:: Life on Planet Dan-E ::
Thoughts, observations, and introspections from an
:: Thursday, August 14, 2008 ::
Labels: bartending, cooking, food, new job, waiting Labels: bartending, comments, double double, food, in-n-out, job search, waiting Labels: bartending, cheeseburger, job search, moving on, the gay wingman, waiting, whiskey Labels: bartending, I'm an idiot, NaBloPoMo, server stories, waiting Labels: bartending, drinking, NaBloPoMo, server stories, waiting, whiskey
:: Sunday, February 10, 2008 ::
The first night is pretty easy. It's busy for the Monday but nothing too crazy. I follow my trainer, who's working a party of 27 people. We go over our opening spiel, procedures, service methods, and he shows me how to work the computer. Other than being a family-style restaurant, it's not too different from Swank since it's also semi-fine dining.
The party is easy and he asks me to see if I could sell any after dinner drinks. I think I raised my stock when I sold eighteen shots of Lemoncello at $10 each. This was in addiction to the three extra bottles of wine I sold during the meal.
Tuesday and Wednesday is more floor training though it's with a rather intense guy who's been working there for about five years. He's one of the head waiters so he's accustomed to taking charge and does so with a very straightforward manner. His demeanor is a very straightforward, no bullshit, type and I'll learn later that he's like that even when he's making fun of his co-workers. Otherwise, training is more of the same, and I break only one glass.
Thursday was spent in the kitchen learning the menu. I've spent a few training days in a kitchen but this was the first time I had to go behind the line and actually help cook. One of the line cooks was a former co-worker from Seafood Grille (when asked how we knew each other, I joked we met in prison and were cellmates) and I'd be helping him out in the grill and broiler section.
Now, I love cooking so I was really looking forward to this. The first hour was spent observing the grill, the pasta section, and the sauté area manned by the Head Chef (who does look like he might have been in prison). Then I started getting my hands dirty (um, so to speak) with actual cooking. Nothing too complicated at first but it got busy, so I ended up helped with grilling, slicing and even plating.
The last two hours I went from being a trainee to a cook. (Pete was impressed that I picked up the menu so quickly, to which I reply, "I know what I'm doing. I watch Food Network.") And let me tell you, it was a blast. It's one thing to cook on a stove in my tiny kitchen but to work the line during a rush, keeping track of everything, and properly plating the dishes (as opposed throwing it on a plastic dish like I do at home) is a whole different world and it was pretty cool. Especially since their knives are much better than mine.
Once it slowed, Pete took a break and left to man the grill while he went on a smoke break. I chatted with the Head Chef, asking many questions, which he answered patiently and thoroughly. As thanks for helping them out, he let me cook up the lamb dish for myself. It was a half rack of Australian Lamb with a fennel-orange marmalade, pine nut crusted goat cheese, and a mint-balsamic reduction. It was outstanding. I think the Chef wanted to hire me as a cook right there.
Friday was spent training behind the bar. Again, the first hour was just learning the procedures, the computer, and some of the house specialty drinks. It was relatively slow and the bar guys knew me somewhat by now so after a while they mostly left me alone at the service bar while they tended to the bar customers. I hadn't bartended in a few months but most of it came back pretty quickly. Luckily, I didn't have any orders for odd drinks (like say, a Bahama Mama or a Red-Headed Slut) even though I had my recipe book just in case. And I didn't break any glasses either (that the floor was lined with rubber mats helped).
Saturday would be my last night training and I had to pass the menu test. It's a relatively easy menu and seeing how the food was prepped, cooked, and plated was huge so I passed easily. I ran a small station on my own and did okay considering my first night started off with two high-maintenance, pain-in-the ass tables. My final test would be at the end of the night. The GM sat at one of the tables outside and I helped set up his table. Once that was done, he told me to pretend he was a customer and perform my opening waiter spiel. Oh, umm... shit.
"Good evening, welcome to Swanky Trendy... um... The Steakhouse."
