There comes a point in everyone’s life when we are left with no option but to give up something we love whether it be for health reasons, financial reasons or sometimes just to keep our sanity.
When this happens, it’s human nature for us to become reliant on something else to help us through the transition and act as a kind of comfort zone.
For me this comfort zone, which I built when I decided to kick my 20 a day habit 3 weeks ago, consists of 2 things. The first being my tatty, oversized, hideous black cardigan that’s had more glasses of wine, cups of coffee and Chinese takeaways spilled over it than I care to remember, and the second… is food.
For the last 3 weeks, pretty much everything in my life has revolved around food, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I have sat at work thinking about getting home to whatever weird craving I happen to have had at the time, and thinking about wrapping my black cardigan around me as I indulge.
I think I first realised that it was becoming a bit of an obsession on day 5 of my smoking detox. I arrived at the hotel on the late shift to find that guest had kindly left us a box of Foxes biscuits on the desk. I opened them up and began munching through them like some kind of stray animal when Sabrina came to the desk and innocently asked if she could have one. I reluctantly agreed and asked her which one she would like.
“What’s that one?” she asked
“White chocolate & shortbread” I replied
“Can I have that one?”
“Well yeah if that’s the one you want”
At the time I didn’t think it was a big deal. And so I paid little attention she took the white chocolate and shortbread biscuit out of the box, took a bite, swallowed. But it wasn’t until she screwed up her face and began scraping the back of her tongue with her teeth that I realised that there was a problem.
“I don’t like it” she said
Everyone take cover.
“WHY?” I asked though gritted teeth “WOULD YOU PICK UP A BISCUIT AND BITE INTO IT KNOWING FULL WELL THAT YOU WOULDN’T LIKE IT SABRINA”
“Because I didn’t know I wouldn’t like it”
“IT’S WHITE CHOCOLATE AND F**KING SHORTBREAD! THERE’S NOTHING CRYPTIC ABOUT IT IS THERE? ALL THE F**KING INGREDIENTS ARE WRITTEN IN FRONT OF YOU! FOR GOD SAKE!”
“Alright Em calm down! Bloody hell!”
“It just aggravates me that’s all”
“Ok!” she said as she made her “Emma has finally lost it” eyes at Sarah “I’m sorry”
Realising that I had over reacted slightly to the incident, I accepted Sabrina’s apology and took a breath to help myself to calm down. Which I did, for a period of around 3 seconds when…..
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING??????” I screamed at Sarah who almost fell off her chair in panic
“Nothing” she replied
“Why have you just thrown that biscuit in the bin?”
“Because Sabrina’s gob’s just been all round it”
“I don’t care she’d only had one bite there was nothing wrong with it and I love white chocolate and I love shortbread and I can’t believe you’ve just done that Sarah you’re all doing my head in I can even look at any of you!!!!”
So I marched into the back office slamming the door behind me and sat and sulked for the best part of half an hour until I had no choice but to come out and hand over from Sarah whose shift was coming to a thankful end. And that was day 5.
As the week went on my temper did improve. Unfortunately so did my appetite. Everything revolved around food. Thinking about it, talking about it. And I was absolutely thrilled when one evening Simon joined me on reception because the boss had plonked himself on his desk preventing him from carrying on with his work, and indulged me in the exact topic of conversation I had been trying to initiate with various staff members for most of the week.
“I’m absolutely starving Em”
“Are you?”
“Yeah! I was off yesterday so all I had to eat was a tub of Pringles and a bowl of Alpen”
“Pringles & Alpen? That was all you had all day?”
“Yeah”
“Bloody Hell Si. I didn’t stop eating yesterday”
“Didn’t you?”
“No”
“What did you have?”
“Well I was on the early shift here so I had 2 rounds of poached egg on toast in the morning”
“Right”
“Then I didn’t fancy what chef was doing for lunch so I waited till I got home and had a big plate of sausage and mash that mum had made the night before”
“Sounds good”
“Well yeah but then because it was about 3 o clock when I had it, it was more like a late lunch than dinner so by 9 o clock I was starving again”
“So what did you do?”
“Well I had a curry”
“Nice. What Kind?”
“It was a beef curry with chips from the Chinese”
“Oooh I could just eat a Chinese curry”
“You should do it”
“I should” It’d be chicken though not beef”
“I don’t do Chinese chicken curry”
“No?”
