Day One of Restaurant Week.

I've got a cold.  I take a Buddhist moment getting ready for work.  I pack my courier bag, water bottle, reheated chicken sausages in case the staff meal is no good, etc.  I'm running a bit late, so I sent a text to my co-worker who'll be up at the bar tonight, Jazz Night.

I get to work just as the skies open.  MR opens the front door, I park my bike down in the basement next to the washer dryer and the vegetable cooler indoor walk-in, head back, Jesus Christ look at the reservation list.  F is running late.  He won't be in 'til six.  Jesus Christ...  Martin can go up and help you 'til Francis comes...  Okay...

Upstairs, I take off my wet clothing.  I have dry socks and boxer briefs in my courier bag and they are dry still, so I change, back behind the bar, as Hugo moves the furniture around for Jazz set up, the band in the corner, sorting out the sink ice bins for the chilled wines, full with back up, ready for ice, ready to go.  I calm down, what can you do, can't be mad at the kid, he's making that long drive back from Ithaca...  I've set myself up well enough the night before, the mis-en-place, the back-up silverware at both stations, the seven top is only drinking...  I write down all the reservations, ten of them, back upstairs, ready for it, water pitchers full, one for the band on top of the radiator stand.

Then it comes, then it happens, and you're in for the ride.d



There's always something that pushes you over the edge, and tonight it's table 57.   I ask my coworker, did they get their entrees?   Finally the guy comes up to me, uh, it's been about an hour...  Oh shit, let me go check...   The bar has been busy, full, not that I much feel like entertaining...  It's Restaurant Week, I tell them all.   I snap a bit at one of the regulars who's asking for his check...  Give me a fucking minute...  I've been downstairs, which is empty but for one table, and perfect calm.    I fired that an hour ago....  Too much, it's too much...


Such a night...  After they all left, the band, the last few guys hanging out at the bar, Francis who had come late...  The last table with the lost entrees to track down threw me, and then I felt bad I raised my voice in that moment of frustration...  I ate my sweetbreads appetizer, poured myself a glass of Beaujolais...  After a break I stood back up and went through all the credit card payment slips, putting the tip amounts into the system, tedium.  Another glass of wine.  I did the checkout report, calculated to tip out for the busboy, took the paperwork up the hallway to place on the office desk, and there was my guitar, so I brought it out in its case, then went back down to the basement to bring my bicycle back up, ready to go.  The dishwasher and salad station woman still cleaning the kitchen...

Wine and music, the only thing to wash down such a night...

And today, the host of Tuesday Wine Tasting Night does not have to work, given the schedule this week...