The Weeds

My longest day was yet to be over, but this one hour I had was meant to sleep. 

School and my internship at the soccer team kind of drained me physically and my body was asking for sleep. I had an extra hour to spare before heading my way towards the Grilling Company and work a busy shift during a busy, also cold, spring break. 

The hour nap was well needed and to be clearly honest, it felt better than having and finishing sex. I got up from my cozy bed, mouth-washed and put my black uniform on and made my way out the house, but before I made the turn to go towards Kissimmee, a stop to Starbucks was needed and a Grande iced coffee would sure get me out of this sleepy mindset. 

I entered the gates, not really gates, I just want to make the entrance scene look good, of Orange Lake and same shit different day. Don’t get me wrong, spring break surely enough made many of my colleagues at the Grilling Company happy since they made money, and I somewhat made some money, but not the maximum goal I wanted since school got in the way.  

The back of the house did a tremendous job not falling into the weeds and that was the objective 24/7, 365 days in the Grilling Company; Objective: Don’t fall into the weeds. 

Today, though, was the complete opposite. 

Ms. Kathy was transferred to manage Legacy Sports Bar & Grill, another restaurant in Orange Lake, and our newest expeditor was Sous Chef John while Peter, our Chef De Cuisine would be in the line helping the cooks put the orders in the window, so Gaga and I would run them. 

Chef John was rather new to the Grilling Company and I wasn’t used to his expediting since I’ve worked with Ms. Kathy in the window for three years, but this guy was something else. It was peculiar, I didn’t know if Chef John was talking to himself or to the cream of mushroom soup which was in located in front of him in the expo line. Matter of fact, I thought I was the weirdo, guess not. 

Spring break, however, was reaching an end and what better way to end spring break but with a bang, right? And that bang so happened to be during Holy week. 

As 5:00 p.m. arrived, the hostess opened up the floodgates and the night would be one for the books. 

A party of eight, two six tops. While back in the patio, a party of 15 sat down and a party of nine adults starting filling up the front section of the patio. Forty-four open menus were amongst the big parties not including small parties that have four people or less, so technically 60 open menus to open up the dinner shift hour. 

Boy oh boy was the window filling up with tickets and the small kitchen with four cooks were about to go on a roller coaster ride. More worse is a big restaurant with two runners, I just finished gulping and put my game face on, crunch time it was. 

The crunchy, clustering noise of the ticket machine printing out tickets was the soundtrack of the shift forget the entertainment for the evening. For a second, it looked like Gaga and I had everything under control. The food was coming out at the right time, I was taking the food to the right table and the servers were on point. 

I decided to take the extra effort by getting more ice and bringing plates to the line. The night was going great, and I thought I was going to get cut early because it seemed like these 60 open menus was just a pop, so I thought. 

I look back to the front of the restaurant, and not only did my jaw drop, but my eyes opened up. The lobby was full and the hostess was bound to sit more people without having communication with the kitchen on what the hell is going on. 

The food was still coming out at a good time, but the faster the food came out, the faster I had to run back to the line to take more food. I was a machine though, and I was pulling tickets and my only armor to fight the battle of the weeds was a tray and a tray-jack.  

Good Friday it was and these hoards of tourists were ordering everything. Sushi, ribs, chicken, mahi mahi, salmon, Alfredo pasta, Pescatore pasta, god dammit my tray was full of so much food. I need to relax and take a breather and fight my way out, fight my way out of the weeds. The floor in the line was full of dropped fries and pickles and food kept piling up on top of other plates. may-date, may-date. 

Making my way towards hell or should I say patio, I see nothing but little rugrats running around and I’m hoping this heavy tray full of heavy plates isn’t dropped because of these little twerps running around. I arrive to the last table in the patio, D24. 

Not even one-second and bam, “How long does it take to get drinks here? You guys are really moving slow. I ordered my drinks a long time ago,” as I slowly bite my tongue, I tell the guests that “We” do apologize, but let me put the food on your table and I will go check at the bar on why your drinks are taking “Forever” 

Leave table D24 and I hear an obnoxious little white boy, “Excuse me! What channel is the NCAA game on? It’s March Madness!” deep in my mind I have so many thoughts. 

1. Are you fucking kidding me? 2) It’s college basketball! Who the hell cares about watching amateur players shoot 10-45 in the field! And 3) I don’t know the channel, nor have a remote control to switch the television to your desired channel, I have fucking food, your food to run! 

I get back to the line, the tickets that have printed look like a yellow snake that has taken over the line. 

Many chefs and cooks say that the “Weeds” is just a word, a state of mind and no matter what, those that are in the weeds will always find a way out. So fight it Mike, fight it. 

A wedding and a 20 year wedding anniversary have just sat. There’s no way out. The clustering noise is keeps ringing, stop the ringing. 

A Day in the Line

As I drive down U.S. 192, I can only think about what type of Friday night will it be at the Grilling Company. I guess the bad thing about Orlando is it relies so much on tourism, as much as I hate to admit it. There are slow nights, however, when peak season arrives, it's madness all over the damn resort.

Just as I get passed the entrance gate of Orange Lake Resort, I see the parking lot full of cars, only to indicate that it might, just might, be a busy evening. Of course with the damn heat and sun, that will only attract more business. In the end, I can only acknowledge that's the nature of the business.

I enter the Grilling Company and just before I clock in, I see the prep cooks finishing up, only to hear someone singing a Lady Gaga song, which in that case, it's none other than Johnny Gaga, or we can just call him Gaga for the remainder of the story, since he's the one I usually work with on the line.

I'm glad I get to work with great people, most of all, the expeditor, Ms. Kathy. With her strong, general like, approach, she makes sure everyone in the line does not fall into the weeds when business is kicking our ass.

