Listening: I was dreamin' when I wrote this. Forgive me if it goes astray. But when I woke up there this mornin', could've sworn it was Judgment Day.
What's my problem? Snow... and its bastard son slush.
Last night and the greater part of yesterday was spent waiting for a phone call. The chef there who was self-admittedly ADD told me that he would call me and would let me know about the job yesterday. Apparently, he forgot.
Originally, I was planning on waiting until nine in the evening yesterday to call if he didn't call. That got pushed back until after service, and, again, got pushed back to this morning.
I woke up this morning at nine in the morning. I was surprisingly well-rested. I left the lights off and relished in the perfect temperature that it was under my covers with only my head poking out. I felt like I was in a sensory deprivation tank. It was nice. It was one of the nicest wake-ups that I've had since being back in America, and strangely, there was no daylight involved.
At ten in the morning, I got a text from a friend asking what had happened about the job. At eleven o'clock, I called and left a message for the chef. At a quarter past eleven, I got a skype from my friend in Russia. At noon, I got a call back from the chef saying that he flaked and that he gave the job to the friend of one of the cooks. And at three past noon, I e-mailed the chef at Island Creek Oyster Bar saying that I would take the position. A quarter past noon, I had my first shift lined up.
So, there it is. Thursday, I start at Island Creek Oyster Bar. This isn't without interesting twists. See, the reason that they were hiring at Ten Tables, is because the sous-chef there will be leaving to open up the Ten Tables in Provincetown. From what the chef at Ten Tables says, he's interested in maybe having me go down there to help open up the new joint as well, possibly as a sous. Who know what'll happen. It's a good three months away, I think. Never know though.
Anyways, here I am. Employed now. I'm at Mr. Crepe in Davis Square, trying to survive off of two bars of free wifi, because I'm too damn cheap to pay the eight dollars for a day of service.
Not much more to say other than that. I'm wondering how long I'm going to stay here. I should probably buy some groceries on the walk home too. I wish there was something to do today that was exciting and productive. Shoveling snow doesn't count. That's the beauty of renting in an apartment building with a management company. You never have to do it.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
IDGAF
Listening: Search through time. Nothing reveals the answer. If it's truth that you're looking to find, it is nowhere outside of your mind. I bide my time, waiting for your change of heart..
What's my problem? I think I'm depressed.
Ugh.
Seriously.
Ugh.
So I've done five stages at three restaurants starting a week ago. I did one at Beacon Hill Bistro, two at Ten Tables in Cambridge, and two at Island Creek Oyster Bar in Kenmore Square.
My first stage was at Ten Tables. It was last Monday, when it was insanely cold. It had been a slow couple of days leading up to that Monday, so there wasn't a helluva lot to do. The people there were nice. I dug the vibe that the Chef had going. He seemed to be a really funny guy, and everyone there seemed professional and friendly. Now Ten Tables is in Craigie's old space. I had never been in the kitchen there. It's a maze of small rooms and doorways. The kitchen itself wasn't nearly as small as I had anticipated. After being in shoe boxes like EXNE's kitchen and seeing kitchens like Bondir's, anything looks spacious.
To be honest, the food that they were doing there looked like really easy pickups. The plating was pretty easy, but I think that most of the tough stuff, as always, is in the prep. There were some things that were pretty standard, but the flavors were pretty much spot on.
I had a pretty good feeling walking out of the stage. The chef said that he wanted to offer me the position, but he had to see another stage coming in. I, also, felt the need to do my due diligence. I knew that I wanted to see the kitchen on a more rockin' night than thirty covers, so I set up a stage for the upcoming Friday night.
The second stage was on Tuesday and was at Island Creek Oyster Bar. I couldn't have picked a more polar opposite kitchen. The entire Ten Tables dining room, kitchen and storage area could have fit in the Island Creek Oyster Bar kitchen. This kitchen was a MONSTER. I knew that it was going to be. I was expecting it. I just didn't know what it would have been like to operate in a kitchen that big.
When I got there, I was shocked by just how big it was. There was an entire wall of fryers, a giant flat top the size of a ping pong table, two eight-burner ranges, a grill, refrigerator low-boys for mise-en-place. It was really quite shocking.
What was even more shocking was that after I did a little bit of light prep, they threw me right on the line working with the guy who was cooking the fish. Now, this is Island Creek Oyster Bar, so you know they're rocking it heavy on the fish. In fact, there are only three non-fish dishes (a burger, a steak and a chicken dish). My job, that night, was to cook all of the sides for the fish dishes. So, I was cooking veg and starch for at least seven different dishes, all of which I wasn't familiar with. I had to keep looking back at the menu to make sure I knew what was going with what. When it got busy, and boy did it get busy, we were doing twelve or thirteen plate pick ups. To give you an idea of what this was like for me, at American Season, the biggest pickup that we did was probably fourteen plates, and that was split between both the saute and the grill stations. We were doing twelve or thirteen plate pick ups just off of the fish station. We're not talking about fried fish and easy drops. We're talking about pan seared and roasted fish with real plated sides. Sure, it was bistro style plating which meant "just get it on the plate," but I was getting run.
Now, I was so shell shocked by the night that I had no clue what to think. They made me an offer, which was the first to hit the table. I was honest with them. I didn't quite know what to think, so I set up another stage for the coming Saturday. I wanted to see it again, on a nice busy weekend night. I think they respected the fact that I wasn't willing to jump in right away. In addition, I had the other two stages set up.
Thursday, I was at Beacon Hill Bistro. The first impression wasn't a good one. First of all, the chef didn't have a copy of my resume. He hadn't printed it off from his e-mail, so I had to recount it for him. To be honest, the chef was a pretty quiet person. He didn't have much of a presence. However, much like at Ten Tables on Monday, Beacon Hill Bistro had been slow for the preceding few days. Therefore, there wasn't too much to do.
