"There's nothing wrong with it........” That's how it usually starts. Declared like a statement of fact. The assumption is exactly that. How could there be, this is his kitchen. His chefs don't do that. It would have suggested they weren't good enough. That they would let stuff go. Stuff that wasn't right. Not them. No.
"That's medium to me. That's his wife's hair. It's perfectly seasoned, they smoke too much. They know fuck all about food these people. It's supposed to be like that."
They say it every night. Somewhere. They always have to be right. The waiting staff hate it. What happened to the customer is always right? Bull shitting again with a smile. This is not the feedback they want. Compliments to the chef! They want their ego's massaging. They want to be loved. Celebrated.
This is their defence strategy. It's fight or flight. They're pushed into it. "They booked for nine. They're late. It's not my fault. There's no one at the pass. It's been sitting here for ages, what do you expect".
Now he's turned on his own. Everyone's gonna get it. The littlest thing. He's waiting for it. He's looking. Listening. Waiting to pounce.
But they have a flip side. Some of them. A different personality. They're someone else in the real world. Reasonable. Friendly. Pleasant and talkative. A nice person. It's good to spend time with them. But turn up the heat if you dare. Add a little pinch of noise. A complaint or two. Whisk in a curve ball during service and see what you get. The other one. He's back.
He thinks its okay now. That was during service. It's finished. Last check done and time to clean down. What happens on the mile stays on the mile. Just forget about it, it's nothing personal. More excuses. Another get out clause. Hallelujah, He's returned! Mister Nice is back. He's smiling again. The frown has gone.He'll just ring the orders through. He wants to have a pint and a chat. He's buying.......
Fuck off mate......