I’m fine. Good. Dandy.
I don’t check the stats of my blog enough, obviously, and didn’t realize that y’all are stalkers and need a UPwOCD fix (yeah, you too, JB).
The restaurant has been busy; steady enough that we’re all working for our paychecks. Although, Sunday night I cried. After seven straight hours of trying to keep up with orders, Whitey waltzed in to “help” and I found a wall to lean on and let a few tears go.
He made me a simple dinner (I hadn’t eaten all day) and he then worked the line for an hour while I did back-up and cleaning. It was the highlight of my day. We broke our Sunday sales record, and when I finally got home at midnight, I had to look online to figure out what day of the week it was.
This business will drive you crazy. I promise.
But besides that…. it also has the most genuine rewards.
A new customer asked to talk to the “chef” (which is uncomfortable – I’m a cook, not a chef) and she gushed so much about how much she loved everything. I thanked her, then asked what she ordered. She spent five minutes explaining….
Huge roasted garlic bulbs set atop melted aged gorgonzola cheese, drizzled with a balsamic reduction and served with crostini toasted with olive oil and rosemary and fresh basil –
a salad with thick baby spinach with shredded whole-milk mozzarella, thinly-sliced sweet red onions and toasted pinenuts, then lightly tossed with a raspberry honey dressing and topped with huge, crisp bacon crumbles and finely shredded asiago –
a hand-rolled homemade dough filled with pepperoni, sausage, onions, caramelized garlic, pepperjack cheese and jalapenos, cooked until crispy and served with a beautiful marinara sauce.
“Ah. We’re a pizza place. Not a fine-dining restaurant. You’re imagining things!” I said.
She gave me a hug when she left, and that made my night. It’s so strange. I’m in business to make money, yet, I’m still human and respond to positive feedback.
And I hate to admit (yet, here I am typing it on my little keyboard)….
It needs to be perfect. Every time. All the time.
I don’t want to waste my time on mediocre, decent, alright, at-least-I’m-full food. It needs to impress.
Yeah. Just a pizza place.
A pizza place owned by an untrained professional with OCD.