There was another roadblock to me wanting to work at Beacon Hill Bistro. See, the reason that I left EXNE was that I really didn't enjoy working with the sous-chef there. I knew that EXNE was looking for a new sous during the time I have been looking for a job, but I didn't know why. To be honest, I still don't know why, but I do know where he will be going after he leaves EXNE. It turns out that he'll be at Beacon Hill Bistro. The chef at Beacon Hill Bistro and the ex-sous at EXNE were both Lumiere alumni. I think those kids are as thick as thieves. There's a big network of them and they all, generally have the same style. So after hearing that the guy from EXNE would be at at Beacon Hill Bistro, I pretty much took it off the table as a job possibility.
The rest of the stage was uneventful, for the most part. There was a cook there that I was totally in love with. She was a badass blond line cook who wore stretchy black pants under her apron and chef coat. I couldn't stop staring at her ass. She was a good cook too. She had her movements down, something that I enjoy watching. And it wasn't just because she was a hot chick. There are plenty of cooks out there that I love to watch as they cook the line. Marsoir is one of them. There are some people who just have such fluid motions and such grace going from action to action. She had it.
Since there were a few bum pilots on the stoves, they kept butter wrapper wicks above the line on a little ledge. So, periodically, this badass blond line cook would reach up above her head, grab a wick, light the burner and replace the wick on the ledge. I was entranced.
Now, some people who know me might think that watching a girl like that might just be enough for me to want to take a job, but the bum thing about it was that this girl will be moving to New York City in a few weeks. So, even if I took the position, I would never get to work with her.
The stage rounded out with me cooking on the roast station. I burnt my thumb and forefinger on a hot, hot spoon in a puree that I was warming up. Amazingly enough, it has already healed. The next day it was a giant white spot that took up three quarters of my thumb print.
I left the stage after a meal of some charcuterie and a oxtail ragout with parisienne gnocci knowing that I would not be taking the job. Today, when I got an offer e-mail from the chef, it added insult to injury that he low balled me, offering me two dollars less an hour than Island Creek Oyster Bar and not even guaranteeing more than extra two or three hours of overtime a week.
The second stage at Ten Tables on Friday was much busier. I was a lot more active. I felt like I was slow during prep. I accidentally browned my roux when making a bechamel sauce and had to start over. I blame the limited work space near the range. I had to keep running back and forth to stir the roux as I was prepping parsnip puree. During service, I helped out the guy working the app station. Normally the chef tends to float around the kitchen and help whoever needs help on the busy weekend nights, but since I was there, I helped out the app guy. The chef worked between the meat and the fish guys, and the sous-chef prepped and pretty much chilled as we all worked the line. I have to say that I got a much better sense of how the kitchen ran when busier, though there wasn't any real big push.
After the stage, I sat down and talked to the chef some more. We seemed to have a good rapport. I was a little uneasy by the fact that the stage that they had come in on Thursday had worked at Craigie on Main. The chef also told me that he had another stage coming in. So I would have to wait until Monday (today) to see what would happen. That made me even more uneasy. We went from him wanting to offer me the job to a slightly less certain feeling that they wanted me. We did, however, spend a good half an hour talking about noodles and eastern cuisine. I showed him YouTube clips of guys hand pulling and shaving noodles in China. I showed him my clip of the Thai girl making crepes in Ayutthaya. He was entranced. He's a self proclaimed noodle whore. So, we connected a lot on that level. I just hope it's enough to at least get me an offer to work in that kitchen.
The second stage at Island Creek Oyster Bar on Saturday was busy too. Instead of cooking the sides on the fish station, I worked the hot apps station with a guy named Dan. When I counted the number of dishes coming off of his station, it numbered twelve. There were three mussels dishes, three soups, a little neck clam dish, crab cakes, baked beans, a biscuit, a gnocci dish, and a shrimp toast dish. I feel like I'm missing another one in there too. But twelve dishes! I have worked at restaurants with less than twelve dishes ON THE ENTIRE MENU. I mean holy fuck. In the division of labor, I ended up picking up all three mussels dishes, two of the soups, the shrimp toast, the biscuit, the baked beans and I set the plates for the crab cake. I could totally see how I would be getting in the weeds there on the line. It wasn't as bad as the fish station, but, don't kid yourself. There was a lot of food coming off of that station.
All in all, though, we were able to keep up. The only annoying thing was that he only had two spoons on his station and I had to reach over him to get one of them. Also, I couldn't get at the salamander to heat up the plates, so I had to heat them up in the slow oven under the flat top. It was kind of annoying. I think that even as a total rook on that station, I could have done it a little better if the guy just got out of my way more than he was already. He had a habit of leaving the line. The grill cook, a sassy girl from the dirty south, commented on the fact that he needs to stay on the line. She was cool. I liked working next to her.
At the end of the stage, we left it that I would get back to the chef on Monday night or Tuesday morning, and that's still where it stands.
The question is, if Ten Tables makes an offer, will it be enough. The offer that Island Creek made was what I was looking for. If Ten Tables offers me the same amount, I would have to go with Ten Tables. It's a subway/bus free commute which would save me the forty something dollars a month in a T pass. I wouldn't have to worry about getting out of work in time to catch the last T back home. I would have to worry about making family meal. I think that at Island Creek, they have one of their prep guys make the family meal. If Ten Tables offers me less money, I think that's when things get hairy. If Ten Tables offers me one dollar less an hour, that comes out to be at least a hundred and sixty dollars less a month, even more if you count overtime. If it's two dollars less, like Beacon Hill Bistro offered, then it's losing me at least three hundred and twenty dollars a month. What will I do if they lowball me?
Ugh.
Seriously.
Ugh.
To complicate everything, I think I'm a little depressed. I don't really care about anything right now. Not a single thing. I'm not excited about anything. I don't want to go anywhere (besides move to Shanghai). I'm achy. I never want to get out of bed, because I don't want to go out and spend money. So, all I do, when I'm not out staging is sit on my bed, look for more job postings (which aren't really coming out of the woodworks), and watch re-runs of How I Met Your Mother. It's not really an enthralling lifestyle.
But, really, what can you do when you don't have a job and you're not at all excited about the city that you're living in? I don't just think that it's the fact that I don't want to go anywhere or do anything specific. I think that there really isn't anyone to hang out with. Everyone's got their own thing going on. A lot of my friends have either popped out shorties or have moved out of town. I feel the need to meet new, exciting people, but I don't know where or how to do that by myself and on a budget.
