in a bad way
The day started with not being able to sleep past 7. Then about an hour and 45 minutes later, Kevin got up in a foul mood that degenerated to the point of tears. I tried to be the kind, understanding, reasonable spouse and take none of it personally. Then I got on the bus and went to work.
It started out fine. Met the manager who's taking over for the boss when she goes to NAU on Friday. She hung around a bit and was mightily impressed with the food.
I *did* have a good food day. I served soi-disant Brazilian turkey (no, it didn't fly in from Rio; it was marinated in orange and lime juices and cilantro and mint and oil and vinegar) and "Brazilian" roasted sweet potatoes with ginger and "Brazilian" broccoli (yeah, okay, blanched then sautéed with garlic and my approximation of the "Santa Fe seasoning" blend that we don't buy. And chimichurri, a delicious garlicky vegetable and herb purée, on the side.
The "international" (i.e. sauté) station was to serve egg foo yung, which I generally despise. Like the last time, the menu called for it to be served with peanut sauce, and like the last time, I refused and substituted garlic sauce. So tomorrow morning I'll probably get bitched out by Elsie, like the last time, for not making the dish exactly as I was told to, though the chef and the boss both thanked me for fixing it.
The good news is that the boss said that Elsie won't be cutting a swath through the kitchen for the two weeks she's away -- the replacement manager is not to write anyone up without talking to the boss first. There are very few people I can say I hate, but Elsie is one of them, the ignorant piece of trash.
Elsie is in her false-economy phase now. We have two weeks left, and for a week she's been refusing to buy food. No granulated garlic. No chicken quarters. No seafood. No pork. We are using up what's in the freezer for the most part, and then she gets to play her idiot control games with what she will or won't buy. Today, for example, the recipe for the turkey called for 26+ pounds, but she ordered only one case (two turkey breasts), which came in at 22 pounds. This was for the projected demand of 87 portions.
So the boss and the other manager tasted the food and pronounced it excellent. The boss listened to my worries about having enough turkey, blamed it on the crew eating it, said she would be cool with me forbidding the crew to eat a dish which is scarce, and left for the day.
(The boss told me last week that I should up the quantities -- from the numbers she generates -- for the remainder of the term, and reiterated it today. Oddly, though, we are buying less food every time we order.)
Then about 40 kids came in all at once and demolished the turkey by 6:30 (we serve until 8), though we stretched it to 124 portions. I raced through the leftovers and came up with chicken thigh meat and baby corn in Szechuan sauce over yakisoba, and some cold meatloaf sandwiches from the FORTY portions they left over last night.
It was fucked up. I hate running out of food even more than having tons of leftovers. And the probability of Elsie trying her damnedest to make it somehow my fault just adds to the charm.
It started out fine. Met the manager who's taking over for the boss when she goes to NAU on Friday. She hung around a bit and was mightily impressed with the food.
I *did* have a good food day. I served soi-disant Brazilian turkey (no, it didn't fly in from Rio; it was marinated in orange and lime juices and cilantro and mint and oil and vinegar) and "Brazilian" roasted sweet potatoes with ginger and "Brazilian" broccoli (yeah, okay, blanched then sautéed with garlic and my approximation of the "Santa Fe seasoning" blend that we don't buy. And chimichurri, a delicious garlicky vegetable and herb purée, on the side.
The "international" (i.e. sauté) station was to serve egg foo yung, which I generally despise. Like the last time, the menu called for it to be served with peanut sauce, and like the last time, I refused and substituted garlic sauce. So tomorrow morning I'll probably get bitched out by Elsie, like the last time, for not making the dish exactly as I was told to, though the chef and the boss both thanked me for fixing it.
The good news is that the boss said that Elsie won't be cutting a swath through the kitchen for the two weeks she's away -- the replacement manager is not to write anyone up without talking to the boss first. There are very few people I can say I hate, but Elsie is one of them, the ignorant piece of trash.
Elsie is in her false-economy phase now. We have two weeks left, and for a week she's been refusing to buy food. No granulated garlic. No chicken quarters. No seafood. No pork. We are using up what's in the freezer for the most part, and then she gets to play her idiot control games with what she will or won't buy. Today, for example, the recipe for the turkey called for 26+ pounds, but she ordered only one case (two turkey breasts), which came in at 22 pounds. This was for the projected demand of 87 portions.
So the boss and the other manager tasted the food and pronounced it excellent. The boss listened to my worries about having enough turkey, blamed it on the crew eating it, said she would be cool with me forbidding the crew to eat a dish which is scarce, and left for the day.
(The boss told me last week that I should up the quantities -- from the numbers she generates -- for the remainder of the term, and reiterated it today. Oddly, though, we are buying less food every time we order.)
Then about 40 kids came in all at once and demolished the turkey by 6:30 (we serve until 8), though we stretched it to 124 portions. I raced through the leftovers and came up with chicken thigh meat and baby corn in Szechuan sauce over yakisoba, and some cold meatloaf sandwiches from the FORTY portions they left over last night.
It was fucked up. I hate running out of food even more than having tons of leftovers. And the probability of Elsie trying her damnedest to make it somehow my fault just adds to the charm.