“No I don’t like the way they cook the chicken”
“WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP AND GET SOME BLOODY WORK DONE! IT’S LIKE A BLOODY CHAT SHOW OUT THERE”
We turned to scowl at the boss who had remained silent up to that point. Simon was very quick to remind him that the only reason he standing and talking to me was because the boss was sitting at his desk preventing him from getting any work done.
Subsequently the back office door was slammed shut and I had to chuckle to myself as I heard the boss ranting that Simon should have been a chat show host instead of a hotel manager to which Simon replied something to the effect of “Just get out of my f**king chair”
Good times.
So I’m pretty sure you’ve now got the gist that food has been my comfort over the last couple of weeks. Food and of course my black comfort cardi, or at least what used to be my black comfort cardi.
I was absolutely devastated on Saturday when I went into the bathroom where my mother was painting the ceiling, only to find that she was using my oversized, hideous, lumpy, worn out yet extremely warm and cosy black cardigan as a kind of throw sheet for a chest of drawers that she didn’t want to get ruined. I didn’t say a word to her. I just stared at my cardi, and petty as it may sound, I felt a little lump in my throat and an overwhelming sense of loss that something else I loved was gone. It just seemed to be snow balling at me. How much more was I meant to take?
I guess I just have to look at it as sometimes, even though it’s tough, there are things we have no choice but to give up no matter how unpleasant the process may be. It doesn’t mean we’re happy about it, it doesn’t mean we don’t still love them, or that we won’t miss them and it certainly doesn’t mean we’ll forget about them.
In a way I would say I was prepared for giving up my cigarettes, I knew it was going to happen eventually, I couldn’t have carried on without getting myself hurt and on some level I always knew that. But my cardi was a different story. That was a loss for which I was totally unprepared.
So know all I can do is take each day as it comes, and just hope that the extra layer I’m accumulating to replace my cardi will soften the blow of the next thing that’s thrown at me.
Here’s hoping.
Monday, 17 May 2010
Thursday, 6 May 2010
Once upon a time...
FOREWORD
In the beginning… Chef made Soup, and Salads and a selection of sandwiches which together… created the daily hotel staff meal menu.
Years went by, and the chef remained unchallenged and unmoved. Many came and went. Tried and failed, and the system remained unconquered. That was until the arrival of a silver haired elder, in a white trouser suit armed with a tongue, sharper than any blade the chef had encountered.
It wasn’t long before the elder began to challenge the chef, first with the refusal of sandwiches, and soup, and salad. Then with requests for fish, roast dinners, curry. The chef tried hard to fight against it but … his enemy was too strong, unlike any he had ever encountered before, or would ever encounter again.
And so the battle became a long and bitter war. Anarchy erupted as the elder instilled her beliefs on others who followed her fearless reign. The chef became weaker, until he was powerless to stop it and from then on, the hotel staff meal policy, was never to be the same again.
THE STORY
So that’s the crack basically. For the last decade Aunty Chris has dominated the kitchen with her demands over staff meals and, has the majority of the time got her own way.
Don’t get me wrong there has been once or twice when chef has put his foot down and it’s resulted in hunger strikes etc but pretty much, most of the time, what Aunty Chris says, is what goes.
If I’m honest I’ve always admired her for it. I only wish I had her strength and perseverance on the matter. Take last week for example. It was around 10:30am and I went down to the kitchen. I can’t remember why, and as it usually does, the topic of staff meals for the day soon came into conversation
“Emma!” Chef said rather excitedly “Nice jacket potato today for lunch?”
“Are they fresh?” I asked
“Yes Emma, they’re fresh”
“Definitely?”
“Definitely!”
“Well why can’t I smell them?”
“Because I’ve only just put them in”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes I’m sure”
“Because I’ll know if it’s been done in the microwave”
“Emma… I guarantee you 100% the jacket potatoes will be fresh, out of the oven this lunch time”
“Will they be crispy on the outside?”
“Yes”
“And fluffy in the middle?”
“Yes”
“Ok then. That’s fine. I’ll be down at 12 o clock”
“No problem”
And so I left the kitchen feeling confident that at 12:00pm I would be presented with a nice, fresh oven baked potato, crispy on the outside and fluffy in the middle, just the way they should be. I relayed the information to Aunty Chris and we agreed to meet in the kitchen at 12:00pm to discuss jacket potato toppings before making our way to the restaurant where we would discuss the hotel goings on. What we did not anticipate however was Aunty Chris getting collared by one of our long term residents who kept her yapping in the bar for 40 minutes, leaving me to lunch alone with my… I’m just gonna say it… half arsed excuse for a jacket potato that was anything but crispy on the outside or fluffy in the middle.
