Punished

I feel like I’ve been sent to detention. There is absolutely no room for error here. At times, it is difficult to determine what may or may not be the right thing to do. As our chef instructor told us, we are not supposed to think—we are supposed to listen and do whatever it is that she tells us. This is completely contrary, of course, to when she asks us if we have functioning brains.

Las, a very tall, lanky guy who lives in France, but is from Mali, took advantage of a slow moment in the lunch service to practice swiping oil across the plate. When our chef instructor turned around and saw what he was doing, she threw a spatula at his head, which hit the glass wall, and sent him to production. There are two different forms of punishment here: early arrival or production. (Production involves assisting with family meal, checking in food items, cleaning random parts of the restaurant—essentially nothing to do with service.)

My punishment is that I have to go in early tomorrow. I feel like a five-year-old—I might as well take a time out in the corner while I’m at it. I was accused of and grouped with people who are not cleaning enough. It makes me furious. I am definitely not a person who hangs back or makes myself scarce when it comes time to doing the dirty work. It’s a fundamental part of working in a kitchen and ensures that things run smoothly and efficiently.

Not shockingly, for almost every person in the “bad” group, Spanish is not their first language. She picked out five people for the “good” group and three happen to be from Argentina—the same country she is from. I’m going to go ahead and say that I think she’s being prejudiced. When it came time to clean tonight, the good people were allowed to stand around and watch the bad people take care of everything.

This punishment came after a really great dinner service, too. I was able to check my email in between services (on good days, we get siesta for two hours) and I got a very encouraging email from my Executive Sous Chef at db (Thanks, Alex!). It allowed me to put things in perspective, relax and try to have a little bit more confidence.

Tonight was the first service we’ve had that’s been busy. I’ve been shocked by how slow lunch and dinner seem to be. Apparently, this is traditionally one of the slowest times of the year. We might have just eight people come through for lunch—a drastic difference from a 100-150 person (or more) lunch at db, for example. The push is dissimilar because it’s not volume focused—getting a plate out here is an exercise in concentration, rapid movement, communication and muscle memory.

But we were the busiest we’ve been this evening since I’ve been here and the tables came all at once. It was refreshing to have so much adrenaline pumping and to have a greater sense of urgency than just achieving a perfect dish. Tonight, it really felt like we were working as and in a team—there was a nice flow. For me, this feeling is addictive.

I felt more confident this evening. We had eight tables at once and I was organized, prepared and knew what was going on without having to consult with any members of my group (more on my rapidly expanding Spanish vocabulary later!). The plating started to feel natural, I was more fluid than I’ve been and I reached for things without thinking. At one point, the Sous Chef even told my chef instructor to move out of the way so that I could do something by myself. It made me feel good.

Maybe I’m a baby, but that good feeling was taken away from me when I got “punished.” I’m definitely cranky and I walked ahead of Flo home from the restaurant this evening. It’s basically the first time we’ve really been separated since we’ve arrived. I just didn’t want to talk to anybody and that’s fairly difficult when you live with 12 people. I know it’s not personal, but right now, I’m not taking it in stride.

I don’t want to sound down on everything; I have lots of good things to report, too. I’m going to go to bed with the hope that six hours of sleep will make me feel differently.