To think that someone, anyone in a position of authority at the restaurant would have realized that if the menu changes, new menus must be printed.
This realization (if it indeed occurred) would be expected to arise sometime before 45 minutes before the restaurant opened for the day.
A small footnote to this unreality would be that the chef (who is the grand architect of the menu changement) would take some responsibility for the colossal fuck up (at some point in chef-school they must cover the infintessimal detail that overhauling the menu requires more than just changing the food one orders in for inventory. It also requires one to write down a list and descriptions of the new dishes for the manager to type up as a menu).
THE FRONT END STAFF CANNOT PRINT THE DAMN MENUS IF THE CHEF HAS NOT GIVEN A LIST OF THE NEW MENU ITEMS TO THE FRONT END. WHY IS THIS SO HARD TO UNDERSTAND?!?!!
jeudi, octobre 20, 2005
dimanche, octobre 16, 2005
One day I will learn...
... not to try to knit the fairly complicated cable scarf-that will be a birthday present in less than a month-while watching a film with subtitles.
This kind of hubris can only lead to problems.
This kind of hubris can only lead to problems.
samedi, octobre 15, 2005
Pinterland
Harold Pinter has won the Nobel Prize for literature.
I am so pleased.
IB HL Theatre Arts Individual Project: Directing The Birthday Party.
I have never learned so much about myself and human nature from one rather short piece of literature.
Read his work. Watch his plays. They will transform you.
I am so pleased.
IB HL Theatre Arts Individual Project: Directing The Birthday Party.
I have never learned so much about myself and human nature from one rather short piece of literature.
Read his work. Watch his plays. They will transform you.
vendredi, octobre 14, 2005
We all knew it would lead to this eventually...
I bought shoes on ebay.
Little white and red striped adidas sneakers with blue soles. Quite retro and cool from the .5x.5 inch picture of them on the ebay webpage. And they were in size seven which (I think) is my shoesize.
One click of the "buy now" button and it was history.
This was in August. The falklander had just left and I was feeling a little vulnerable and fragile. I waited for noon every day just so I could walk to the post box and check for my shoes.
They didn't arrive.
I started emailing the seller obsessively, and went so far as to get her contact info from the source and call her in Minneapolis. Nothing. No response. In desperation I reported "an item not received" to ebay and waited for something to happen.
A few days later I got an email from the seller. She had been quite ill and in hospital for much of late August and September and apologized for the delay in sending the shoes, but that they were now on their way.
My first thought was not, "Oh no... I hope she is going to be ok.."
My first thought was "Wow, if she had died I would never have gotten the shoes...that would be horrible."
[we will discuss how I am a horrible, shallow and generally vile human being at a later date.]
The shoes were in the mailbox when I got home from the Family-without-family Thanksgiving extravaganza this past weekend.
Apparently my feet are not size seven-at least according to Adidas. They are more like a six. My orthodics were not created for nothing though, and neither were really heavy wool socks...It's almost winter, about time I started wearing extremely warm socks anyways. If all else fails, I can hand the shoes over to the frere. It wouldn't break my heart.
Whilst in the midst of a small hissy fit over the lack of my ebay shoes, I may have acquired these. Thus far, as there is no concrete shoe-on-foot confirmation that this purchase actually occurred, it is but a vicious rumor.
The first step to conquering an addiction is admitting you have a problem.
Little white and red striped adidas sneakers with blue soles. Quite retro and cool from the .5x.5 inch picture of them on the ebay webpage. And they were in size seven which (I think) is my shoesize.
One click of the "buy now" button and it was history.
This was in August. The falklander had just left and I was feeling a little vulnerable and fragile. I waited for noon every day just so I could walk to the post box and check for my shoes.
They didn't arrive.
I started emailing the seller obsessively, and went so far as to get her contact info from the source and call her in Minneapolis. Nothing. No response. In desperation I reported "an item not received" to ebay and waited for something to happen.