Fortunately, he has a sense of humor and he's been drinking since 9:30 so he laughed and said he hoped I didn't do that to a table (I didn't). I started over went through my introduction. I did well except for the fact that he said I talk a little fast (not the first time I heard that). He shook my hand and said, "welcome aboard. You're going to do very well. Don't fuck up." (I may have made that last sentence up.)
:: Miscellaneous Ramblings by Dan-E at 10:33 PM [+] ::
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:: Friday, February 08, 2008 ::
Still, it seems like I'll do better this time around than I did two years ago, when it took me over two months to find a damn waiter job. In South Beach, land of a million bars and restaurants. Considering I'm a U.S. Citizen that speaks fluent English and possess at least a modicum of a work ethic, I'm still baffled as to why it took me so long back then. I'm guessing the owner of the Irish Place simply forgot and she'll get back to me soon. I'm not taking anything for granted. I'm sure I'll be okay.
On the way back home yesterday, I stopped by the Fatburger that just opened up here thinking a little comfort food that reminds me of home might do some good. The first bite my Kingburger is just awesome. They're not as good as a Double Double from In 'n Out. And while I love those thick steak fries, I still miss In 'n Out's fries, especially when it's served Animal Style. (By the way, I'm making that last photo my Wallpaper.)
Luxuriating in my meal, I start thinking about the last couple of days and realize that I've been approaching this job search like a long-term thing. One of my resolutions was that I'd have my "real" job by summer. I do need this "temp" job to hold me over so really, it shouldn't matter where what or where I work, so long as I have a steady income. Yet, I've been going to certain places instead of others specifically because they're looking for bartenders. I wrote a while ago that I could see myself doing that for a while at a good place, that was for later on, if the ad thing didn't work out. I did apply for a few server jobs just in case but really, it shouldn't matter. This is supposed to be temporary, right?
So what am I doing, really? I haven't given up on my advertising job, or else I would have stopped updating my book. I do enjoy bartending, but that's not why I came to Miami. But am I going that route because it's really what I want to do, or is it just because it's the easier thing to do? What's my calling exactly? Hard to say. On top of that, later that night a friend left a well meaning comment addressing exactly that.
I wrote last night that it's nice to have options but sometimes those options will affect the rest of your life.
I spent most of today cleaning out my apartment from top to bottom. Amazing when you can accomplish when you have some unintended time off. I vacuumed the whole place, including the closet, and even the dust bunnies off the ceiling fan. I scrubbed the floors, the bathroom, the toilet, sinks, stovetop, and even the inside of the pantry-like thing. Then I pulled out the Swiffer and did the floors everywhere. I went to the laundry to get my sheets and other miscellaneous objects cleaned. But just before I left, I sprayed the whole place with a healthy dose of air freshener.
While cleaning, I made the decision that I'll take whatever job’s a good fit and once I get settled in, focus my efforts on finishing my portfolio. I have the rest of my life to bartend. I this is something I need to do now. (That's what I keep telling myself.)
:: Miscellaneous Ramblings by Dan-E at 12:10 AM [+] ::
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:: Monday, November 26, 2007 ::
After I got home last night, I sat in my chair for a minute, still a little numb. Oddly, I wasn't worried about my finances or my living situation as much as I was wondering what The Hostess is going to think once she arrives at work and discovers I was fired. Stupid, right?
Anyway, I snap out of it, and start typing out last night's post. It's about 7:20 and I decide to go play some tennis to blow off some steam. So far, my mental state has gone from shock (I'm fired? Over that?) to denial (they'll call me in a couple of days because they'll be short-staffed) to acceptance (whatever, I'll be fine. I started hating that place anyway). But while walking to the park, acceptance slowly boiled into fury (if they're going to fire me over that shit, fuck them). During warm-ups my first few forehands flew to the back of the fence without bouncing. As much as I tried, I couldn't get that day's events out of my head and it got to me. Bad shots seemed that much worse, near misses didn't seem close, and even my good points made me angrier (why can't you play like that all the time you hack?) It's a miracle I never had an ulcer. Oddly enough, that anger seemed to fuel my inner Federer and I actually played well, considering.
