kerewin's whine cellar

The Restaurant II

I can't understand why anyone would want to watch Jerry Springer, or reality television, when they could just go work in a restaurant and get all those titilating scenes AND get paid. Yes, yes, I know there was a supposed 'reality' restaurant show, and I am here to tell you that the things that went on there were pure ass. Nobody in their right mind would reward an employee who is about to quit with a gamn Vespa (btw, what strange coincidence led that scooter to be placed just outside of the restaurant anyway?). I think a really fascinating idea for prime time would be to combine The Restaurant and Survivor and vote people off the floor. The last episode would feature one poor, hapless server and one screwed cook, scrambling to do everything by themselves. Oh, right, that is why real life isn't like reality tv, because we all need support staff.

Anyway, there is enough drama happening at my restaurant to fill several seconds of a television show.

The (Real) Restaurant
Cast (Installment 1, kitchen staff, better known as the Back of House, or BOH):
Owner Guy: Early fifties, balding guy. Chef. The buck supposedly stops here.......forever. You want something then you have to continue to remind the man, and if you are lucky and only really lucky, six months later, you might get a portion of what you requested. Also a fumbler, and a waffler, he goes on and on about cutting the hours of the front of house, because, "people tend to do what they need to do in the time allotted them, whether it be an hour or ten minutes." Yet, he never cleans up after himself, and has a tendency to wander from task to task, never finishing. When he accidently cuts or burns himself (not unusual in a kitchen) he starts yelling a string of profanities and kicks things. "Damn! Fuck! Piss!" stomp, stomp, stomp. It is weird to be around, and people generally flee, and then mock him endlessly hours later, behind his back, of course.

Sous Chef*: Early thirties, tall, thin, kinda good looking in a very dockers kind of way. Child of two psychologists, Ivy League-er (legacy student). The S.C. is one of those very annoying people, who is really good at anything he sets his mind to. Piano, tennis, French, school, and cooking just to name a few. He has an encyclopedic memory and a meddling mind. He also seems to want everyone to like him, and his method for ensuring this is to slag people behind their backs to whomever he is currently talking to, while indicating that he and the person he is speaking to are in strictest confidence, and alike in high ability. The next day he slags the confidant to the person he was slagging the day before.

Seriously into drugs and alcohol. He is also completely manic, in a depressed sort of way, and he mumbles endlessly. When not mumbling endlessly to you, he is talking into his cell phone while working. He has an almost permanent head tilt from this, and his cell phone is always covered in gook. It was practically white the other day from goat cheese. You walk up to the pass-through window and he is mid-story. You look around, who is he talking to? Seemingly you, yet you have work to do, you walk away, come back five minutes later and he is still talking. Recently dumped by his fiancée, we all get to be part and parcel of the drama that unfolds on his cell phone.

*our S.C. is the reason our show would be a big hit, yet he is the only person who works there that would end up in an even more downward spiral if he became famous. Still, he would make us all rich.

Lead-Line: Only here from the Bay area because his *very* serious girl friend is going to grad school in town. He hates the weather, but likes the fishing. He is very flirty, in a very non-serious way and has at least two restaurant girlfriends, by both his admission and theirs. (This is a function, I think, of every jobplace.....you have your real life significant other, and then your fake one.) He is very serious all the time, and seemingly permanently disappointed. Used to be a good going-out buddy of the Sous, but has decided recently that is a dead-end street.

Currently, he is obsessed with saving up to buy a house. This means he never wants to do anything with anyone. All he talks about lately is the house, fishing, his new workout regime, and how disappointed he is in the S.C.

Newest Kitchen Guy: Moved here from the South with his wife. They just got the notion that they wanted to live in Seattle, and got in their truck and headed on up. He appears to be completely serious, yet totally facetious all the time. So no one ever really knows if he is pissed, or is just joking. A strange mixture of redneck and liberal. For instance, he got married when he was 18, for about 3 months, and then they got divorced. He is currently on his second wife,but speaks all the time about wife #3, and #4 (these two future wives coincidently enough, are the same girls that are the peripheral girlfriends of the L.L.).

Has long hair, that he always has in a ponytail, then covered in a handkerchief ala Axel Rose. Obsessed with all things Tazz, he has the Tasmanian Devil all over his truck, and I am pretty sure a tattoo. Since he only moved here a few months ago and doesn't know anyone, the restaurant is his complete social life. He and the Sous drink to oblivion at least 3 nights a week. They are probably fairly detrimental to each others' health.