Don't get me wrong, I love what I do. I don't see myself working at a restaurant all my life, but I'm thankful that I'm able to live this experience because it will shape the person I will be tomorrow.

Gaga and I, well mainly me, run into the dish pit to get all the plates, ramekins and cups that will be needed for the night. Gaga just finished working a lunch shift and is due to work dinner, so the floor is filled with dropped fries, tickets and napkins. Ms. Kathy makes sure her runners are on tip-top shape before we get slammed by the hoards of Disney tourists.

A line sweep is conducted and as the hostess opens the doors, the damn coyotes enter the restaurant looking like they never ate before. Of course, we're known in the resort for our "all-you-can-eat ribs," so it makes sense that these pigs have no brain, but do think with their stomachs.

Two parties of 6 and a couple 4 tops. Oh, I can't forget to mention that we have an outside patio, which is connected to the pool, so that will only attract more people. Two runners and a restaurant that seats overwhelmingly 250-300 people. Think about it, if it's a busy, busy night, forget the servers, the runners are leaving pretty happy after the shift.

On top of that, I do room service deliveries, so that's more money on the side. However, my boss planned the evening right by calling in another runner, just in case we get our asses handed to. It's not that we can't take the heat, cause we can, but the damn patio is like the gambling pot of the Grilling Company. One fuck-up from a server in the patio, and there goes some revenue flying out the window.

I like to think of the patio as a war zone. There is no control of seating, even though there is a hostess, but the cliche "the customer is always right" throws that fucker out the window. Servers have their own sections of the patio, so if one six top decided to set way back in the patio, which lets say thats section 2, then another six top sits next to them, same section, and then a 10 top right across, also same section, then the server is fucked!

"But Mike, can't another server come and help?" Well, let's say the other server is in the same predicament, theres no chance at all. The good thing about it is the menu in the patio is short and simple. Yet, there's always the one screw-head who wants the actual menu from inside the dinning room. You can be a party of six and all five of them order chicken tenders and wings, which makes it an easy order to take out, but one dumb ass wants to order a well done New York steak, there goes a quick ticket out the window. And trust me, most tourists are not very patient.

The patio is full and it seems like there are about 45 open menus, not counting whats inside the dinning room. The kitchen is about get hit, real bad. David, the other runner comes in, and it's show time. I like to say that he's my twin, but of course, I'm the good looking one.

Did I forget to mention we have a full sushi menu? Tourists love sushi, especially hipsters, no offense.

If there is one thing though that pisses me off during a busy night, it's the table with allergies, gluten especially! Yeah, go ahead and take our sous chef away from the line as we're fighting a battle. Orange Lake seems to attract gluten allergy people because that's all we get when these fuckers ask to speak to a chef.

Looks like Kathy is going to need all 3 runners to take food to a party of 20 that sat not to long ago. Good thing the servers tell us before leaving who is at seat one, which will prevent us from auctioning out the food, good job servers.

As I lay my tray down on the jack, David and Gaga come just behind me. We take a glance look at the tickets and begin putting the plates on the table. A quick in-and-out mission, but wait did I just hear excuse me sir? Oh wait, I did. Looks like some of the guests needs some refills in their drinks. Of course, knowing the good person that I am, I try to remember every drink order. Just when they're done, I look for Chong, who is waiting on the table. I do a complete memory dump and run back to the line before Kathy chops my ass up, too late. As Kathy chops my ass, David can't stop to laugh and Gaga is dancing and singing, not cool.

One of the hostesses run up to me to hand me a delivery order, which is good because I get to leave from the on going mayhem. Let's see, three medium rare NY steaks, Cedar Plank Salmon, Smothered Chicken, Coconut Shrimp, Grilled Mahi Mahi, and oh my favorite, Gator Bites. The check alone is about $100 something, so I'm looking at a $10-15 tip, guests don't usually tip me the full 20% unless I'm actually serving them, but $10-15 is not bad at all, and since I'm a full time journalism student, thats even better.

I set up my delivery because Kathy is too busy expediting the window full of tickets, and I just finished pissing her off, so I don't want a ticket with my name on it pissing her off even more, But the good hearted lady that she is, she boxes up my last steak and says, "hear you go hun" I love working with her.

Now the speed limit in the resort is about 23 mph. Kiss my ass, I want a good tip, so the sooner the better, and these guests better appreciate and value my speed and efficiency. I arrive to the room, and I realize these guests are from England. No matter how much tourists piss me off, I like conversing with people, knowing where they are from and just random thoughts. Now that sounds a bit hypocritical coming from me, but I'm a people person.

Dialogue is exchanged, with a nice $25 tip and a cheers to end my delivery. That's how its suppose to be.

I speed my way back to the Grilling Company, and I quickly pick up a tray full of ribs. I take it to table 41 and the in-and-out mission is as easy as it could be. Luis, who is serving the table, brings the ketchup and tells me good job. I help him pre-buss the table by taking away some appetizer plates and run the tray to the O'Neil, the dish washer. O'Neil asks me how the Madrid-Barcelona game went, knowing that I'm a hardcore Real Madrid fan, I tell him we won 2-1 and Lionel Messi is basura.

The business begins to slow down. Gaga was just cut, but I'm sure he'll be waiting to ask me for a ride to either Devenney's, a local Irish Pub, or the 19th Hole, another local bar. David and I begin to clean up the line and talk bullshit. A nice cold pint of Miller Lite at the Ale House sounds good right about now. Ms. Kathy leaves the remaining tickets in the hands of me and David.

I make sure I get tipped by the servers, and I make my way to the Ale House. The night in the Grilling Company has faded. A cold pint of Miller awaits me. Until next time, Saturday that is.

Story inspired by Anthony Bourdains novel "Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly"