Yet another sunny summer morning, midweek, sipping coffee on my back deck to begin the day, this time while contemplating how best to utilize the 50 pounds of free oysters donated by Hallsmith SYSCO Food Services and Spinney Creek Shellfish as they “romance” our business. In our industry, the vendors romance the restaurants, the restaurants romance the guests, and the guests routinely romance each other, often over Spinney Creeks at the corner table. Romance, and free samples, are only two of the many reasons we have passion for what we do.
Another perk in our world is that most days begin sans alarm clock. In MY world, in fact, every day would if I weren’t married to an alarm clock junkie. ALARM! snooze… ALARM! snooze… ALARM! … I don’t get it, but that’s a different column (or a comedy routine).
I digress. Back to the appetite that drives us.
At a recent fundraiser, when introduced by our host as the “owners of not one, but two restaurants,” we received “that look” yet again. As the guest extended his hand slowly — head slightly tilted and down, eyebrows raised — with a look of deep concern (as though, perhaps, I had an ugly growth centered on my forehead), the expected response was one that had been heard many times before: “Oh, boy [you poor man], what a tough business.”
Always humored, and surely grateful that mine is a career that elicits such grave concern (pity?), the challenges we face are not urban legend. The hours, the stress and the seemingly infinite details are just a taste of what tends to test the limits of our legions. But to write about our yoke would be to risk breaking what is perhaps the favorite rule among our very own 70-plus staff members: a written and absolute policy of “No Whining.”
Our business is one that thrives on cheers. So it would be more merry to focus on why we endure; to accentuate the many bennies of restaurant life!
The fact that I am writing this column outside with shirt off, sipping Starbucks bold as we approach “high in the 80s, sunny with relatively low humidity” — while so many sit “bumper to bumper” — is high up on the list. Although we may work weekends, a good many of our everyday mornings begin calm, cool and collected — breakfast joints notwithstanding.
On a daily basis, no alarm clock will not be followed by rushing around (there will be plenty of time for that later). When work starts at noon, 3 p.m. or later, there is no agro-brushing of the teeth while checking the wristwatch. No furious lathering in the shower, no rushing to get dressed in hopes of getting a step on the masses. For us, not rushing around will not be followed by traffic stress. Our rush hour begins at 7 p.m.
Furthermore, the folks who test our love for humankind — those who slow us down — do not do so by risking our lives by tailgating, or weaving in and out of lanes. They only request “sauce on the side,” “light on the garlic, no cream” or “may I have mayonnaise please,” after the sandwich has been delivered!
Once we decide our next move, the thrill of being first to every traffic light, knowing you will be through the light the very first turn to green almost every time, particularly after a long and stressful shift, offers a joy that is, well, priceless. Our long hours at work are often offset by an efficiency quotient in play, when we play. Never a line at the bank or the grocery store. When a 20-mile commute takes just over 20 minutes, life is good.
When we do eventually leave for work, we most often arrive to the “what’s better than this” aroma of freshly baking bread, or the daily crisping of 5 pounds of bacon, or the wafting of seafood stockpot-broth perfume. On occasion, when the wind is just so, that sweet smell of caramelization greets us in the street as we approach. “Aaah steaks on the grill.” Work smells great.
Upon entry, we are further greeted, and treated, by “nice.” This is the general nature of the restaurant community. Certainly, R.E.M.’s Michael Stipe must have been singing of our ilk.
“Shiny, happy people,” free samples, romance! It doesn’t get any better than this. Hmm, maybe I’ll head to work early.
Scott Plath, along with his wife Kathleen, own Cobblestones of Lowell and moonstones, in Chelmsford, MA. Scott possesses a deep well of humorous and insightful stories that he will share with us regularly.
A View from the Kitchen – It’s a Tough Job…
Another perk in our world is that most days begin sans alarm clock. In MY world, in fact, every day would if I weren’t married to an alarm clock junkie. ALARM! snooze… ALARM! snooze… ALARM! … I don’t get it, but that’s a different column (or a comedy routine).
I digress. Back to the appetite that drives us.
At a recent fundraiser, when introduced by our host as the “owners of not one, but two restaurants,” we received “that look” yet again. As the guest extended his hand slowly — head slightly tilted and down, eyebrows raised — with a look of deep concern (as though, perhaps, I had an ugly growth centered on my forehead), the expected response was one that had been heard many times before: “Oh, boy [you poor man], what a tough business.”
Always humored, and surely grateful that mine is a career that elicits such grave concern (pity?), the challenges we face are not urban legend. The hours, the stress and the seemingly infinite details are just a taste of what tends to test the limits of our legions. But to write about our yoke would be to risk breaking what is perhaps the favorite rule among our very own 70-plus staff members: a written and absolute policy of “No Whining.”
Our business is one that thrives on cheers. So it would be more merry to focus on why we endure; to accentuate the many bennies of restaurant life!
The fact that I am writing this column outside with shirt off, sipping Starbucks bold as we approach “high in the 80s, sunny with relatively low humidity” — while so many sit “bumper to bumper” — is high up on the list. Although we may work weekends, a good many of our everyday mornings begin calm, cool and collected — breakfast joints notwithstanding.
On a daily basis, no alarm clock will not be followed by rushing around (there will be plenty of time for that later). When work starts at noon, 3 p.m. or later, there is no agro-brushing of the teeth while checking the wristwatch. No furious lathering in the shower, no rushing to get dressed in hopes of getting a step on the masses. For us, not rushing around will not be followed by traffic stress. Our rush hour begins at 7 p.m.
Furthermore, the folks who test our love for humankind — those who slow us down — do not do so by risking our lives by tailgating, or weaving in and out of lanes. They only request “sauce on the side,” “light on the garlic, no cream” or “may I have mayonnaise please,” after the sandwich has been delivered!
Once we decide our next move, the thrill of being first to every traffic light, knowing you will be through the light the very first turn to green almost every time, particularly after a long and stressful shift, offers a joy that is, well, priceless. Our long hours at work are often offset by an efficiency quotient in play, when we play. Never a line at the bank or the grocery store. When a 20-mile commute takes just over 20 minutes, life is good.
When we do eventually leave for work, we most often arrive to the “what’s better than this” aroma of freshly baking bread, or the daily crisping of 5 pounds of bacon, or the wafting of seafood stockpot-broth perfume. On occasion, when the wind is just so, that sweet smell of caramelization greets us in the street as we approach. “Aaah steaks on the grill.” Work smells great.
Upon entry, we are further greeted, and treated, by “nice.” This is the general nature of the restaurant community. Certainly, R.E.M.’s Michael Stipe must have been singing of our ilk.
“Shiny, happy people,” free samples, romance! It doesn’t get any better than this. Hmm, maybe I’ll head to work early.
Scott Plath, along with his wife Kathleen, own Cobblestones of Lowell and moonstones, in Chelmsford, MA. Scott possesses a deep well of humorous and insightful stories that he will share with us regularly.