The snow isn't helping much either. I am effing sick of winter. I want to punch Jack Frost in his stupid ass carrot nose, peel it, and add it to my mirpoix. I would tell Jack Frost to kiss my ass, but I think that his stupid ass carrot nose would find its way into my culo, and no one wants to find produce in their bung hole. I'm guessing that it might be easier to take than, say a bunch of celery or an onion, but, regardless, I want none of that.
I do want to be more active. I want to read more and write more. I think that I need to find the motivation to get off of my bed. It's hard to do that, find the motivation to get out of bed every day. Wednesday, I barely left my room. I think that it doesn't help that I don't have much of an appetite. I have found myself down to one meal a day with very little snacking. Today, I had a cup of coffee at Simon's, where I read for a couple of hours, a jumbo tonkatsu combo at the Porter Exchange, a glass of wine, and a handful of snacks. It's not a whole lot.
The reason that I think its a bout of depression is also because, according to Linh, I go through a big bout of depression after every major trip I take. She would know. She has been around to see my re-entry adaptation from my month around Europe, my two months in southeast Asia, and now for China. I hope I get over it soon. I hope I find a reason to get up in the morning and a reason to get out of bed. I wish I had someone here giving me a reason to leave the apartment, but all of my friends have better things to do with their time, just as I should have.
I guess it doesn't help that I don't get tired until the wee hours of the morning. Even when I try to go to sleep early, I can't manage to do it. I tried some melatonin pills that my friend gave me, but that really didn't do anything.
I think that the bottom line, right now, is that I just want to care about something immediate. My move to Shanghai is so far away right now, I need some short term excitement and goals. I have my long term goals and aspirations, my mid term goals and aspirations, but I just can't get excited about anything right now. It's not very ZEN!!! of me in the technical zen sense, but it is how it is.
Can someone, please give me something enthralling to enrich my life at this very moment, because, right now, I don't give a fuck about anything.
What's my problem? I think I'm depressed.
Ugh.
Seriously.
Ugh.
So I've done five stages at three restaurants starting a week ago. I did one at Beacon Hill Bistro, two at Ten Tables in Cambridge, and two at Island Creek Oyster Bar in Kenmore Square.
My first stage was at Ten Tables. It was last Monday, when it was insanely cold. It had been a slow couple of days leading up to that Monday, so there wasn't a helluva lot to do. The people there were nice. I dug the vibe that the Chef had going. He seemed to be a really funny guy, and everyone there seemed professional and friendly. Now Ten Tables is in Craigie's old space. I had never been in the kitchen there. It's a maze of small rooms and doorways. The kitchen itself wasn't nearly as small as I had anticipated. After being in shoe boxes like EXNE's kitchen and seeing kitchens like Bondir's, anything looks spacious.
To be honest, the food that they were doing there looked like really easy pickups. The plating was pretty easy, but I think that most of the tough stuff, as always, is in the prep. There were some things that were pretty standard, but the flavors were pretty much spot on.
I had a pretty good feeling walking out of the stage. The chef said that he wanted to offer me the position, but he had to see another stage coming in. I, also, felt the need to do my due diligence. I knew that I wanted to see the kitchen on a more rockin' night than thirty covers, so I set up a stage for the upcoming Friday night.
The second stage was on Tuesday and was at Island Creek Oyster Bar. I couldn't have picked a more polar opposite kitchen. The entire Ten Tables dining room, kitchen and storage area could have fit in the Island Creek Oyster Bar kitchen. This kitchen was a MONSTER. I knew that it was going to be. I was expecting it. I just didn't know what it would have been like to operate in a kitchen that big.
When I got there, I was shocked by just how big it was. There was an entire wall of fryers, a giant flat top the size of a ping pong table, two eight-burner ranges, a grill, refrigerator low-boys for mise-en-place. It was really quite shocking.
What was even more shocking was that after I did a little bit of light prep, they threw me right on the line working with the guy who was cooking the fish. Now, this is Island Creek Oyster Bar, so you know they're rocking it heavy on the fish. In fact, there are only three non-fish dishes (a burger, a steak and a chicken dish). My job, that night, was to cook all of the sides for the fish dishes. So, I was cooking veg and starch for at least seven different dishes, all of which I wasn't familiar with. I had to keep looking back at the menu to make sure I knew what was going with what. When it got busy, and boy did it get busy, we were doing twelve or thirteen plate pick ups. To give you an idea of what this was like for me, at American Season, the biggest pickup that we did was probably fourteen plates, and that was split between both the saute and the grill stations. We were doing twelve or thirteen plate pick ups just off of the fish station. We're not talking about fried fish and easy drops. We're talking about pan seared and roasted fish with real plated sides. Sure, it was bistro style plating which meant "just get it on the plate," but I was getting run.
Now, I was so shell shocked by the night that I had no clue what to think. They made me an offer, which was the first to hit the table. I was honest with them. I didn't quite know what to think, so I set up another stage for the coming Saturday. I wanted to see it again, on a nice busy weekend night. I think they respected the fact that I wasn't willing to jump in right away. In addition, I had the other two stages set up.
Thursday, I was at Beacon Hill Bistro. The first impression wasn't a good one. First of all, the chef didn't have a copy of my resume. He hadn't printed it off from his e-mail, so I had to recount it for him. To be honest, the chef was a pretty quiet person. He didn't have much of a presence. However, much like at Ten Tables on Monday, Beacon Hill Bistro had been slow for the preceding few days. Therefore, there wasn't too much to do.
There was another roadblock to me wanting to work at Beacon Hill Bistro. See, the reason that I left EXNE was that I really didn't enjoy working with the sous-chef there. I knew that EXNE was looking for a new sous during the time I have been looking for a job, but I didn't know why. To be honest, I still don't know why, but I do know where he will be going after he leaves EXNE. It turns out that he'll be at Beacon Hill Bistro. The chef at Beacon Hill Bistro and the ex-sous at EXNE were both Lumiere alumni. I think those kids are as thick as thieves. There's a big network of them and they all, generally have the same style. So after hearing that the guy from EXNE would be at at Beacon Hill Bistro, I pretty much took it off the table as a job possibility.
