It’s a glamorous life being a chef, the other day at about 8 pm while the restaurant is gleefully packed to the gills and orders are flying in fast . My new dishwasher a frumpy uninspiring though not entirely useless girl approach’s me saying she’s “really scared” to which I some what insensitively reply “why , what’s happened ” her hand haltingly raises towards the dry storage . Where I can easily see a large brazen raccoon fruitlessly attempting to open a can of anchovies. You see the first cook complaining of the heat had opened the back door some hours ago against my better judgment I allowed him to.
Remember it’s stinking busy! I quickly pick up a mop and race towards it hoping to scare it out back into the alley (what to me is the only logical course of action) , I’m followed though by the head chef shouting “no no poor thing it’s hungry” and wielding a chicken parm sandwich . The first cook a pretty useful but now entirely overwhelmed young man who’s still learning English is now alone on the line orders are pouring in what does he do? well of course join the animal services party in the pantry . So now the entire kitchen staff with the exception of the kitchen helper who’s off you know presumably doing something useful in the prep kitchen. Are crammed into the dry storage in the middle of dinner rush while a bewildered raccoon tries to make sense of why it is simultaneously being hidden from, threatened with a mop , given a meal as big as it’s head and questioned about it’s species in broken English .
Meanwhile customers are wondering where the food they ordered 20 minutes ago is and the servers are praying no one asks for a tour of the kitchen .