Dishwasher: Mexican, from Mexico City, has been in Seattle for at least seven years. Has three kids in Mexico that live with his parents, because his wife died 13 or so years ago. Hasn't been back to Mexico to see his kids in at least five years, because he is worried about his lack of papers and his ability to get back to the States. He is the hardest worker in the restaurant, and one of the nicest. He speaks fairly decent English, but when it comes to anything official, he comes to me for translation. This guy has three jobs. Monday-Friday he works lunch at a Mexican burrito place, then Tuesday-Saturday he works evenings at my restaurant, lastly he drives a van for a large soda conglomeration in the very early mornings Friday-Monday. The driving job he does three months on, and three months off, because after that, they might have to pay benefits, or something. Of course, almost all of his money gets sent back to Mexico, so that his kids can live a very high quality life. He won't move back there, because he probably couldn't find any good paying work, and he can't bring his kids here, because the dollar here doesn't get what it gets down South, and they wouldn't get everything their hearts desire.

Recently he has had pain around his heart, a few days a month. He went to the doctor (he has benefits through us, thankfully) and got all kinds of tests. Diagnosis: No alcohol, caffeine, sugar, or fatty or spicy food. For a Mexican, this is like a death toll. That's all they have is spicy, fatty, high sugar foods! Frankly I think doctors give this kind of advice hoping that people will tow the line around fifty percent of the time. I also believe that if he just had 2 jobs, or even one, and got some decent sleep and maybe some regular exercise, he would be fine, regardless of diet.

When it comes down to it, not a single one of us would do his job, yet the place wouldn't run without him. Therefore, it is in our best interests to try to make his job easy when we can. I always tell my staff, we all work for the diswasher.

The Front of House installment should be coming in the next week. In the meantime, I will be holding my breath for the WB to call.

Wake up, para culiar

Ahhhh...Puerto Vallarta, una cuidad que es llena de los gringos. Es posible que soy una Mexicana.
Puerto Vallarta, a city full of Whiteys. It is possible that I am a Mexican. Sounds better in Spanish, doesn't it?

I could continue on in a bi-lingual fashion,but first, that’s rather snotty, don’t you think? Secondly, I can’t remember the Spanish word for “to bargain.”

Our week in Mexico was very nice, but kind of surreal. We were in a foreign country but staying with the In-laws, who own a condo there, so half our time was spent doing day-to-day things and not holiday things. Driving here or there to look at furniture for the condo, or groceries, or beer. Oh, beer. God, I love Mexico.

We spent a little time each day at the pool, later in the afternoon, so as to minimize sunburn possibilities. Since we were staying in Nuevo Vallarta, rather than El Centro, or Viejo, we were outside of the general hubbub. But, we learned rather easily, how to take a bus into town, and conversely out of town. For instance our daytrip (oh, now I have the Beatles stuck in my head) to Sayulita.

As much as I liked Sayulita, it was a little too American-ized (by which I mean, United States-ized, but it doesn’t read as pretty) for my taste. When you eat breakfast at Rollie’s which is full of US tourists, and only has an English menu, and then go see some of the outdoor jewelry, half of which is sold by US hippies, you start to be a little weary. At least, I do. Especially as after the last vacation we had, I said to the Hub, “I want to go somewhere where they speak SPANISH!”

The worst, worst, WORST ever part about Sayulita is that they have a restaurant called, “The Spaghetti Factory” which I, at first, found amusing, since that was my first ever restaurant job. We even took a picture of me and the sign. Later, from one of the wizened condo residents it turns out that this is a couple who started a Spaghetti Factory in Couer d’Alene, Idaho, which mached EXACTLY the Old Spaghetti Factory menu and décor. Not surprisingly, they got sued, so they moved the whole thing lock, stock, and barrel to MEXICO???? Now you can enjoy crappy faux-Italian food from the States even in Nayurit, Mexico. Rat fucking bastards. The wizened couple who told us this story thought it was GREAT! Do I have to go to Spain to get away from these assholes?

Speaking of assholes, right in Puerto Vallarta proper there is a Hooter’s and an Outback Steakhouse, both of which I loathe and I refuse to find links for you. You want to see their sites? Google, baby.