A few days later I got an email from the seller. She had been quite ill and in hospital for much of late August and September and apologized for the delay in sending the shoes, but that they were now on their way.
My first thought was not, "Oh no... I hope she is going to be ok.."
My first thought was "Wow, if she had died I would never have gotten the shoes...that would be horrible."
[we will discuss how I am a horrible, shallow and generally vile human being at a later date.]
The shoes were in the mailbox when I got home from the Family-without-family Thanksgiving extravaganza this past weekend.
Apparently my feet are not size seven-at least according to Adidas. They are more like a six. My orthodics were not created for nothing though, and neither were really heavy wool socks...It's almost winter, about time I started wearing extremely warm socks anyways. If all else fails, I can hand the shoes over to the frere. It wouldn't break my heart.
Whilst in the midst of a small hissy fit over the lack of my ebay shoes, I may have acquired these. Thus far, as there is no concrete shoe-on-foot confirmation that this purchase actually occurred, it is but a vicious rumor.
The first step to conquering an addiction is admitting you have a problem.
samedi, octobre 08, 2005
What they don't teach you in Chef school...
is how to count, apparently.
Which is why I really shouldn't be surprised when, in the middle of running the 3rd course of a 5 course dinner to the restaurant owner, his financial partners, and 12 food and wine writers, I come into the back to pick up my last two plates of salmon and find them non-existent. Odd, because when I left the kitchen a mere 30 seconds before there were two little salmon filets in the last pan, waiting to be plated.
I look at the executive chef and the sous, searching their faces for an explanation. Maybe they plated the last two very quickly and sent them out with another server and I didn't notice.
Or... maybe they didn't count their plates and decided that they were done plating without checking with me. And maybe they didn't want to waste any fish. And maybe the salmon in between their teeth, slowly being masticated and digested when it should be on a plate in my hands and heading out to the last two people without dinners at the FREAKIN VIP TABLE!!!!!!!
It is for moments like these that the phrase "actually, just insert the most foul epithet you can think of here... If I try to think something up I'll just get apoplectic again..." was invented.
More than anything it is the pure stupidity that drives me round the bend.
Which is why I really shouldn't be surprised when, in the middle of running the 3rd course of a 5 course dinner to the restaurant owner, his financial partners, and 12 food and wine writers, I come into the back to pick up my last two plates of salmon and find them non-existent. Odd, because when I left the kitchen a mere 30 seconds before there were two little salmon filets in the last pan, waiting to be plated.
I look at the executive chef and the sous, searching their faces for an explanation. Maybe they plated the last two very quickly and sent them out with another server and I didn't notice.
Or... maybe they didn't count their plates and decided that they were done plating without checking with me. And maybe they didn't want to waste any fish. And maybe the salmon in between their teeth, slowly being masticated and digested when it should be on a plate in my hands and heading out to the last two people without dinners at the FREAKIN VIP TABLE!!!!!!!
It is for moments like these that the phrase "actually, just insert the most foul epithet you can think of here... If I try to think something up I'll just get apoplectic again..." was invented.
More than anything it is the pure stupidity that drives me round the bend.
jeudi, octobre 06, 2005
Under Pressure
(this post should be read with the sweet strains of Queen pulsing in the background)
Never let it be said that I do not take deadlines seriously. I do. I place them high up on golden pedestals, and promptly ignore them until 48 hours before they arrive.
My entire university career was based on this method of time management, and it is good to realize that I have not abandoned it simply because I have a degree now.
The first major instance of deadline-avoidance-stress-and-minor-meltdown occurred earlier this summer when I realized, 4 days before a wedding that I had known about for 6 months, that I had nothing to wear. Obviously the only solution was to sew myself a dress using sari fabric that used to be my curtains (hello Scarlett!) and also modify the entire bodice of the pattern. I got the dress finished on the ferry ride to Vancouver Island 4 hours before the holy ceremony of matrimony began, and the final touches (cutting the tulle crinoline to the correct length) were performed by the most wonderful of all wonderful Falklanders whilst I stood, wearing the grape coloured concoction, on a chair in the middle of my grandfather's kitchen, a mere 5 minutes before we had to leave for the church. The dress actually looked quite hot, despite the picture of curtains and tulle that is most likely running rampant in your sick little heads.