The rest of the stage was uneventful, for the most part. There was a cook there that I was totally in love with. She was a badass blond line cook who wore stretchy black pants under her apron and chef coat. I couldn't stop staring at her ass. She was a good cook too. She had her movements down, something that I enjoy watching. And it wasn't just because she was a hot chick. There are plenty of cooks out there that I love to watch as they cook the line. Marsoir is one of them. There are some people who just have such fluid motions and such grace going from action to action. She had it.
Since there were a few bum pilots on the stoves, they kept butter wrapper wicks above the line on a little ledge. So, periodically, this badass blond line cook would reach up above her head, grab a wick, light the burner and replace the wick on the ledge. I was entranced.
Now, some people who know me might think that watching a girl like that might just be enough for me to want to take a job, but the bum thing about it was that this girl will be moving to New York City in a few weeks. So, even if I took the position, I would never get to work with her.
The stage rounded out with me cooking on the roast station. I burnt my thumb and forefinger on a hot, hot spoon in a puree that I was warming up. Amazingly enough, it has already healed. The next day it was a giant white spot that took up three quarters of my thumb print.
I left the stage after a meal of some charcuterie and a oxtail ragout with parisienne gnocci knowing that I would not be taking the job. Today, when I got an offer e-mail from the chef, it added insult to injury that he low balled me, offering me two dollars less an hour than Island Creek Oyster Bar and not even guaranteeing more than extra two or three hours of overtime a week.
The second stage at Ten Tables on Friday was much busier. I was a lot more active. I felt like I was slow during prep. I accidentally browned my roux when making a bechamel sauce and had to start over. I blame the limited work space near the range. I had to keep running back and forth to stir the roux as I was prepping parsnip puree. During service, I helped out the guy working the app station. Normally the chef tends to float around the kitchen and help whoever needs help on the busy weekend nights, but since I was there, I helped out the app guy. The chef worked between the meat and the fish guys, and the sous-chef prepped and pretty much chilled as we all worked the line. I have to say that I got a much better sense of how the kitchen ran when busier, though there wasn't any real big push.
After the stage, I sat down and talked to the chef some more. We seemed to have a good rapport. I was a little uneasy by the fact that the stage that they had come in on Thursday had worked at Craigie on Main. The chef also told me that he had another stage coming in. So I would have to wait until Monday (today) to see what would happen. That made me even more uneasy. We went from him wanting to offer me the job to a slightly less certain feeling that they wanted me. We did, however, spend a good half an hour talking about noodles and eastern cuisine. I showed him YouTube clips of guys hand pulling and shaving noodles in China. I showed him my clip of the Thai girl making crepes in Ayutthaya. He was entranced. He's a self proclaimed noodle whore. So, we connected a lot on that level. I just hope it's enough to at least get me an offer to work in that kitchen.
The second stage at Island Creek Oyster Bar on Saturday was busy too. Instead of cooking the sides on the fish station, I worked the hot apps station with a guy named Dan. When I counted the number of dishes coming off of his station, it numbered twelve. There were three mussels dishes, three soups, a little neck clam dish, crab cakes, baked beans, a biscuit, a gnocci dish, and a shrimp toast dish. I feel like I'm missing another one in there too. But twelve dishes! I have worked at restaurants with less than twelve dishes ON THE ENTIRE MENU. I mean holy fuck. In the division of labor, I ended up picking up all three mussels dishes, two of the soups, the shrimp toast, the biscuit, the baked beans and I set the plates for the crab cake. I could totally see how I would be getting in the weeds there on the line. It wasn't as bad as the fish station, but, don't kid yourself. There was a lot of food coming off of that station.
All in all, though, we were able to keep up. The only annoying thing was that he only had two spoons on his station and I had to reach over him to get one of them. Also, I couldn't get at the salamander to heat up the plates, so I had to heat them up in the slow oven under the flat top. It was kind of annoying. I think that even as a total rook on that station, I could have done it a little better if the guy just got out of my way more than he was already. He had a habit of leaving the line. The grill cook, a sassy girl from the dirty south, commented on the fact that he needs to stay on the line. She was cool. I liked working next to her.
At the end of the stage, we left it that I would get back to the chef on Monday night or Tuesday morning, and that's still where it stands.
The question is, if Ten Tables makes an offer, will it be enough. The offer that Island Creek made was what I was looking for. If Ten Tables offers me the same amount, I would have to go with Ten Tables. It's a subway/bus free commute which would save me the forty something dollars a month in a T pass. I wouldn't have to worry about getting out of work in time to catch the last T back home. I would have to worry about making family meal. I think that at Island Creek, they have one of their prep guys make the family meal. If Ten Tables offers me less money, I think that's when things get hairy. If Ten Tables offers me one dollar less an hour, that comes out to be at least a hundred and sixty dollars less a month, even more if you count overtime. If it's two dollars less, like Beacon Hill Bistro offered, then it's losing me at least three hundred and twenty dollars a month. What will I do if they lowball me?
Ugh.
Seriously.
Ugh.
To complicate everything, I think I'm a little depressed. I don't really care about anything right now. Not a single thing. I'm not excited about anything. I don't want to go anywhere (besides move to Shanghai). I'm achy. I never want to get out of bed, because I don't want to go out and spend money. So, all I do, when I'm not out staging is sit on my bed, look for more job postings (which aren't really coming out of the woodworks), and watch re-runs of How I Met Your Mother. It's not really an enthralling lifestyle.
But, really, what can you do when you don't have a job and you're not at all excited about the city that you're living in? I don't just think that it's the fact that I don't want to go anywhere or do anything specific. I think that there really isn't anyone to hang out with. Everyone's got their own thing going on. A lot of my friends have either popped out shorties or have moved out of town. I feel the need to meet new, exciting people, but I don't know where or how to do that by myself and on a budget.
The snow isn't helping much either. I am effing sick of winter. I want to punch Jack Frost in his stupid ass carrot nose, peel it, and add it to my mirpoix. I would tell Jack Frost to kiss my ass, but I think that his stupid ass carrot nose would find its way into my culo, and no one wants to find produce in their bung hole. I'm guessing that it might be easier to take than, say a bunch of celery or an onion, but, regardless, I want none of that.