Now, vacation sex…..it should be GREAT, right? Then don’t vacation with your ILs Since we stay up later than them, we snuck in a few nice night time episodes. But once when we snuck up early from the pool and started fooling around, the ILs came up about 10 minutes after we did, and I just couldn’t work up to finishing (and I was REALLY close, dammit!). Surprisingly, since it has featured in many a role-playing event, and I have mocked the Hub mercilessly about his rather Victorian view of having sex at the house of the ILs, I couldn’t really shove it in their face. I was happy to have sex if we weren’t going to get caught, but not while they were awake in the other room. Even MORE surprisingly, the Hub was TOTALLY up for it. He then mocked me mercilessly the rest of the trip. According to him culiar is the verb he knows for “to have sex” and he spent a good portion of our trip saying to me under his breath, “K, wake up para culiar!”

So one night in particular, I went to bed early, because nerd boy wanted to watch the new Battlestar Gallactica mini-series that was showing on some cable nerd channel. The Hub was supposed to wake me up para culiar, when he came to bed, but he didn’t. So the next morning, I woke up, he was all asleep and the condo seemed quiet. So I went over and woke him up, “para culiar” a girl has her needs after all. The Hub was willing, I was willing, we were getting into it. As the man said about it later, “I was just getting ready to take it home!”

But then, the madre IL knocked on the door and before we could even confer as to what to say, she opened the door! Holy shit! It was right out of my worst ever High School nightmare (not that I was having sex in HS, trust me I wasn’t). Luckily for the Kevo, we were all missionary and shit, so his mom’s view of him was blocked. But she SAW ME, all reclined. Jesus, just what I need, my madre IL to know what my boobs look like without their usual clothing. One thing I don't regret, she was on the wrong side to see my lizard tattoo that is on my rib cage. Anyway, she shut the door rather abruptly, and I ended our fesitivities. Then we sat there and had the giggled for a good five minutes before I got up and took a shower. As the Hub said, “At least we are married.”

Then, when I came out to get some coffee, I mumbled a “Mornin’” certainly all red-cheeked, and then she APOLOGIZED to me. I was hoping more for the, “let’s all ignore what just happened” approach. Later on the Hub told me that he was hoping to finish afterwards. Uh huh…..whatevah.

So, while I was embarrassed at the time, I clearly think it is a fabulous to be oft-repeated to friends, kind of story. While the Hub thinks it is funny, he already thinks that I tell our friends too much personal info about us, and has strictly forced me to promise not to tell anyone we know. Thank god for the internet!

Some pictures for your enjoyment:
Album 1
Album 2

One last embarrassing sidenote: On our last full day in P.V. as all the United Stateseans call it, we went into El Centro. Walked the beach,bought momentos, stopped at a bar and had “un cubeto de cerveza,por favor” and when we left, I had a mark on my ass. Someone, dear god, peed on my seat. I smelled of urine the whole way home. Hallelujah for the condo having a washer and a dryer.

I am having a little trouble deciding which is more humiliating, the urine or the sex-catching.

Mocking the mocking mocker-er

While I have a seriously long and embarassing story to relate, which the Hub has strictly forbidden me from revealing to our friends, this comes up as just a teensy bit more important............

Mockblogger

Go. Go now.

Just why wasn't this my idea? Oh yeah, I am too self-absorbed.

Vamos a Mexico

Bikini Wax Update

Okay.....so, since I am all devirginized.....again, let me tell you how it was.

Not too bad. I was pretty nervous and the girl was really nice. After explaining things to me she left the room, and let me take my pants off in privacy, and get my butt up on the nice bed (with the paper cover!). There was a towel for privacy, which I found ironic, considering that soon she would be looking at my....well, you know.

Just like my good friend D said, they had me keep my panties on. I thought it was rather humorous and optimistic of her to ask if I wanted any taken off the top. I know they call it a bikini wax, but I am not going to be wearing any bikini.

So she puts the wax on and it wasn't all painful hot like I expected, then the strip of paper, and HELLO! Ok, a little painful, but not disgustingly so, just like a big band-aid was being ripped off that area. It certainly hurt a lot more to get a tattoo. It was all over and paid for in less than 15 minutes. I kinda sorta, maybe a little bit wish I had gone in for the brazil, maybe next time. She also said it would hurt less with each time, and also suggested waxxing in farther next time.

Just what I need, one more salon addiction!

