As we were cleaning up tonight one of our front gals asked me if I was okay.
I answered, “I’ve been twenty-seconds to crying for the last two-hours.”
She smiled, nodded, and told me that she could tell that I was stressed out. This is the same gal that jumped into an apron and manned the ovens while we were slammed tonight. She’s never worked the ovens.
“Grab a plate,” I’d yell.
“No, not that one… a TO GO plate, and put a checkered paper on it.”
Throw a dough in the air, spin, spin, spin, corn meal on the paddle….
“Now get a side sauce ready, NO, not that sauce, a red sauce… and can you dice some green onions? And some asparagus? Wait! Do that after getting the smoked salmon ready. Salmon! It’s the red stuff in the walk in…. on the gold foil looking thing… next to the sauerkraut. Shoot. Grab that, too!”
Spin, toss, spin, toss. Sauce, cheese, pepperoni, slice the baguette, we need crostinis… QUICK!
MIL and the in-laws showed up somewhere in the midst of all of this, and MIL started helping the customers out front. It was a total blessing by the Time-Gods. The nephew and niece jumped into the dish-hole and began making the dirty things clean, which, again, was stellar timing.
Whitey was gone 90-percent of the time on deliveries, and when we finally caught up, he commented on how “trashed” the kitchen was. I felt like smacking him upside the head, but I didn’t.
Instead, the front gal and I just gave him stink-eye for the next half and hour.
At any given moment between 5 o’clock and 7 o’clock, I was twenty-seconds from crying. I had so many tickets lined up on the rail, an employee who had never worked the ovens trying her hardest to help me, and ovens that were so full we had to stall pies on the racks (which is always nerve-wracking, as the dough tends to stick to the paddle which can screw up putting it in the oven).
Just when I thought it was safe to cut hours…