More recently, I offered to sew up some curtains for my friend and her roommate so that the stalker, when he is let out of jail, can no longer stare into their kitchen all evening. My friend is smarter than I thought. She gave me all the materials and then invited me to an "orphan" Thanksgiving Dinner, this upcoming Friday evening. There is no way I can attend the dinner if the curtains are not finished. There is no way that I will finish the curtains in the next 48 hours given the fact that I worked a double today, and have another tomorrow and I work Friday morning. Did I forget to mention that I offered to bake pumpkin pies as well?
Something has to give. I have a feeling it will be that annoying biological necessity: sleep.
PS: The curtains are a fairly simple premise...4 black rectangles with a smaller rectangle of red printed material appliqued on top. There should be about a 2 inch black border around the outside of the applique if the black fabric is straight. It's not. In fact, it is so NOT FREAKIN' STRAIGHT that I keep gnashing my teeth and muttering curses under my breath about its lack of straightness and I am worried that someone will overhear me and plunk me in a diversity awareness workshop.
She's gonna be getting some pretty warped curtains. Right angle corners are for chumps.
Never let it be said that I do not take deadlines seriously. I do. I place them high up on golden pedestals, and promptly ignore them until 48 hours before they arrive.
My entire university career was based on this method of time management, and it is good to realize that I have not abandoned it simply because I have a degree now.
The first major instance of deadline-avoidance-stress-and-minor-meltdown occurred earlier this summer when I realized, 4 days before a wedding that I had known about for 6 months, that I had nothing to wear. Obviously the only solution was to sew myself a dress using sari fabric that used to be my curtains (hello Scarlett!) and also modify the entire bodice of the pattern. I got the dress finished on the ferry ride to Vancouver Island 4 hours before the holy ceremony of matrimony began, and the final touches (cutting the tulle crinoline to the correct length) were performed by the most wonderful of all wonderful Falklanders whilst I stood, wearing the grape coloured concoction, on a chair in the middle of my grandfather's kitchen, a mere 5 minutes before we had to leave for the church. The dress actually looked quite hot, despite the picture of curtains and tulle that is most likely running rampant in your sick little heads.
More recently, I offered to sew up some curtains for my friend and her roommate so that the stalker, when he is let out of jail, can no longer stare into their kitchen all evening. My friend is smarter than I thought. She gave me all the materials and then invited me to an "orphan" Thanksgiving Dinner, this upcoming Friday evening. There is no way I can attend the dinner if the curtains are not finished. There is no way that I will finish the curtains in the next 48 hours given the fact that I worked a double today, and have another tomorrow and I work Friday morning. Did I forget to mention that I offered to bake pumpkin pies as well?
Something has to give. I have a feeling it will be that annoying biological necessity: sleep.
PS: The curtains are a fairly simple premise...4 black rectangles with a smaller rectangle of red printed material appliqued on top. There should be about a 2 inch black border around the outside of the applique if the black fabric is straight. It's not. In fact, it is so NOT FREAKIN' STRAIGHT that I keep gnashing my teeth and muttering curses under my breath about its lack of straightness and I am worried that someone will overhear me and plunk me in a diversity awareness workshop.
She's gonna be getting some pretty warped curtains. Right angle corners are for chumps.
mercredi, octobre 05, 2005
Watched
Mostly Martha
My Life Without Me
The Shipping News
Yes, I have too much time on my hands. But, these are excellent films that you all should watch. Right now. Go. To the video store.
My Life Without Me
The Shipping News
Yes, I have too much time on my hands. But, these are excellent films that you all should watch. Right now. Go. To the video store.
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