pasta and pasta and pasta and pasta, rice and rice and rice, beef followed by beef
Work continues to be stupid. The menu for today was roast leg of lamb, but it's three weeks from the end of the term, so the lead gets all scroogy and is not willing to spend money on food. Thus no lamb. She over-ordered top round, however, so I was told to substitute roast beef tonight. I butchered two whole top rounds (about 40 pounds), and nasty veiny gristly fatty hunks of cow they are, too. I utterly over-seasoned them with a kitchen-sink sort of rub, kind of Montréal steak spice squared. The kids love that salty chiloso shit.
Of course, when I went to prep for tomorrow, what was the entrée? Class? Anyone?
Roast beef, of course. I wouldn't mind it so much if I could use the lifter meat we have on hand; there's no trimming and it takes the seasonings better, having more surface area. Correspondingly, it cooks more quickly and makes my life easier. But we have only one case of lifter, and three or four of top round. So oh boy, I'll be back chasing veins and silver skin again tomorrow first thing.
It isn't uncommon for me to produce three or four different starches in a shift. I suppose I should be grateful for having a mostly-rice day or a mostly-pasta day or a mostly-potatoes day, but it doesn't really save any time if I still have to make three different rice dishes (e.g. basmati pilaf, converted rice with lemon juice, and steamed jasmine) for the same meal. They aren't really different enough overall, especially when stupid boys pour three or four kinds of rice into the same bin and are NOT made to pick it apart by hand, as they would be in my kitchen. That lesson only takes one round, usually. But three different-ish stupid rice dishes aren't really any faster than, say, rice and pasta and potatoes, much less quinoa, millet, or Israeli couscous (of which the first two are unknown at Sodexho and the third is in recipes, but we don't buy it, so I have to substitute Moroccan. They are NOT the same. But I digress.
We've been having these stupid "Tastechangers" specials for a week: a nacho bar, a french toast stick bar, a chicken wing bar, a chocolate and fruit bar to which the ungrateful comment-card response tonight was "Fudge sauce, my ass! That was Hershey's syrup!" (Ha! As if!)
Benny brought the card back and wrote "Would you prefer NOTHING?" on its reply section, then scratched it out. Then I took it and wrote in my angriest handwriting "Betcha ate it anyway, huh? You're welcome! No extra FUCKING charge!" Then Benny took it to show to Justin and (I hope to Hestia) remembered to throw it away.
Tomorrow I have a pasta bar, for which I have to make two kinds of pasta and two slightly different tomato sauces. Then there's the cavatappe I had to cook off tonight to bake with cheese and spinach tomorrow for my veggie entrée (which was supposed to be orzo, only we're out, and Elsie the Contented Cow won't order any), and the case of linguine I cooked off for ersatz chow fun at the sauté station tomorrow. I'm in pasta hell.
Three more weeks. I hope they aren't just blowing smoke up my ass about having plans for me (other than, one hopes, using me and fucking with my head and then screwing me over).
Of course, when I went to prep for tomorrow, what was the entrée? Class? Anyone?
Roast beef, of course. I wouldn't mind it so much if I could use the lifter meat we have on hand; there's no trimming and it takes the seasonings better, having more surface area. Correspondingly, it cooks more quickly and makes my life easier. But we have only one case of lifter, and three or four of top round. So oh boy, I'll be back chasing veins and silver skin again tomorrow first thing.
It isn't uncommon for me to produce three or four different starches in a shift. I suppose I should be grateful for having a mostly-rice day or a mostly-pasta day or a mostly-potatoes day, but it doesn't really save any time if I still have to make three different rice dishes (e.g. basmati pilaf, converted rice with lemon juice, and steamed jasmine) for the same meal. They aren't really different enough overall, especially when stupid boys pour three or four kinds of rice into the same bin and are NOT made to pick it apart by hand, as they would be in my kitchen. That lesson only takes one round, usually. But three different-ish stupid rice dishes aren't really any faster than, say, rice and pasta and potatoes, much less quinoa, millet, or Israeli couscous (of which the first two are unknown at Sodexho and the third is in recipes, but we don't buy it, so I have to substitute Moroccan. They are NOT the same. But I digress.
We've been having these stupid "Tastechangers" specials for a week: a nacho bar, a french toast stick bar, a chicken wing bar, a chocolate and fruit bar to which the ungrateful comment-card response tonight was "Fudge sauce, my ass! That was Hershey's syrup!" (Ha! As if!)
Benny brought the card back and wrote "Would you prefer NOTHING?" on its reply section, then scratched it out. Then I took it and wrote in my angriest handwriting "Betcha ate it anyway, huh? You're welcome! No extra FUCKING charge!" Then Benny took it to show to Justin and (I hope to Hestia) remembered to throw it away.
Tomorrow I have a pasta bar, for which I have to make two kinds of pasta and two slightly different tomato sauces. Then there's the cavatappe I had to cook off tonight to bake with cheese and spinach tomorrow for my veggie entrée (which was supposed to be orzo, only we're out, and Elsie the Contented Cow won't order any), and the case of linguine I cooked off for ersatz chow fun at the sauté station tomorrow. I'm in pasta hell.
Three more weeks. I hope they aren't just blowing smoke up my ass about having plans for me (other than, one hopes, using me and fucking with my head and then screwing me over).