please allow me to clarify:
i LOVE brunch if you are taking me to a swanky joint or favorite dive after a long night of drinking and curousing.
preferably some where that outside seating is available so that i can have fresh air and dont look like a moron for refusing to remove my sunglasses ( my only protection for the light, the noise, and the quick movements of the mid morning afternoon croud.....)
this would take place when i am most likely too hung over to really eat anything, settling for an extra spicy bloody mary, and some sparkly water of some sort.
hopefully sushi is an option, or even something horribly greasy, pizza, burgers, fried chicken or piles of hash browns with katsup and tobasco.....how about a sprawling buffet you say? maybe even encluding stations..
lets visit a display of poor bastards who are probably in the same delicate shape as i, and forced to flip omlettes, make migas, and carve ham or beef for a bunch of jerks- not ever having the pleasure of ever being the attendant of such a station, and experiencing what hell it truly is.
Especially when all you can think of whils standing there is the fact that the previous nights festivities ( most likely with all of the other fuck offs suffering silently beside you, becasue hey, after a haneously busy friday or saturday night on the line you deserve to go out with all of your dancing parteners and tie one on, right???) may leave you quickly running to the restroom or risk soiling your ever sexy black and whites.
not by any means does the fact that you would like extra horseradish crema or a jus on your slab of prime rib while you gum on the glossy pink-ness that are heaps of wonderfull peel and eat shrimp while waiting for your eggs benedict matter to this person in the fucking least.
this kind of brunch experience is always a good time had by all.
usually followd by shopping, a siesta, manecures, or all day loungeing and catching up on net flix.
however....
the bruch experience i was refering to in all of its horifying suck- ness, was one far less enjoyable than the aformentioned scenario.
i was actually reffering to me, hot, sweaty, pissed, and chafing- on the line getting slammed and bent over and reemed till i could no longer think straight, much less continue to listen to the waitrons special requests.
endless complaining about unruly children throwing cheerios and standing on high chiars, and mothball reekeing, denture grinding senior citizens asking for refill upon refill of tomato juice, and if we have any bread that is "softer" than baguettes or even brioche.
this was the brunch experience where i ran out or nearly everything and was feeverishly trying to keep up with the orders as they came in one after annother, table of twelve, six, eight, four a million deuces and on and on, mostly with no reservations, and expecting to be sat immediatley when clearly, any friggin moron, upon taking a look around, could see that there were no availble tables to be had, and the wait at the door was exceeding an hour and a half.
and why you ask, was this the case? so un- prepared for such a croud, under prepped, etc? to this i answer simply.
incompitence, people. incompetence. and lack of communication.
my brunch prep boys never showed up. probably because they were suffering from the same fate as i am today, hung over, shivering and needing long bouts of worshiping the porcelain throne as punishment for gratuitous over indulgence.
naturally because of this gross lack of judgement on their part, they are now free to persue new employment opportunities.
there for, i, and one whom i consider near sainthood- were forced to do all of the prep for this brunch monstrosity between the hours of seven and 9 o'clock when the hordes start to amass. this included baking pastries, bisquits, scones, making crepe batter, french toast batter, quiches, trays upon trays of bacon, sausages, etc, etc. you get the picture.
also as a wonderfull side note, our owners did not write down or tell any one that we had a 20 top coming in exactly at nine. on top of all of that our computer system went down, and as a result the pos was also caput, so there were hand written tickets every where, and i in all of my glory was forced to pretend that everything was fine and wade through this mess of shit up to my ears and just get through it.
so you see, i FUCKING HATE brunch.
i love my dishwasher jose. he is an angel
i love my line cook jake. he is a stud.
and i now, and going to curl up in the fetal and whatch something happy. deffinately something with johnny depp in it.
and eat some ice cream.
and drink hevily.
p.s. i have started smoking again. please stop me.
i LOVE brunch if you are taking me to a swanky joint or favorite dive after a long night of drinking and curousing.