The Hub knew I was all nervous before hand, based on my sniping all morning long, so when I got home he said, "So?" and I said it wasn't too bad and then I showed him (it was still a little bumpy and red which the lady said was normal for the first day and it would go away - also there wasn't any pain after it was all done) and all he said in response was, "Ouch!" I guess I was maybe expecting to get swept off my feet to bed, but considering I had to go to work soon after, maybe it was for the best!

So, I have to say, it looks GOOD, and it was a helluva lot easier than shaving by hand. The only thing hard to swallow was the $30 for time spent, plus tip! (Don't get me wrong, I work in the service industry and I believe in tipping, I was happy to tip, I just added up the amount of money spent in less than 15 minutes and maybe considered changing jobs!)

The Big "V"

I am a virgin.

Yes, I understand that I already explained to you my first sexual experience, but this is much scarier. Today, I am going to go get a bikini wax. Holy Shit! I have decided that since we are going to Mexico on Sunday that I ought to be as hair-free in that area as possible.

I was at the salon yesterday getting my hair cut, and was talking about it with my hairdresser. I was talking over the options, so she got me a price sheet. They have something called the "almost" Brazil. Almost? This was Erika's explanation, "Yeah, they do the butt crack, but not the lips." Je-Heee-Sus, just what am I getting myself into, here?

So I am going with the basic, for first timers apparently, that is a good way to start. So she also asked me how trimmed I was down there, and when I replied "not at all, currently" she asked me if I had some clippers. So we are less than 2 hours away from the big deed, hopefully it won't hurt too much.

I *wanted* to call this Freaks and Geeks but.......

Freaks (please tell me that's a joke, especially the Third Testament stuff) and more freaks.

Extra special thanks to MsF for the creepy links!

Re-Tard-Ed

Head Retardo

• Running for president
• Email stamps (don't we already pay our ISPs?)
• Guilty (ps - if this is what Martha gets, why aren't all the Enron execs in jail right now, instead of sitting in one of their 20 houses?)

Lately I seem to have Tourette's when it comes to the word "retarded." I used it in front of the I.L.s this weekend at least twice, I use it at work to describe the antics of the former-employee of mine, it just....bursts out. Leaving me sitting there, praying that I don't get yelled at by someone who has a challenged relative. FYI - I have a challenged relative and it doesn't bother me any, although I never ever ever use the word around my Aunt, who is the mother of said-relative. CAN'T. STOP. SAYING. RETARDED.

Perhaps I am retarded?

I am clearly gay, as I had this same problem with that word, too. A few years back I tried to re-install the use of this word within my social circle to how we all used it in grade school. Pretty soon all my friends, family members, husband, and many co-workers were using it. Until someone I worked with, who is a very nice homosexual male, asked us to stop using it as he was offended. COULDN'T. STOP. SAYING. GAY. In fact, I still catch myself saying it, with that follow-up cringe.

Clearly I am retardedly gay.

Zunified

The Hub's parents were in town visiting this weekend and we had a fabulous time. Unlike many people, I completely adore the Inlaws, they are just the nicest people. Of course, 3 years ago I almost completely screwed it up. We had moved into this house recently, and the inlaws decided to come up and hang out with us, but they wanted the visit to have some "direction." So they thought it would be a good opportunity to work on the bathroom. Granted, the sink didn't work at all, (I was brushing my teeth at the kitchen sink) and the paint was hanging off of the ceiling in strips.

The Hub was travelling the entire week before their visit, so it fell on my shoulders to buy paint, take everything down in the bathroom, wash the walls, prep, and then paint. I also had to tear out all the old caulk and recaulk the tub. It took most of the week, I ended up taking time off from work, or working very very very late nights after work. Since at that time, I was still waiting tables in the evenings.

Kevo comes back from whatever fun city he was in, and the I.L.'s blow into town on a Saturday, with the new sink we picked out. We spend the whole day on that gamn sink. Mom inlaw and I visit Home Depot at least 4 times and they still don't get it done. We decide to postpone the final steps until the next morning. Then we all go out for dinner at the restaurant that I should have been working at that night.

Dinner was fabulous, cocktails, wine, oysters, fish, dessert.......you name it. The I.L.s take us home, and everyone is happy. They are staying in a hotel because Mom I.L. wants, "a place with a working bathroom." We get home, and the Hub wants to go to bed. Do I follow his fine, shiny example? Of. Course. Not.

I stay up playing cards online and drinking more wine. I probably crawled to bed around 2 or 3. Of course, the I.L.s are there bright and early, like 7am and I have to drag my sorry headachy ass out of bed to listen to the Hub and his Dad fight about the proper way to finish installing the sink. Then we all go out to breakfast!