I do want to be more active. I want to read more and write more. I think that I need to find the motivation to get off of my bed. It's hard to do that, find the motivation to get out of bed every day. Wednesday, I barely left my room. I think that it doesn't help that I don't have much of an appetite. I have found myself down to one meal a day with very little snacking. Today, I had a cup of coffee at Simon's, where I read for a couple of hours, a jumbo tonkatsu combo at the Porter Exchange, a glass of wine, and a handful of snacks. It's not a whole lot.
The reason that I think its a bout of depression is also because, according to Linh, I go through a big bout of depression after every major trip I take. She would know. She has been around to see my re-entry adaptation from my month around Europe, my two months in southeast Asia, and now for China. I hope I get over it soon. I hope I find a reason to get up in the morning and a reason to get out of bed. I wish I had someone here giving me a reason to leave the apartment, but all of my friends have better things to do with their time, just as I should have.
I guess it doesn't help that I don't get tired until the wee hours of the morning. Even when I try to go to sleep early, I can't manage to do it. I tried some melatonin pills that my friend gave me, but that really didn't do anything.
I think that the bottom line, right now, is that I just want to care about something immediate. My move to Shanghai is so far away right now, I need some short term excitement and goals. I have my long term goals and aspirations, my mid term goals and aspirations, but I just can't get excited about anything right now. It's not very ZEN!!! of me in the technical zen sense, but it is how it is.
Can someone, please give me something enthralling to enrich my life at this very moment, because, right now, I don't give a fuck about anything.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Whore, Glutton for Punishment or Desperate?
Listening: Maybe in a month or two... Maybe when things are different for me... Maybe when things are different for you. You know all of this shit just sticks in my head.
What's my problem? I have no clue which one I am.
Paul, 19:25: Hey Zen, can u help me demo at the wine expo this Sat?.... 1:30- 6pm is..
Me, 19:27: Yeah probably. Gonna be easier than the last job?
Paul, 19:28: Yes.... Im demo-ing chowder ...have to be there by 3pm...
Me, 19:30: Okay I'm in. Just let me know where you want me to be, when and what I need to bring with me.
Paul, 19:31: Chez....Sat @130pm....a knife and chef coat
Me, 19:31: See you then.
Paul, 19:32: Ok
Am I insane? Am I really getting myself into this again? What the hell am I doing? And does Paul know the proper way to use ellipses?
It's totally against my better judgment to be doing another job with Paul like this. I have no desire to be a part of the fuck show that was the last catering job. But, at the same time, I don't have anything better going on at the moment. I don't have any stages lined up yet or anything like that. So, it's kind of an opportunity to get the hell out of the house.
I'm finding that it's impossible for me to work or write in my bedroom. I just end up watching vapid things on the internet and not really getting anything done. I think it has to do with two things. First of all, I don't have a proper chair and table set up for my computer. This makes it hard to properly sit and write. I think that this is also why I write and work so much better at coffee shops.
Second, I think that the room with no windows is irking me for the first time in a long time. While I was in China, I would wake up with the sun streaming in on my face in almost every hostel. So much so, that I sometimes used one of those eye masks. Now, in the windowless room, without anything scheduled, I lose track of time. I lay there, or I stare at my computer. Maybe I need to set some schedules (not that I haven't tried). I want to try to work at the coffee shops more. Maybe it'll help my retroactive blogging more too.
Anyhow, I just wanted to pose the question, what the fuck is wrong with me for taking this job? If anyone has any answers, please let me know.
What's my problem? I have no clue which one I am.
Paul, 19:25: Hey Zen, can u help me demo at the wine expo this Sat?.... 1:30- 6pm is..
Me, 19:27: Yeah probably. Gonna be easier than the last job?
Paul, 19:28: Yes.... Im demo-ing chowder ...have to be there by 3pm...
Me, 19:30: Okay I'm in. Just let me know where you want me to be, when and what I need to bring with me.
Paul, 19:31: Chez....Sat @130pm....a knife and chef coat
Me, 19:31: See you then.
Paul, 19:32: Ok
Am I insane? Am I really getting myself into this again? What the hell am I doing? And does Paul know the proper way to use ellipses?
It's totally against my better judgment to be doing another job with Paul like this. I have no desire to be a part of the fuck show that was the last catering job. But, at the same time, I don't have anything better going on at the moment. I don't have any stages lined up yet or anything like that. So, it's kind of an opportunity to get the hell out of the house.
I'm finding that it's impossible for me to work or write in my bedroom. I just end up watching vapid things on the internet and not really getting anything done. I think it has to do with two things. First of all, I don't have a proper chair and table set up for my computer. This makes it hard to properly sit and write. I think that this is also why I write and work so much better at coffee shops.
Second, I think that the room with no windows is irking me for the first time in a long time. While I was in China, I would wake up with the sun streaming in on my face in almost every hostel. So much so, that I sometimes used one of those eye masks. Now, in the windowless room, without anything scheduled, I lose track of time. I lay there, or I stare at my computer. Maybe I need to set some schedules (not that I haven't tried). I want to try to work at the coffee shops more. Maybe it'll help my retroactive blogging more too.
Anyhow, I just wanted to pose the question, what the fuck is wrong with me for taking this job? If anyone has any answers, please let me know.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Mission Failure
Listening: We had a lot to learn; table manners and grace, how to wait your turn when time came to clear your slate. You had too much, had too much on your plate.
What's my problem? I should never have answered that text.
Goal 1) Failure
Goal 2) Failure
Goal 3) Weeeeeeeellllll... It's up for debate.
8:53AM, Paul: Can u cater today?...Paul
8:57AM, Me: Yeah. What time and where?
8:59AM, Paul: Noon at chez...going to Newton by 5pm...behind because no delivery yestrdy
8:59AM, Me: I'll see you at noon.
9:01AM, Paul: k
So began a very long day. I should have never answered that text. Nothing good can come of signing onto a catering gig on the day it's supposed to happen. Nothing.