preferably some where that outside seating is available so that i can have fresh air and dont look like a moron for refusing to remove my sunglasses ( my only protection for the light, the noise, and the quick movements of the mid morning afternoon croud.....)
this would take place when i am most likely too hung over to really eat anything, settling for an extra spicy bloody mary, and some sparkly water of some sort.
hopefully sushi is an option, or even something horribly greasy, pizza, burgers, fried chicken or piles of hash browns with katsup and tobasco.....how about a sprawling buffet you say? maybe even encluding stations..
lets visit a display of poor bastards who are probably in the same delicate shape as i, and forced to flip omlettes, make migas, and carve ham or beef for a bunch of jerks- not ever having the pleasure of ever being the attendant of such a station, and experiencing what hell it truly is.
Especially when all you can think of whils standing there is the fact that the previous nights festivities ( most likely with all of the other fuck offs suffering silently beside you, becasue hey, after a haneously busy friday or saturday night on the line you deserve to go out with all of your dancing parteners and tie one on, right???) may leave you quickly running to the restroom or risk soiling your ever sexy black and whites.
not by any means does the fact that you would like extra horseradish crema or a jus on your slab of prime rib while you gum on the glossy pink-ness that are heaps of wonderfull peel and eat shrimp while waiting for your eggs benedict matter to this person in the fucking least.
this kind of brunch experience is always a good time had by all.
usually followd by shopping, a siesta, manecures, or all day loungeing and catching up on net flix.
however....
the bruch experience i was refering to in all of its horifying suck- ness, was one far less enjoyable than the aformentioned scenario.
i was actually reffering to me, hot, sweaty, pissed, and chafing- on the line getting slammed and bent over and reemed till i could no longer think straight, much less continue to listen to the waitrons special requests.
endless complaining about unruly children throwing cheerios and standing on high chiars, and mothball reekeing, denture grinding senior citizens asking for refill upon refill of tomato juice, and if we have any bread that is "softer" than baguettes or even brioche.
this was the brunch experience where i ran out or nearly everything and was feeverishly trying to keep up with the orders as they came in one after annother, table of twelve, six, eight, four a million deuces and on and on, mostly with no reservations, and expecting to be sat immediatley when clearly, any friggin moron, upon taking a look around, could see that there were no availble tables to be had, and the wait at the door was exceeding an hour and a half.
and why you ask, was this the case? so un- prepared for such a croud, under prepped, etc? to this i answer simply.
incompitence, people. incompetence. and lack of communication.
my brunch prep boys never showed up. probably because they were suffering from the same fate as i am today, hung over, shivering and needing long bouts of worshiping the porcelain throne as punishment for gratuitous over indulgence.
naturally because of this gross lack of judgement on their part, they are now free to persue new employment opportunities.
there for, i, and one whom i consider near sainthood- were forced to do all of the prep for this brunch monstrosity between the hours of seven and 9 o'clock when the hordes start to amass. this included baking pastries, bisquits, scones, making crepe batter, french toast batter, quiches, trays upon trays of bacon, sausages, etc, etc. you get the picture.
also as a wonderfull side note, our owners did not write down or tell any one that we had a 20 top coming in exactly at nine. on top of all of that our computer system went down, and as a result the pos was also caput, so there were hand written tickets every where, and i in all of my glory was forced to pretend that everything was fine and wade through this mess of shit up to my ears and just get through it.
so you see, i FUCKING HATE brunch.
i love my dishwasher jose. he is an angel
i love my line cook jake. he is a stud.
and i now, and going to curl up in the fetal and whatch something happy. deffinately something with johnny depp in it.
and eat some ice cream.
and drink hevily.
p.s. i have started smoking again. please stop me.
VIEW 13 of 13 COMMENTS
**big hugs** and lots o'
Did you find some Johnny Depp and ice cream happiness?
And as I typed that, I realized that I left the Oreo cookie ice cream sitting on the counter last night ... sigh ... well, I still have chocolate cherry, I guess.