Typical of our breakfast experiences, we take them to our fave dive, with the fabulous weekend brunch. Then we get not only the worst service ever, but the food was cold. The Hub and I have discovered that we apparently only get good food at that place when we don't brag about it to our friends, or drag them there. So, I am already grumpy, the Dad I.L., and the Hub are grumpy, and we are trying to pay the check and leave, so we can all kill each other in private. We FINALLY get the bill paid (this is where Kere had to slide some extra cash in for a tip since Dad I.L. was pissed about our experience) and leave.

The sink is in, the weekend is over, we just had our brekkie, they were supposed to drop us off home and hit the road. Hooray! I survived. This is where the plot takes a decidedly uglier turn. The Hub had his car at the shop and it was ready, so he asks the parents to drop him off at the shop. I am already at my wit's bloody end at this point, so I say, "Hey, I really really need to start getting ready for work, maybe you can just drop me at the house?"

No prob, they do, we say our goodbyes then because they were just going to head out after dropping off the Kevster. I go into the house and breathe a HUGE sigh of relief. Looking at the clock, I have lots of time before work, so I start playing around on the computer. Relief is radiating from my body. Thirty or forty minutes later Kevin comes home, walks right to the computer room and says, "Well, well, I see you aren't getting ready for work."

.....dramatic pause......

"Honey, I know. I just needed a break from your parents, they were driving me CRAZY!"

......more dramatic pause......

"Kere, they are HERE, they needed to go to the bathroom."

Oh shit. Shiiiiiiiiiit, shit shit shit shit. They pee, say goodbye, leave......did I escape unscathed? That wouldn't make for a very good story now, would it? The next morning the Hub wakes me up and says I should check my email before leaving for work. The Mom I.L. sent a note saying, "Just wanted to let you know, I heard what you said yesterday, I am sure Dad didn't overhear and I won't tell him. But my feelings are hurt, I guess we won't be helping you with any house projects anymore." Phone calls, apologies, explanations, crying. Mom I.L. tells me I am forgiven, and she won't hold it against me, blah blah blah. Still, they haven't come up to Seattle since.

I have this special gift for saying just the wrong thing at the wrong time, yet, in the 4 years previous to this event, I had a SPOTLESS record with the I.L.s. I didn't screw it up until after we got engaged. Figures. Well in the intervening years since I opened my big mouth, I have done all I can to be as sweet and nice as is genetically possible for me (everyone stop your sniggering). I have to say, that all seems well. In fact, I finally felt totally out of the doghouse when they said they were coming up for a mutual birthday weekend celebration thing. They did choose to stay in a hotel, rather than our spare bed, which is in the unfinished basement, but it isn't horrible. So, I guess my record isn't completely cleared.

That dinner I made the week before? It was a test dinner for the Inlaws. So the second run this last Sunday was an unqualified hit. Especially as I paired up a French White Burgundy with the app and the salad. (Side note: this review is for the '01, and I served the '02 which has gone up significantly in price, this year it retails around $30.) Then I served a great Italian Barolo with the homemade ravioli and the homemade marinara. Then the chocolate pots de creme were..........orgasmic. Waaaaaaaaay better than the first batch. Ad-Dic-Tive. So my cooking kiss-up worked pretty well.

Then, we had them come up the same weekend as the restaurant's latest Cooks and Books dinner. A great idea wherein, a visiting chef, with a new cookbook comes to town, we cook out of their cookbook, pair the food up with a winery, everyone who comes not only gets a book, and a four course, wine-paired dinner, but they meet the author and get their book signed! This time we had Judy Rodgers from the Zuni Café, probably our most famous chef, yet. (If you want to argue with me, which is fine, the list so far has been Marcus Samuelson from Aquavit, Paula Wolfert, and Jacqui Maloof.) Since I used to work for them, I contacted Tom and Anne-Marie Hedges to see if they were interested in participating from the winery side of things.

Since this is our fourth installation of the Cooks and Books, we have honed our skills, and this went off (almost) without a hitch. Everyone had a fabulous time, especially the I.L.s and the food was incredible.

Menu is as follows:

A fabulous time was had by the I.L.s and it seems I am 110 percent back in the good graces of the Hub's family!

Did I mention I scored an entire bottle of port from the Hedges for this dinner?