So after lunch I went back to my desk and soon enough after being released by her captive, Aunty Chris walked by.
“Have you had your Jacket Potato yet?” I asked “Because mine wasn’t very nice”
“Ooooh” she replied as she shook her head vigorously “I’ve told him I don’t want a jacket potato. I‘m having some of that nice Thai Red curry he’s just made instead”
I just paused for a second at Aunty Chris’s innocent revelation, before I replied with an element of shock and disgust to my voice
“Are you serious?”
“Yes”
“Well he never offered me any curry”
“Well did you ask him?”
“Well I didn’t know it was an option”
“Well it wasn’t an option until I said I’m not having a jacket potato”
“So just because you refused to have a jacket potato Chefs now making you a Thai Red Curry?”
“Yes”
“RIGHT!”
And so I sprang from my chair like a true drama queen and marched down to the Kitchen where, sure enough, Chef was plating up his finest homemade Thai Red Curry straight from the wok, and not just for Aunty Chris. Oh no! Simon had some, Diane had some, even the waitress who does one twenty minute shift a month had some. What a kick in the face.
“Erm… excuse me” I said “Do you wanna tell me why you’re giving a la carte meals out to random staff members whilst I’m wasting away on your half arsed attempt at a Jacket Potato?”
“Em… I’ve only just…”
“Don’t bother” I snapped “I’m really upset with you”
“Em.. I’m sorry”
“I don’t wanna hear your apologies Phil! Go and offload your emotional baggage somewhere else! That’s it!”
And so I stormed out of the Kitchen, and I’m gonna be honest, it took me a while to get over the incident. Which I did, until a few days later when I had what can only be described as a huge douse of salt rubbed into my already tender wound.
I was on the late shift at the hotel and at 6:30pm, went down to the kitchen to discuss my dinner options with chef.
“Nice turkey salad” he said, with same excited tone he had used over the jacket potato
“I don’t like the salads here” I replied with the strength of Aunty Chris instilled within me
“Well what do you want then?”
“What can I have?”
“What do you want?”
Pause for thought
“Can I have a turkey & stuffing sandwich with chips and gravy?”
“Course you can. Not a problem”
“Thank you”
And so, chef went about preparing my dinner, when all of a sudden a thought popped into my head
“Can I have my turkey & stuffing sandwich hot please?”
Chef just glared at me
“You what?”
“Can I have my sandwich hot?”
“For f**k sake Emma”
“What?”
“A f**king hot turkey and stuffing sandwich? Are you for real?”
“I don’t see what the problem is?”
“F**king hell Em, do you know what? In fact… don’t worry, it’s fine. One hot turkey and stuffing sandwich coming up”
So I looked on silently as chef banged about the kitchen, and then entered Sabrina the waitress. My little favourite who’s so sweet I could quite easily have eaten her instead.
She walked around to the preparation area, oblivious to the icy tension which filled the room and without a second thought, innocently helped herself to one, single blackcurrant from a bowl, which unknown to her, would have devastating results
“NOOOO!!!!” Chef screamed “I need those blackcurrants! What are you doing?”
“What’s the problem?” she asked, completely un-phased by the outburst
“The problem is I need those blackcurrants”
“It’s one blackcurrant Phil.”
“That’s not the point Sabrina”
“Oh for god sake!” I chimed in “Do you what Phil? If you don’t mind me saying… You’ve become ever so high maintenance lately”
There was around 3 seconds of silence as Chef took in what I had said, like the calm before the storm, and then all of a sudden…
“YOU F**KING WHAT? ARE YOU F**KING KIDDING ME? YOU COME DOWN HERE ASKING FOR F**KING HOT TURKEY AND STUFFING SANDWICHES AND I’M THE ONE WHO’S F**KING HIGH MAINTENANCE? UNF**KING BELIEVABLE! HAS EVERYONE JUST HEARD THAT? ME HIGH MAINTENANCE? UNF**KING BELIEVABLE”
Amidst his rant, chef remained oblivious to Sabrina and me who were literally on the floor creased up in laughter. Soon after, I got my sandwich and made a sharp exit from the kitchen, but believe it or not, that wasn’t the biggest drama of the evening.