I come home and take an extra-hot shower hoping it would clear my head. I sat at my desk, opened up my resume and begin updating it. I finish, move on to the cover letter, finish that, and head over the Kinkos. Then I check out Craigslist for any possible leads. An Open House at the Raleigh Hotel looks promising. It starts at noon, which is perfect. It's located up on Collins and 18 and after, I can make my way down Lincoln Road and see who’s hiring. I'll grab a New Times (new issue every Thursday) on the way over and see what they have in the back.
I leave and walk briskly towards Washington. Two blocks away, I realize I forgot to bring a pen. I don't remember if I wrote about this, but many times at my last job, applicants would often walk in asking for about work in less than professional attire. Many times they wouldn't even have their own pen, and several waiters took the liberty make a note on the application regarding that error. I never did that but I found it annoying.
And now here I am without a pen.
I stop by LeeAnn drugs and buy a nice Pilot rollerball and it was the best $2.50 I spent in a while. Once at the Raleigh, I walk up to the counter and ask about the Open House. The desk clerk gets a pained look on his face and tells me that someone other than the hotel posted the ad as a prank and that there is no Open House. Okay, what the FUCK. "Are you still hiring?" "Yes, you can fill out an application and someone from human resources will review them." Fine. I take my application outside and fill it out in the patio, enjoy the warm weather and the cool breeze, while wondering what the hell my immediate future holds. When I walk back inside, the lobby is filled with applicants and the poor clerk's look went from pained to constipated. I staple my cover letter, resume, and application together and turn it in, then turn to the lobby to get a look at my "competition." It's mostly guys, and most of them showed up wearing jeans and T-shirts, and a few are sporting caps. I only notice two other who brought separate resumes. There are a couple of girls, one who's dressed professionally, and another who looks like she's about to clubbing, sporting some very nice cleavage. It's then I think to myself, "maybe I'll be okay."
The only thing I've had so far that day was some grapes and a can of Rockstar. I'm more thirsty than hungry so I go to Burger King to with my New Times, grab a soda, and see what's available. There's a few promising leads and I tear out the pages and head to stop number two.
Number two is another Hotel on James Ave. Their only opening is for a part-time bartender, but I apply anyway. Nothing remarkable about that place except this: when I walk into their spacious lobby, it's filled with women. Attractive women. Hot women. Everywhere. And I'm the only dude. I've had dreams like this. The least pretty would rate as "yeeaaah, give me two drinks and I'd do her" while the hottest rated as "I would drag my balls through a firepit just to hump her shadow." I don't know what they were doing there (other than the fact that maybe God hates me... I don't even know what that means) but I focus on my task at hand. I get an application, fill it out, attach my papers, and walk out. As I'm walking out, I notice a bleach-blonde Latin chick looking at me. When we make eye contact, she smiles and I smile back... and I almost walk into the doorframe. Smooth, Dan-E. Very Smooth. You idiot.
The next stop would be the most fruitful. It's at another hotel on Collins, and unlike the Raleigh, their Open House ad was legit. I'm there five minutes early and grab an application, but the guy doesn't show up until about 2:40. In the meantime, I'm chatting up a couple of girls who are also there to apply. There's a friendly blonde that seems promising (so much for focus) and I'm making progress until the interviewer finally shows up. Asshole. He turns out to be a friendly enough guy. At first it's only four of us so he does group interviews. My first question is what goes into a Long Island Iced Tea (vodka, gin, rum, tequila, a splash of sour mix and coke, lemon wedge garnish... but I forgot the Triple Sec. I don't know why but I always forget the Triple Sec.) He asks me to make the ultimate margarita (2oz. of a good, Añejo tequila, fresh juice of two limes, 1oz. Gran Marnier; on the rocks with a salt rim. You need a salt rim. Don't argue with me.) Suddenly, our foursome triples in number and he sits us all down and addresses us all on what the company is doing, and what he expects of us. He'll does a quick one-on-one with us, and the blonde goes first. I'm next. We go through my job history, he asks if my name is really spelled "Dan-E," and a few other things about serving and bartending. I guess he likes me enough that he tells me he'll call on Saturday to let me know when I can start training.