When I get to Chez, Paul isn't even there. Scott, the other guy doing catering just got there. He knew about the job on Sunday. Paul shows up after fifteen minutes and promptly leaves again to pick up some stuff and switch out cars. It's a good hour and a half before we see him again.
As we're prepping for the catering gig, it becomes more and more clear how behind we are and how we should have been here at eight in the morning and not noon. The catering gig was for a hundred adults and twenty five kids. It will all be passed or buffet at a corporate office. At noon we started with nothing done. Fuck. We're not supposed to be there by five in the evening. Five is when the food is supposed to start going out. We're supposed to be there at three. Fuck.
So, I'm doing a lot of the finer knife work, though it's apparent that I probably should have been doing a hack job. It's four o'clock and almost nothing is finished. We load up Paul's car haphazardly, but in our rush, we forgot to take a bunch of essential things. Scott stayed behind to finish up and ended up taking one of the server's cars to the site. It was a total fuck show.
When we got there, we arrived five minutes after the food was supposed to start flowing, but we were only able to put out two things, because the rest of it all was in parts. I scratched up a marble floor with a cooler because we were in a rush and no one could help me carry it. Everything was chaos.
Somehow, in the middle of service, Lynn, the catering manager, promoted me to catering chef. The food wasn't anywhere near as good as it was supposed to be. Paul was all over the place. Scott kind of mentally checked out. So, I was really the only one bouncing around trying to get shit done and making sure we weren't killing people with food that was improperly heated. To top it all off, we had some picky, picky kids. It was pretty messed up.
By the time it was all said and done, I can honestly say it was either the worst catering job I have ever done, or the second worst. The only one that was anywhere near contention was the Cooks Illustrated holiday party a few years back where it was a blizzard and it took us four hours to drive from Cambridge to the South End. I guess it could have been worse, looking back on it, but I wouldn't want to be a part of that worse. Next time Paul texts me to cater on that same day, unless I'm desperate for the cash, I'm going to have to say no.
The good things that came out of the whole scenario was that I got to see a few old Chez faces. Robby K was behind the bar and Jordy was on the floor. I was out the door before noon and I was actually a productive person.
Today, I have already sent out one resume. We'll see where it goes. I also texted my pal Tom to see what he knew about the position I threw my name in the hat for. My pals aren't coming through with the info I want for job prospects, but I can float for a little while longer. Let's hope I don't float too long though.
What's my problem? I should never have answered that text.
Goal 1) Failure
Goal 2) Failure
Goal 3) Weeeeeeeellllll... It's up for debate.
8:53AM, Paul: Can u cater today?...Paul
8:57AM, Me: Yeah. What time and where?
8:59AM, Paul: Noon at chez...going to Newton by 5pm...behind because no delivery yestrdy
8:59AM, Me: I'll see you at noon.
9:01AM, Paul: k
So began a very long day. I should have never answered that text. Nothing good can come of signing onto a catering gig on the day it's supposed to happen. Nothing.
When I get to Chez, Paul isn't even there. Scott, the other guy doing catering just got there. He knew about the job on Sunday. Paul shows up after fifteen minutes and promptly leaves again to pick up some stuff and switch out cars. It's a good hour and a half before we see him again.
As we're prepping for the catering gig, it becomes more and more clear how behind we are and how we should have been here at eight in the morning and not noon. The catering gig was for a hundred adults and twenty five kids. It will all be passed or buffet at a corporate office. At noon we started with nothing done. Fuck. We're not supposed to be there by five in the evening. Five is when the food is supposed to start going out. We're supposed to be there at three. Fuck.
So, I'm doing a lot of the finer knife work, though it's apparent that I probably should have been doing a hack job. It's four o'clock and almost nothing is finished. We load up Paul's car haphazardly, but in our rush, we forgot to take a bunch of essential things. Scott stayed behind to finish up and ended up taking one of the server's cars to the site. It was a total fuck show.
When we got there, we arrived five minutes after the food was supposed to start flowing, but we were only able to put out two things, because the rest of it all was in parts. I scratched up a marble floor with a cooler because we were in a rush and no one could help me carry it. Everything was chaos.
Somehow, in the middle of service, Lynn, the catering manager, promoted me to catering chef. The food wasn't anywhere near as good as it was supposed to be. Paul was all over the place. Scott kind of mentally checked out. So, I was really the only one bouncing around trying to get shit done and making sure we weren't killing people with food that was improperly heated. To top it all off, we had some picky, picky kids. It was pretty messed up.
By the time it was all said and done, I can honestly say it was either the worst catering job I have ever done, or the second worst. The only one that was anywhere near contention was the Cooks Illustrated holiday party a few years back where it was a blizzard and it took us four hours to drive from Cambridge to the South End. I guess it could have been worse, looking back on it, but I wouldn't want to be a part of that worse. Next time Paul texts me to cater on that same day, unless I'm desperate for the cash, I'm going to have to say no.
The good things that came out of the whole scenario was that I got to see a few old Chez faces. Robby K was behind the bar and Jordy was on the floor. I was out the door before noon and I was actually a productive person.
Today, I have already sent out one resume. We'll see where it goes. I also texted my pal Tom to see what he knew about the position I threw my name in the hat for. My pals aren't coming through with the info I want for job prospects, but I can float for a little while longer. Let's hope I don't float too long though.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Too Many Shirts
Listening: It's hard enough to feel the world as it is and hold on anything. Without these quiet times you've brought round here. I'm gonna have to run away, I'm sure that I belong some other place.
What's my problem? Not enough molding.
I sit here at a quarter to two in the morning. Today has not been a productive day. Yesterday was not a productive day. The day before was not a productive day either. I could say that I had an excuse today. It was snowing out and my power was out from six in the morning until one in the afternoon. That was just a bullshit excuse for not getting out of bed or staying in bed and catching up on serial dramas that I watch.
The truth is that for the first time in four years, I actually have to be proactive about finding a job. The last time I was unemployed, I was unemployed for a mere week. That was after I got unjustly shitcanned from the Chez. I called up a buddy, and he had somewhere for me to work. I could probably do that again, but the big question on my ind these days is, "where is the right place for me to work?" I love western food. I love putting charcuterie and cheese down my gullet. I like pasta and big fat cuts of meat (which reminds me that I should really get a steak sometime soon). However, looking for a job reminds me that the white tablecloths aren't what I'm chasing.
