panani."

David Thought Bubble: Must... keep... from... laughing.

Kindly Man: "Hmmm, what will I have? Everything looks so good but I really want a panani. Honey (thankfully to his wife, not me), I really want a panani."

David Thought Bubble: Don't we all. But really, this is too much...

Kindly Woman: "Oh, I know, the panani looks so good. That's what I'm having too."

David Thought Bubble: No one will ever believe this!

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I'm really not immature, I swear. This exchange was hilarious but out of respect for my regular, I kept my trademark snarky comments to myself and neglected to correct their pronunciation.

After my first entry on the panini/panani problem, one of my high school friends who also possesses far greater culinary knowledge than me shared a bit of cultural knowledge that I am happy now to pass along, quoting at length. I sincerely appreciate the info and hope you enjoy it as well:

"Panini is the plural Italian word for sandwich (panino usually refers to a small sandwich) and another reason to get annoyed... is when Americans add an "s" to the end of an Italian word ending in an "I" (Paninis, salamis, pepperonis, spaghettis)."

Thanks, S! If anyone ever has something to share, please let me know in the comments or by e-mail.