It’s 2am. Just got home from a 14 and half hour catering gig. I’m oddly wired. Have mixed myself a very strong drink and am trying not gag at the smell emanting from my swollen feet.
What I worked on tonigt:
Cuban sandwiches: Pulled pork, swiss cheese and thinly sliced pickles on ciabata that is grilled and then baked.
Expediting butlered hors d’ouevres with 6 waiters and 6 apps. Tandori chicken on nan bread, argentinian beef with a chimichuri on flot bread, grilled teriyaki pork loin on fried wontons, vietnamese vegetable crepe bundles, classic shrimp cocktail, deep fried yucca wands with chipolte aioli.
Moved from that to assembling dessert for 500. I think over all maybe 40 people had dessert because I threw away almost 400 portions of dulce de leche cheese cake that had been made by this woman from Seville who barely spoke English.
And speaking of this woman. Her Spanish was musical as compared to the puerto rican and mexican spanish I’m used to. Soft consonants and long vowels and subtle s’s. She introduced us to her brother who had to have been one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen. One of the other chefs is also gay and he litterally looked at him and barked “OH MY GOD”. And they were polite, gracious and kind. I felt like a trogoladyte in their wake.
I felt terrible that at the end of the night I ended up throwing away 2/3s of the cheese cakes they had made. If we hadn’t cut them, we could have saved them. But as it was they had been quartered so they had to be tossed. The soup kitchen organization that takes left over food from the company I was working for couldn’t take them because they would have just been mangled by the time they had them. It was a shame.