I think that at the end of the day, I want to put my best shell-toe Adidas forward and bring it back down to the street level. I don't want my servers doting and replacing silver. I don't want flimsy plastic pieces of shit either. I want to rock out interesting good food inspired by the places that I have seen that doesn't give a shit about stars or reviews. I'm not seeing a ton of that around right now. I'm not excited about anywhere. I think that's what's making it hard for me to start fighting for a job. I'm not excited. I need the money right now, because Shanghai ain't getting any closer with me sitting on my arse.
So what am I to do? Where to I send my resume? Who should I be talking to? Who should be talking to me?
So what am I doing with my time? Well, as I said before, I'm catching up on serial dramas. I'm trying my best to clean up and organize my room, which is tough considering that there's two peoples' stuff crammed into it. My desk is almost clear. It's far better than it was the other day.
Today, I finally did laundry. It was just as much laundry as it looked like. Five loads. It was while I was doing laundry that I realized just how many shirts I have. I have a lot of shirts. See, I hang dry almost all of my shirts and tee shirts with prints on them. Right now they're on wire hangers balanced precariously on the crown molding on a little overhang in my room. Seeing the shirts lined up, I must have at least twenty something shirts/tees just drying. Forget about the ones that are in my closet or the tees that are folded on the shelf. I have what would qualify as a fuck-ton of shirts. I have maybe four pairs of pants that I wear regularly, but almost all of my shirts get worn. I love them.
Today, I looked at my shirts and wondered which ones of them would make the cut for me to take to Shanghai in a year and a half, which ones would be boxed up and sent into storage, and which ones would be donated. I wonder what it'll be like when I pack up all of my stuff and leave the place that has contained the majority of my life since I finished college. Would I keep all three tux shirts? One has french cuffs. Another one has a dragon print on the ruffles. The other one just irons better. How about that shirt I got in Vietnam because I was out of clean shirts and I liked the way it looked? What about the shirt that my boss at Au Bon Pain gave me back in 1996? I guess I have a year and a half to decide.
I've also been meaning to start retroactively blogging my seven weeks in China. I have the notebook where I kept the list of daily events right next to me. But instead of writing it all down, I'll start staring at pictures of my trip. Sometimes I'll see a picture of one of my friends that I met on the trail and I'll just stare at it for a good half an hour, when I should be writing bullshit cover letters that no chef will actually read. I already miss the people in China. I already miss the smog and the dirty street food. I miss having to look up to see everything. I miss the smells and the sounds. How am I going to get back there? And when I do, is Shanghai going to remember me like I'm sure I will remember it?
I have three goals for tomorrow.
1) Send out at least one resume/cover letter.
2) Retroactively blog at least my first day in China.
3) Leave the house for at least a couple of hours... maybe get a coffee.
It's not a lot to ask of myself, I know. But it feels like a lot. I also have a goal of getting up with my alarm at nine in the morning. We'll see of that happens too. I need to get my shit back on track. I need to wake up, shower and put on one of my many shirts and start kicking some ass. Time to start kicking some ass.
What's my problem? Not enough molding.
I sit here at a quarter to two in the morning. Today has not been a productive day. Yesterday was not a productive day. The day before was not a productive day either. I could say that I had an excuse today. It was snowing out and my power was out from six in the morning until one in the afternoon. That was just a bullshit excuse for not getting out of bed or staying in bed and catching up on serial dramas that I watch.
The truth is that for the first time in four years, I actually have to be proactive about finding a job. The last time I was unemployed, I was unemployed for a mere week. That was after I got unjustly shitcanned from the Chez. I called up a buddy, and he had somewhere for me to work. I could probably do that again, but the big question on my ind these days is, "where is the right place for me to work?" I love western food. I love putting charcuterie and cheese down my gullet. I like pasta and big fat cuts of meat (which reminds me that I should really get a steak sometime soon). However, looking for a job reminds me that the white tablecloths aren't what I'm chasing.
I think that at the end of the day, I want to put my best shell-toe Adidas forward and bring it back down to the street level. I don't want my servers doting and replacing silver. I don't want flimsy plastic pieces of shit either. I want to rock out interesting good food inspired by the places that I have seen that doesn't give a shit about stars or reviews. I'm not seeing a ton of that around right now. I'm not excited about anywhere. I think that's what's making it hard for me to start fighting for a job. I'm not excited. I need the money right now, because Shanghai ain't getting any closer with me sitting on my arse.
So what am I to do? Where to I send my resume? Who should I be talking to? Who should be talking to me?
So what am I doing with my time? Well, as I said before, I'm catching up on serial dramas. I'm trying my best to clean up and organize my room, which is tough considering that there's two peoples' stuff crammed into it. My desk is almost clear. It's far better than it was the other day.
Today, I finally did laundry. It was just as much laundry as it looked like. Five loads. It was while I was doing laundry that I realized just how many shirts I have. I have a lot of shirts. See, I hang dry almost all of my shirts and tee shirts with prints on them. Right now they're on wire hangers balanced precariously on the crown molding on a little overhang in my room. Seeing the shirts lined up, I must have at least twenty something shirts/tees just drying. Forget about the ones that are in my closet or the tees that are folded on the shelf. I have what would qualify as a fuck-ton of shirts. I have maybe four pairs of pants that I wear regularly, but almost all of my shirts get worn. I love them.
Today, I looked at my shirts and wondered which ones of them would make the cut for me to take to Shanghai in a year and a half, which ones would be boxed up and sent into storage, and which ones would be donated. I wonder what it'll be like when I pack up all of my stuff and leave the place that has contained the majority of my life since I finished college. Would I keep all three tux shirts? One has french cuffs. Another one has a dragon print on the ruffles. The other one just irons better. How about that shirt I got in Vietnam because I was out of clean shirts and I liked the way it looked? What about the shirt that my boss at Au Bon Pain gave me back in 1996? I guess I have a year and a half to decide.
