City Treasure
I'm here in this kitchen wearing a Coltraine shirt. Scrubbing and cleaning so as to impress another chef in a string of about 6 in the last year. Here he comes, with the owner. I'm not impressed. I don't even really pay attention to how he looks. In fact I'm very biased and I don't like the looks of him at all. Who knows who stays, who goes.... he's eyeing us.... and I don't care what the fuck he thinks. This is our kitchen. He's just a temporary stand in for stature. Any one of us could run this kitchen but we don't have credentials. The walls & the smell, the grease & knives are in our souls. He couldn't know any better than us how our souls work.
It's time for dinner... there's a buzz... I'm preparing the last touch to what i'm making for a fish special tonight. Sea Bass, pan seared with a savory blueberry sauce, garlic mashed potatoes and sweet green beans. $17.95 a plate. It's going to sell out of course.
I'm coming around the corner with my huge mixer of potatoes..... and the fucker has a beer. This was a time when my ego was too huge to tolerate drinking in the kitchen. I was fighting for my standing with the men / boys.... Drinking would not have helped. Anyway... he's got a god damned beer and I'm not happy about it. I tell the manager. The manager nods his head and gives him another one. What the fuck?! Men!!
We cook, it's fast and it's hot and at least his big chef ass isn't in the way of the oven like the last guy. I'll give him that. The end of the night comes around and he's telling me..."let's go have an egg, shall we?" So I go to the walk-in and grab an egg... I throw it in the pasta water that's boiling, cause I'm assuming he wants a boiled egg...
Ten minutes later he comes in and says... "where were you? I thought you were coming to have an egg with me" And I tell him... "the egg is ready"... he laughs hysterically... so hysterically that I want to kill him. Apparently, an "egg" in this chef's speak is a smoke. A cigarette.I want to crawl into the grease trap and die.
So I go smoke... he follows naturally...We stand in the parking garage and I listen to his stories. I listened to his stories for years on end. We peak through the gate at the restaurant across the street. We've both worked for them. Maria, Reda, the foreigners. We call over to them & they shout back.
I square up. Look him in the eye. And tell him that he shouldn't be drinking in the kitchen. He laughs hysterically again, and asks me if I'd like to go for a bike ride. I blush with rage and accept. "Let's go get a beer" he says. It's the beginning of a long affair.
We ride our bikes down the street, I buy a six pack at the liquor store & he follows me to my house. Where I live with my Mom. We sit on the porch and drink. Talk about all manner of things. It didn't take him long to feel up my tit's. Although at first I really didn't want to get them out. What a persuasive little man. By the end of the night we have a kiss on my Mom's couch. We talk some more, and I find out that he's a married man. And he had to go home to his wife.
I didn't take what we did very seriously. Once I found out, I assumed that it was just a small blip on our karma. I kept on with my life as it was.... kept messing around. Started drinking beer whilst I cooked...and into the night....after hours in the restaurant. Back in the parking garage one day I had a scab on my back from a random encounter with a guy... and I told him about it. Showed it to him. Told him I had to tell my boyfriend that it was a skate park injury. He looked at me queerly, as if he loved me. The furthest thing from my mind was that he would use this against me one day. He sure did though.
It's time for dinner... there's a buzz... I'm preparing the last touch to what i'm making for a fish special tonight. Sea Bass, pan seared with a savory blueberry sauce, garlic mashed potatoes and sweet green beans. $17.95 a plate. It's going to sell out of course.
I'm coming around the corner with my huge mixer of potatoes..... and the fucker has a beer. This was a time when my ego was too huge to tolerate drinking in the kitchen. I was fighting for my standing with the men / boys.... Drinking would not have helped. Anyway... he's got a god damned beer and I'm not happy about it. I tell the manager. The manager nods his head and gives him another one. What the fuck?! Men!!
We cook, it's fast and it's hot and at least his big chef ass isn't in the way of the oven like the last guy. I'll give him that. The end of the night comes around and he's telling me..."let's go have an egg, shall we?" So I go to the walk-in and grab an egg... I throw it in the pasta water that's boiling, cause I'm assuming he wants a boiled egg...
Ten minutes later he comes in and says... "where were you? I thought you were coming to have an egg with me" And I tell him... "the egg is ready"... he laughs hysterically... so hysterically that I want to kill him. Apparently, an "egg" in this chef's speak is a smoke. A cigarette.I want to crawl into the grease trap and die.
So I go smoke... he follows naturally...We stand in the parking garage and I listen to his stories. I listened to his stories for years on end. We peak through the gate at the restaurant across the street. We've both worked for them. Maria, Reda, the foreigners. We call over to them & they shout back.
I square up. Look him in the eye. And tell him that he shouldn't be drinking in the kitchen. He laughs hysterically again, and asks me if I'd like to go for a bike ride. I blush with rage and accept. "Let's go get a beer" he says. It's the beginning of a long affair.
We ride our bikes down the street, I buy a six pack at the liquor store & he follows me to my house. Where I live with my Mom. We sit on the porch and drink. Talk about all manner of things. It didn't take him long to feel up my tit's. Although at first I really didn't want to get them out. What a persuasive little man. By the end of the night we have a kiss on my Mom's couch. We talk some more, and I find out that he's a married man. And he had to go home to his wife.
I didn't take what we did very seriously. Once I found out, I assumed that it was just a small blip on our karma. I kept on with my life as it was.... kept messing around. Started drinking beer whilst I cooked...and into the night....after hours in the restaurant. Back in the parking garage one day I had a scab on my back from a random encounter with a guy... and I told him about it. Showed it to him. Told him I had to tell my boyfriend that it was a skate park injury. He looked at me queerly, as if he loved me. The furthest thing from my mind was that he would use this against me one day. He sure did though.
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