The light’s on. It’s always been on in this room as long as I can remember. Only if someone thought of sunlight as a basic necessity while making this bloody hole. It’s 11 Am and I exactly have an hour before the bus arrives and I live just 2 mins away by walk. Doesn’t seem like much, but it’s like cresting a hill that has no stairs on a winter morning……
….only that it’s not. It’s the end of monsoon, a straightforward path to the bus stop, and my lazy ass to deal with.
Moving on.
I slog to the washroom. The mirror reveals the rashes from previous day’s shaving escapades. I should definitely change the blade on this thing if only I could wake up early one day and move out of this castle of darkness. But, it’s fine. Old Spice can deal with this. All chefs need to be clean-shaven. There needs to be no metaphorical or literal idea of stubble on your face. So, challenge is to get the face as smooth as a baby’s bum! (Well, of course, pimples are allowed.)
I dress up in my recurring coupled set of trackpants and t-shirt. Get down and either run or walk to the bus before it comes. Sometimes, I’m early or late but mostly disappointed by the driver’s decision to arrive late or early, based on what makes it inconvenient for me. Let me explain something.
The journey from the steps of my accommodation to the bus stop; riding the bus for 15 minutes listening to whatever I could to set my mood that day, and to the steps of the staff entrance of the hotel, is the ONLY time that I get to experience sunlight; which is more or less 30 minutes per day. Once you step inside this behemoth of this building, it’s all synthetically manufactured, 100% florescent lighting………24/7.
I reach the staff cafeteria, slop on the plate, chow down, and march to the lockers. I dress up as I fast as I can ‘coz I have to beat the system by punching the attendance on exactly 1PM. Punched in, move upstairs. I rush to my department to greet my supervisor (who looks VERY much like Jordan Peele in the ‘Continental Breakfast‘ sketch), but he’s not there. Not much of a surprise. He’s never in the department which he is supposed to handle.
Ok, CULINARY EDUCATION!
A kitchen in a hotel usually has different departments/sections working. A section for North Indian, South Indian, Tandoor, Chinese, Continental, and many more. But, I used to work in a bar kitchen which had a menu that required all the above. The bar has less covers and so a small kitchen. It barely had any place for movement, but we forced it to fit 5 people in total on alternating shifts. We force fed it a Tandoor oven which had to be filled with coals twice a day, a microwave that also accomodated a landline on top of it, and the tiniest dry storage/pantry for condiments and other tinned food.
So, my job, in the beginning, was to fetch things most of the time and bring them to the kitchen for mise-en-place (Pre-preparation). We are an “Ala carte” kitchen which means we cook to order as opposed to like a buffet style where leftover food from yesterday is slopped on non-suspicious trays. (story for another day). This is what happens when you order (let’s say) a pasta. The sauce is pre-made, the pasta is pre-boiled, and the vegetables/protein is pre-cooked. We throw stuff together in a pan on the stove to a screaming temperature so that you can’t taste anything funny.
So, we have to get everything prepared beforehand for the inevitable ticket buzzer, which includes chopping, peeling, slicing, dicing, boiling, frying, gossiping and contemplating about life based on that day’s requirements. We also have to arrange the different components for any particular dish. A burger or sandwich needs fries, pasta needs its boiled vegetables, and all menu items require some basic plating arrangement with frilly leaves and oddly cut vegetables. I think they are designed not to grab your attention but still fill the plate somehow, and in doing so, it achieves its highest purpose……*mediocrity*.
Suddenly, our CDP (Chef de Partie/Manager) rolls in and asks us about what we have done for the past 14 minutes and 19 seconds he wasn’t there in the kitchen. No matter what we answer, we get an automated reply of dissatisfaction and a bit of vague advice on how we should improve such as “work faster”, “wipe cleaner”, and “think next-er”. He reminds us of our previous night’s inadequacies in closing the kitchen and the expected capabilities of the staff for the coming days. He leaves again. I take a deep sigh mentally.
A cook’s life is basically THIS.
By this point, I am helping someone or the other in making something and running here and there to fill up sauces in containers, wrapping bowls with stuff and labelling them properly- Oh! It’s 4:30 P.M. I wonder whether I will be able to make it to the cafeteria to have a cup of coffee and 10 minutes of peace. Almost 90% of the time, circumstances hate me and I am preoccupied with something. There is always something to do in the kitchen. (Try going to your kitchen and standing there for two minutes just staring, you will immediately notice something that you have to fix, arrange, fill something or remember to buy the next thing)
Anyways, now that the opportunity for caffeination is gone. I sometimes try asking for a coffee in the bar next to us. They are always ready to give but I still feel shy and unworthy of their tasteless swill. It doesn’t hit the same way the ‘Mechanic coffee’ does. It’s because I think-
“Oi! Sashank!”. I get a task on hand with instructions (often incomplete) and I start doing it thinking it will never be interrupted by anything ever.