It was about an hour later, the boss went home early leaving the hotel in the capable hands of Simon and 10 minutes after his departure, there was eerie sense of emptiness in the hotel reception area which normally, if the boss isn’t there, is the congregation point for staff members to stand and gossip about whatever is going on.
I looked in the back office, no Simon, looked in the restaurant, no Sabrina, and looked in the bar, no Helen. Very strange. And so I made my way down to the kitchen, I opened the doors, and to my horror, there they all were.
Simon, Sabrina, Helen & chef all tucking into fresh, homemade, straight from the wok Singapore Chow Mein.
“You have got to be F**KING KIDDING ME!”
AFTERWORD
And so concludes the story of the hotel staff meal system, the power of which is bestowed to one, and one only.
Many have been and gone, have tried and failed. All except one.
And so we salute you. The silver haired elder in the white trouser suit, may your legacy live on forever!
In the beginning… Chef made Soup, and Salads and a selection of sandwiches which together… created the daily hotel staff meal menu.
Years went by, and the chef remained unchallenged and unmoved. Many came and went. Tried and failed, and the system remained unconquered. That was until the arrival of a silver haired elder, in a white trouser suit armed with a tongue, sharper than any blade the chef had encountered.
It wasn’t long before the elder began to challenge the chef, first with the refusal of sandwiches, and soup, and salad. Then with requests for fish, roast dinners, curry. The chef tried hard to fight against it but … his enemy was too strong, unlike any he had ever encountered before, or would ever encounter again.
And so the battle became a long and bitter war. Anarchy erupted as the elder instilled her beliefs on others who followed her fearless reign. The chef became weaker, until he was powerless to stop it and from then on, the hotel staff meal policy, was never to be the same again.
THE STORY
So that’s the crack basically. For the last decade Aunty Chris has dominated the kitchen with her demands over staff meals and, has the majority of the time got her own way.
Don’t get me wrong there has been once or twice when chef has put his foot down and it’s resulted in hunger strikes etc but pretty much, most of the time, what Aunty Chris says, is what goes.
If I’m honest I’ve always admired her for it. I only wish I had her strength and perseverance on the matter. Take last week for example. It was around 10:30am and I went down to the kitchen. I can’t remember why, and as it usually does, the topic of staff meals for the day soon came into conversation
“Emma!” Chef said rather excitedly “Nice jacket potato today for lunch?”
“Are they fresh?” I asked
“Yes Emma, they’re fresh”
“Definitely?”
“Definitely!”
“Well why can’t I smell them?”
“Because I’ve only just put them in”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes I’m sure”
“Because I’ll know if it’s been done in the microwave”
“Emma… I guarantee you 100% the jacket potatoes will be fresh, out of the oven this lunch time”
“Will they be crispy on the outside?”
“Yes”
“And fluffy in the middle?”
“Yes”
“Ok then. That’s fine. I’ll be down at 12 o clock”
“No problem”
And so I left the kitchen feeling confident that at 12:00pm I would be presented with a nice, fresh oven baked potato, crispy on the outside and fluffy in the middle, just the way they should be. I relayed the information to Aunty Chris and we agreed to meet in the kitchen at 12:00pm to discuss jacket potato toppings before making our way to the restaurant where we would discuss the hotel goings on. What we did not anticipate however was Aunty Chris getting collared by one of our long term residents who kept her yapping in the bar for 40 minutes, leaving me to lunch alone with my… I’m just gonna say it… half arsed excuse for a jacket potato that was anything but crispy on the outside or fluffy in the middle.
So after lunch I went back to my desk and soon enough after being released by her captive, Aunty Chris walked by.
“Have you had your Jacket Potato yet?” I asked “Because mine wasn’t very nice”
“Ooooh” she replied as she shook her head vigorously “I’ve told him I don’t want a jacket potato. I‘m having some of that nice Thai Red curry he’s just made instead”
I just paused for a second at Aunty Chris’s innocent revelation, before I replied with an element of shock and disgust to my voice
“Are you serious?”
“Yes”
“Well he never offered me any curry”
“Well did you ask him?”
“Well I didn’t know it was an option”
“Well it wasn’t an option until I said I’m not having a jacket potato”
“So just because you refused to have a jacket potato Chefs now making you a Thai Red Curry?”