I've also been meaning to start retroactively blogging my seven weeks in China. I have the notebook where I kept the list of daily events right next to me. But instead of writing it all down, I'll start staring at pictures of my trip. Sometimes I'll see a picture of one of my friends that I met on the trail and I'll just stare at it for a good half an hour, when I should be writing bullshit cover letters that no chef will actually read. I already miss the people in China. I already miss the smog and the dirty street food. I miss having to look up to see everything. I miss the smells and the sounds. How am I going to get back there? And when I do, is Shanghai going to remember me like I'm sure I will remember it?
I have three goals for tomorrow.
1) Send out at least one resume/cover letter.
2) Retroactively blog at least my first day in China.
3) Leave the house for at least a couple of hours... maybe get a coffee.
It's not a lot to ask of myself, I know. But it feels like a lot. I also have a goal of getting up with my alarm at nine in the morning. We'll see of that happens too. I need to get my shit back on track. I need to wake up, shower and put on one of my many shirts and start kicking some ass. Time to start kicking some ass.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Disorganization
Listening: When you smile, the whole world stops and stares for awhile, 'cause, girl, you're amazing just the way you are.
What's my problem? Everything is messy.
It's been three days since I got back into Boston. The first day I spent networking with cooks that I'm friends with and having dinner with two of my best friends. The first night was spent not being able to sleep, catching up on TV shows that I missed and, did I mention, not being able to sleep. I did get to sleep, though. It was around six in the morning. I didn't wake up until two or something like that. I had dinner with some more friends, got home around eleven, fell asleep for an hour and then couldn't go back to sleep until nine in the morning. So, my sleep schedule is pretty messed up right now. It wasn't nearly as messed up when I was in San Jose. I blame the fact that I couldn't sleep on the plane ride back. Damn you east-traveling long haul flights.
Right now my room is a mess. At least it's better now than it was this morning. This morning, my pack was still, essentially, full. My suitcase was pretty much full, but it looked as if it had vomited all over my room. Now, the pack and the suitcase are empty, and the height of my laundry basket rivals that of a fifth grader. My desk is covered in books, bathroom products, magazines, hats, dried fish, spices and at least five different forms of currencies. I have to figure out what to do with all of my crap in the next year and a half.
All of the disorganization is making it hard for me to concentrate on getting a job. I know I need one, but I don't know anywhere specific that I can point to and say, "Yes. I want to work there and I won't take no for an answer." I'm at a point in my eating where I know some of what I do and what I don't want to end up cooking. The big problem is that there's very little of what I want to do in Boston. I can only think of two places that do what I want to do in the city and I've already worked at one of them. Should I go for the other or should I suck it up and go do the food I have been doing for the past five years or so? I have no idea. Maybe I should just be looking for the highest bidder.
So I was online today I and I was looking at some of the pictures that I took from China and I saw someone else's pictures of the Shanghai Swing scene, and, man, do I ever wish I was back there. There was just something amazing about the people I met there. I will do my best to be living there by May or June of 2012. For now, though, I have to muddle through. Time to find a job and find a happy place for the time being. Life ain't all sunshine and lollipops, but I'll be damned if I can't bask in some sun here.
What's my problem? Everything is messy.
It's been three days since I got back into Boston. The first day I spent networking with cooks that I'm friends with and having dinner with two of my best friends. The first night was spent not being able to sleep, catching up on TV shows that I missed and, did I mention, not being able to sleep. I did get to sleep, though. It was around six in the morning. I didn't wake up until two or something like that. I had dinner with some more friends, got home around eleven, fell asleep for an hour and then couldn't go back to sleep until nine in the morning. So, my sleep schedule is pretty messed up right now. It wasn't nearly as messed up when I was in San Jose. I blame the fact that I couldn't sleep on the plane ride back. Damn you east-traveling long haul flights.
Right now my room is a mess. At least it's better now than it was this morning. This morning, my pack was still, essentially, full. My suitcase was pretty much full, but it looked as if it had vomited all over my room. Now, the pack and the suitcase are empty, and the height of my laundry basket rivals that of a fifth grader. My desk is covered in books, bathroom products, magazines, hats, dried fish, spices and at least five different forms of currencies. I have to figure out what to do with all of my crap in the next year and a half.
All of the disorganization is making it hard for me to concentrate on getting a job. I know I need one, but I don't know anywhere specific that I can point to and say, "Yes. I want to work there and I won't take no for an answer." I'm at a point in my eating where I know some of what I do and what I don't want to end up cooking. The big problem is that there's very little of what I want to do in Boston. I can only think of two places that do what I want to do in the city and I've already worked at one of them. Should I go for the other or should I suck it up and go do the food I have been doing for the past five years or so? I have no idea. Maybe I should just be looking for the highest bidder.
So I was online today I and I was looking at some of the pictures that I took from China and I saw someone else's pictures of the Shanghai Swing scene, and, man, do I ever wish I was back there. There was just something amazing about the people I met there. I will do my best to be living there by May or June of 2012. For now, though, I have to muddle through. Time to find a job and find a happy place for the time being. Life ain't all sunshine and lollipops, but I'll be damned if I can't bask in some sun here.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Por Que?
Listening: Patience and grace, all of these moments I'll never replace. No fear of my heart. Absence of faith.
What's my problem? Isn't it clear?
It's seven in the morning, eastern daylight time, on Friday, January seventh. I just walked in the door and all I want is to be gone. Well, all I want is a nap and then to be gone. Back to the drawing board. Time to plan my next jailbreak. Hopefully, I'll be out of the clink for a good long while this next time. For now, I'm back on the chain gang. You bet your sweet ass, every night I'll be hiding behind that poster of Bridget Bardot with my rock hammer scraping away...
What's my problem? Isn't it clear?
It's seven in the morning, eastern daylight time, on Friday, January seventh. I just walked in the door and all I want is to be gone. Well, all I want is a nap and then to be gone. Back to the drawing board. Time to plan my next jailbreak. Hopefully, I'll be out of the clink for a good long while this next time. For now, I'm back on the chain gang. You bet your sweet ass, every night I'll be hiding behind that poster of Bridget Bardot with my rock hammer scraping away...
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