a teaser post; I cannot help myself.
Friday NRL game night, at an undisclosed European bar and grill located in the vicinity of the Entertainment Quarter:
"We're going to get raped..." he whispers to himself, visibly trembling. I just started on Tuesday and the week has been pretty dead so far; but it is the weekend.
"We're going to get raped..." the chicken schnitzel chef repeats to himself (there is one chef for each kind of schnitzel); agitating to sort out his mis en place (means 'put in place'; everything a chef prepares to get ready for service). I've met crazy, but this guy has lost it.
He comes over to my garde manger (salad) section; still speaking in hushed tones.
"The boss doesn't like us doing it, but I'm going to start precooking off some now..."
It's 30 minutes before the restaurant opens; how many are you going to cook off?
"maybe I start with 10 kilos" *runs away*
what. the. F.
The Footy Rush. 3000 covers in about 2 hours. The docket machine starts chiming away; Schnitzel. 4 Schnitzel, table of 16 all schnitzels; pork, veal, chicken - I leave my section to help out my poor chicken friend trying to fit gigantic portions of beaten, crumbed fillets into a bratt pan that at most can fit 6 in one go. The dockets keep reeling, all over the floor; a bit more than a meter long. Someone pauses to replace the paper in the machine; it's out. *uck me it's only 10 minutes into service. I'm going to vomit.
The coolroom that keeps these schnitzel is the size of half a tennis court. By the end of the night, it's empty.
Lasted a month in that place.