Suddenly, it hits.
A very unpleasant, alarming and slightly panic-inducing buzzing sound that catches everyone’s attention but I respond to it first (probably because I still haven’t gotten used to it). I go there and read the order out aloud to the kitchen and then ask the person next to me something I already know. “What should I do now?”…
(…5 seconds of my life I am never getting back.)
I take out all the things that are required for that particular dish. Switch on what needs to be switched on and cut what needs to be cut. Some orders I can take care of on my own but I rely on others for the main courses and some starters. If you are lucky, the order goes out, and you clean the kitchen and get back to what you were doing. Peaceful life.
Or else, something like this happens,
“2x CHICKEN TIKKA! 2x ONION RINGS! 1x PASTA NEAPOLITAN!”
Ok, I need to break apart the frozen rings, take the marinated chicken out, and-
“1x WOK BASIL THAI CHICKEN!”
Oh! crap! What should I get for that? Anyways, it will be taken care of by the other guy, I need to set the-
“1 MORE CHICKEN TIKKA! 1 GREEK LAMB BURGER, 1 CHICKEN BURGER WITH NO VEGGIES AND 1 GARDEN BURGER WITH NO CHICKEN!!”
Oh, SHI- we don’t have burger buns! I have to run to the bakery.
One thing I like about working in a kitchen is, if you know what you are doing, then there is this sort of weird dance which happens between the cooks. Your mind is in a state of flow where it only knows what the next step is. You drop something in the fryer and go to check the tandoor if your tikka is burnt with a sliver of hope. You know that there is a starter plate for the tikka and a main plate for the burger. Both of these need to be set. The burger needs to be assembled while the fries are being done. The plate for the wok basil chicken needs to be ready before the other cook finishes tossing the spring onions it, and everything needs to be cleaned as soon as a task is done. Otherwise, Mr. Peele will come and say, “What is this doing here?” “Why is it still here?” “Why do we require this now?” “Take this out! Work clean! Work fast! Think next-er!”
Every time, I punched a ticket onto the designated spike, there is a sense of “I’ve learned to do this task more efficiently”. The orders go one by one and we start to relax a bit and start wiping everything. If everything reaches on time, there is a feeling of achievement knowing that the limits have been pushed further a little bit. It’s like how they said in Dragon Ball Z that Saiyans get stronger with every battle they fight. Cooks and Chefs are like that, and so is the art of professional cooking.
I go back to the work I was assigned wondering when will I have to run again.
One hour before closing the kitchen, we check all our container lids which have been wrapped in plastic with labels and whether they are up to date. If not, it gets removed and a new label is put up. I love doing this job mostly because it allows me to think and focus on one unicellular thing. It requires one to be observant, and do something tedious……so obviously chefs hate it. If we are lucky, we close everything on time and go peacefully, punch out, get changed, chat with each other, and reach the bus on time.
Otherwise,
YOU HAVE 5 BIG TICKETS ON THE LINE, AND NOT A SINGLE LID HAS BEEN LABELLED! There were 3 fridges/coolers and a freezer. One had 38 lids, one had 27, one had probably 16 I think and one had-can’t really remember. They were a lot of lids, and it is a no-go to leave expiry labels on things and close the kitchen. Not that they were spoiled, but quality control. You run like a mad person thinking that the bus will leave and you will be left in this place to rot forever even though the next one comes in 30 minutes.
We wipe everything, shut the kitchen and go down to wait for the bus.
I reach my hostel at 1 AM and then the fatigue hits me. I realize I don’t think much about sitting at all the entire day but once I lie down and sleep it’s really hard to wake up.
I sleep and somehow wake up after bypassing 4 alarms.
I reach the bus in a panic and reach the hotel and wonder to myself……….”Wasn’t I just here yesterday?”
Well, that was A typical day in my NovoTales. I slowly started to realize that I was not made for it. Not that it was hard work or physically taxing, but I would have been fine in doing those as long I was able to get time to do other things. Like this blog. I used to spend my days thinking the things I will write about the fortress when I get out of there. It was also not what excited me the most about food. I liked the rush of the kitchen, the efficiency and the ability to get something done as quick as possible in a given time frame. But, I would rather prefer to talk about why biryani is overrated, that food reality TV sucks, and about a butcher that is Holmes-inspired. Sounds dumb.
Anyways, this would hopefully be a good start to many more ‘NovoTales’. If you have worked in the service/restaurant industry, do share your experience in the comments and let me know of any weird, fun and horrific stories. I know I have some.
Coming soon!
1 thought on “NovoTales: One to One”
A Typical day woven into such an interestingly insightfiul string of observations!
Thoughtful and funny!
A deightful read!