SCORE!
I'm stoked. I shake his hand vigorously, and I walk away with a big smile. Awesome. Hired on the spot. It was about 3:15 when that happened and it's when Gay Wingman finally wakes up and calls me to ask how I'm doing. I tell him what happened and he's happy for me.
Not much else happens at the other places I apply at. I stop by an Italian place, a sports bar, a regular bar, and a beer and wine bar. Once I reach Alton Road and head towards home, I check my phone, which I kept on "silent" the whole time.
Remember my buddy, who offered me a job as a supervisor and works at an Irish tavern? I called him the night before just to ask him if he had any openings. He left a couple of texts, saying no promises, but I'll see what's available. When it's all said and done, he ended up telling his boss about me, and she wants to meet me. And now I have an interview tomorrow at noon at his restaurant.
This is awesome. It's nice to have options. Though if I end up working a the Irish place, I'll have to buy this guy a beer. Or maybe a bottle Jack Daniels. Whatever, he's good people. We'll have to wait till the weekend to see what happens. I can't wait.
:: Miscellaneous Ramblings by Dan-E at 12:01 AM [+] ::
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:: Sunday, November 18, 2007 ::
Oh, yuck. What the fuck?
It's nasty. My first thought was that the heavy cream went bad. I sniff (or try to) the empty carton and it's fine. What the fuck? The chef walks in, sees my face, and asks what's wrong. I show him the whip. He smells it, looks at me and starts laughing. "What's so funny?" I ask. He points to the shelf where we keep the vanilla extract. It's a little disorganized and the labels are faded. I grab the bottle and turn it around.
It's fish sauce.
The vanilla is right next to bottle of fish sauce, and since both of the labels were turned around, they look pretty much identical. I guess if my nose were ok I would have noticed it sooner. There's been a few times where someone might turn the cream into butter, but this has to be a first. Lucky for me, the owner was upstairs doing paperwork so she was none the wiser.
:: Miscellaneous Ramblings by Dan-E at 11:54 PM [+] ::
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Still, when we're busy and we get tourists who like to drink it gets fun for me. I enjoy cooking and making drinks is like cooking with liquids. I remember a shift a few weeks ago where it seemed every customer was drinking. I was whipping up margaritas, sourapple martinis, mojitos, and a couple of tequila sunrises and even though we were busy, I never got in the weeds. Right up until an English couple sits at my bar and asks for a "Singapore Sling."
A what?
"Singapore Sling? Can you make that?” He could guess from the look on my face that I didn't know what the hell that was. He wasn't sure either, other than there was gin in it. Lucky for me, I had the Bartender's Guide right there and found it quickly. We didn't have any cherry brandy so I probably shouldn't have tried but the poor guy seemed really set on his Sling so I made it with extra grenadine and gin and hoped the guy wouldn't know any better. Sure enough, he and his wife took a sip, smack their lips, looked at me and said, "well that's bloody fantastic. Cheers."
I'm at awe how some bartenders are able to remember so many recipes. Granted 80% of the orders at the bar are either beer, wine, something on the rocks, or some type of mixed drink like Jack and Coke or gin and tonic. I've worked with guys who can whip something up in no time even though they haven't made it in months. And sure enough, 15 minutes later, an older couple walk in and ask for a a couple of Old Fashioneds. Easy enough. "What bourbon would you like?" "Do you have Maker's Mark?" "Of course." I whip up two Old Fashioneds and they also seemed quite happy with their drinks. I overpoured just a tad (on accident, of course) as there's some left in the shaker so I sample it. Eh. It must be an acquired taste. I like Maker's Mark neat but mixing it with sugar, aromatic bitters, orange and a marachino cherry just doesn't do it for me. But I'm clearly in the minority since the Old Fashioned has been around longer than the martini.
Just before I go on my break agroup of four guys walk in and ask for a "Royal Flush."
Huh?
"It's Crown Royal and Peach Shnapps." I make their shot, they slam it, and leave. At least these guys knew what went in it.
:: Miscellaneous Ramblings by Dan-E at 3:30 AM [+] ::
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