“Yes”
“RIGHT!”
And so I sprang from my chair like a true drama queen and marched down to the Kitchen where, sure enough, Chef was plating up his finest homemade Thai Red Curry straight from the wok, and not just for Aunty Chris. Oh no! Simon had some, Diane had some, even the waitress who does one twenty minute shift a month had some. What a kick in the face.
“Erm… excuse me” I said “Do you wanna tell me why you’re giving a la carte meals out to random staff members whilst I’m wasting away on your half arsed attempt at a Jacket Potato?”
“Em… I’ve only just…”
“Don’t bother” I snapped “I’m really upset with you”
“Em.. I’m sorry”
“I don’t wanna hear your apologies Phil! Go and offload your emotional baggage somewhere else! That’s it!”
And so I stormed out of the Kitchen, and I’m gonna be honest, it took me a while to get over the incident. Which I did, until a few days later when I had what can only be described as a huge douse of salt rubbed into my already tender wound.
I was on the late shift at the hotel and at 6:30pm, went down to the kitchen to discuss my dinner options with chef.
“Nice turkey salad” he said, with same excited tone he had used over the jacket potato
“I don’t like the salads here” I replied with the strength of Aunty Chris instilled within me
“Well what do you want then?”
“What can I have?”
“What do you want?”
Pause for thought
“Can I have a turkey & stuffing sandwich with chips and gravy?”
“Course you can. Not a problem”
“Thank you”
And so, chef went about preparing my dinner, when all of a sudden a thought popped into my head
“Can I have my turkey & stuffing sandwich hot please?”
Chef just glared at me
“You what?”
“Can I have my sandwich hot?”
“For f**k sake Emma”
“What?”
“A f**king hot turkey and stuffing sandwich? Are you for real?”
“I don’t see what the problem is?”
“F**king hell Em, do you know what? In fact… don’t worry, it’s fine. One hot turkey and stuffing sandwich coming up”
So I looked on silently as chef banged about the kitchen, and then entered Sabrina the waitress. My little favourite who’s so sweet I could quite easily have eaten her instead.
She walked around to the preparation area, oblivious to the icy tension which filled the room and without a second thought, innocently helped herself to one, single blackcurrant from a bowl, which unknown to her, would have devastating results
“NOOOO!!!!” Chef screamed “I need those blackcurrants! What are you doing?”
“What’s the problem?” she asked, completely un-phased by the outburst
“The problem is I need those blackcurrants”
“It’s one blackcurrant Phil.”
“That’s not the point Sabrina”
“Oh for god sake!” I chimed in “Do you what Phil? If you don’t mind me saying… You’ve become ever so high maintenance lately”
There was around 3 seconds of silence as Chef took in what I had said, like the calm before the storm, and then all of a sudden…
“YOU F**KING WHAT? ARE YOU F**KING KIDDING ME? YOU COME DOWN HERE ASKING FOR F**KING HOT TURKEY AND STUFFING SANDWICHES AND I’M THE ONE WHO’S F**KING HIGH MAINTENANCE? UNF**KING BELIEVABLE! HAS EVERYONE JUST HEARD THAT? ME HIGH MAINTENANCE? UNF**KING BELIEVABLE”
Amidst his rant, chef remained oblivious to Sabrina and me who were literally on the floor creased up in laughter. Soon after, I got my sandwich and made a sharp exit from the kitchen, but believe it or not, that wasn’t the biggest drama of the evening.
It was about an hour later, the boss went home early leaving the hotel in the capable hands of Simon and 10 minutes after his departure, there was eerie sense of emptiness in the hotel reception area which normally, if the boss isn’t there, is the congregation point for staff members to stand and gossip about whatever is going on.
I looked in the back office, no Simon, looked in the restaurant, no Sabrina, and looked in the bar, no Helen. Very strange. And so I made my way down to the kitchen, I opened the doors, and to my horror, there they all were.
Simon, Sabrina, Helen & chef all tucking into fresh, homemade, straight from the wok Singapore Chow Mein.
“You have got to be F**KING KIDDING ME!”
AFTERWORD
And so concludes the story of the hotel staff meal system, the power of which is bestowed to one, and one only.
Many have been and gone, have tried and failed. All except one.
And so we salute you. The silver haired elder in the white trouser suit, may your legacy live on forever!
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