It's only taken a few years for the powers that be to finally acknowledge that we have a severe lack of properly credentialled and skilled chefs in this state. http://tiny.cc/w90vb
Friday, January 21, 2011
Chef Crisis in Tasmania!
It's only taken a few years for the powers that be to finally acknowledge that we have a severe lack of properly credentialled and skilled chefs in this state. http://tiny.cc/w90vb
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Day in the life of a festive chef
5.30am
Wake up. Shower. Get dressed. Shorts, black Tee shirt, work boots, stripey apron.
6am
Arrive work.
Coffee machine on. Messages listened to. Lights on. Ovens on.
Tent coffee machine on. Tent Baine Marie on.
6.15am
Computer on. Emails read.
6.30am
Filling and baking pies. Boks bacon and free-range egg, spinach, fetta and dill.
Make muffins.
Cherry, raspberry and blueberry
7.15am
FOH manager arrives, sets tent up.
7.45am
Unbolt a section of the fence to open up the courtyard outside. Open tent up. Place menu boards on the footpath. I display the muffins and place the pies in the Baine Marie.
7.50am
Start baking sourdough.
Kitchen staff begins to arrive. Kitchen meet, tasks delegated, lists written.
8am
Open tent to the public.
8.01am
First coffee orders are taken
8.30am
FOH staff arrives and begin to set up. Kitchen primed for big breakfast.
Cake counter filled to bursting with fresh cakes
9am
Queue at the door of the café.
9.05am
First of the brekkie orders come in.
10am
Café chockers, people are everywhere, remaining rostered staff arrive, kitchen already red lining
11.30am
Kitchen closes for breakfast, a few tables straggling in over the line.
FOH staff scrambles to set up for lunch
11.31am
Placating annoyed patrons who we’ve had to turn away until we can get set up for lunch. Some random guy even grabs my shirt collar and demands coffee!
11.45am
We’re in the eye of the hurricane now and it’s eerily quiet as the remaining customers finish their coffees and breakfasts. Staff chat nervously, like soldiers about to spring out of the trenches and face the onslaught. Outside the street is awash with humanity.
12pm
Open café door and start seating people.
Immediately the kitchen roars into life and accelerates through the gears, pans clanking, orders shouted, oil sizzling, plates clinking.
The dining room dotted by staff that stand like bowed sentinels, still, except for their flashing pens as they scribble orders frantically and move on to yet another table.
The heat from the kitchen begins to permeate the dining room and the fans struggle to dissipate the rising temperature.
The constant hiss of the espresso machine rises above the white noise of conversations and laughter, occasionally the Hi Fi system can be heard, like a fleeting shaft of sunshine through passing clouds.
The cake counter looks as though it’s in a stop-animation film because every time I glance at it the cakes are missing slices, the auteur in me wishes I could capture the moment.
The café is full, I have to start letting people know we don’t have any seats available, some take it well and others don’t.
Staff in the tent are making frequent dashes to the kitchen to replenish the food in the counter. The kitchen hands have now washed and dried every plate and set of cutlery in the place twice already. Sweat drips from one of their brows as they are met by vapours of steam billowing from the dishwasher. If the kitchen is the belly of the dragon, the dishwasher is surely its nostrils.
The person on the till looks like a church organist as her nimble fingers play the register with dextrous skill borne through years of gruelling practice.
The spike of spent dockets grows and thickens, resembling a paper Gyros on a spit.
1.30pm
Coffee machine in tent shits itself and shorts out several circuits in the café. For a moment I am faced with all of the fridges not working which are packed with comestibles and prep. Oh and the Eftpos and till aren’t working either. Oh and the lady on table 17 is furious that we have run out of Gluten-free bread. Oh and by the way people are sneaking into our courtyard from the back entrance and bringing their own food onto the tables.
I prioritise whilst feeling my hair turning greyer. I flick the fuses back on and all the white goods rumble into life. Next I manage to get the till and Eftpos working. Phew!
Until then the mighty staff have been keeping track of orders the old fashioned way-with pen and paper!
I ring the Electrician. Like the champ he is turns up quickly and we work together to isolate the problem. It turns out to be a faulty coffee machine. I ring the vendor who thankfully arranges a replacement machine and agree to delivery it to me. I then race out to the lady on table 17 and placate her with some hastily rummaged Gluten free bread. I also lock the back gate, catching one of the sneaker’s in the process.
2.30pm
Start to organize breaks for the team. As each one leaves, the surge of customers sweeps into the void, placing those remaining staff under more pressure.
They carry one stoically.
3.30pm
We begin to feel the watermark receding and with it the easing of pressures, the kitchen seems to also be changing down a few gears as they assess the levels of prep.
Outside the tent is extremely busy, the food is flying out the door and the cold drinks following suite.
4pm
New FOH staff arrive and others leave for the day. We close the kitchen for an hour, the kitchen staff retire outside, blinking into the hard sun and rest under the walnut tree to sip iced drinks. Birkies and socks are kicked off for the relieving salve of cool afternoon air between the toes.
Minds turn to the evening service and everyone goes quiet.
I get a phone call; someone is ill and won’t be working over the entire weekend. This means I have to go cap-in-hand to my already tired staff and call in some favours.
It’s never an easy or enviable thing to do.
4.15pm
Sent out to placate a person who is angry that we’re not serving food until five. Explain our situation to no avail. Person leaves angry.
4.30pm
Gulp a slice of pizza and a slurp of iced water. Say a fleeting hello to my daughter and get a cuddle from my industrious son whose been busking outside. He giggles when I advise him to only keep a few coins in the trumpet case, prompts people to show generosity. He rolls his eyes and says ‘Dad, I’ve already made $79!’ Clearly he doesn’t need my advice.
4.45pm
Cake counter re-loaded like a Gattling-gun magazine, we need all that firepower for the next sortie.
Need to look the part for the evening. A shirt, a pair of long duds, clipboard in hand and I’m ready to do the door.
5pm
Door opens and the punters stream in and fill up the cafe like rising flood waters.
5.30pm
‘We are reserving tables for dinner guests only this evening, but you are welcome to coffee and cakes on the available couches or on the tables outside’, becomes my mantra all evening. Most people are in for dinner, ravenous due to a full days’ concert going and are grateful for a seat.
However a small but vocal minority expressed their disappointment.
7.30pm
The night rolls on; staff are beginning to tire and its showing. The tent is selling food as fast as we are putting it out and the crates of chilled soft drinks are thinning.
7.35pm
A lone diner makes a dash for it, I quickly check if he’s paid and see that the table is still registering on the till and the amount is unpaid. I scan the street and through the zig zagging people suddenly his shirt jumps out at me like one of those 3D puzzles that you stare at for hours. I bolt after him and tap him on the shoulder. He spins around already blushing pink and says:’ I was just coming back as I realised I’d forgot to pay!’
All I can muster is: ‘I point you toward the till’
Back inside the place is heaving, despite the situation, it was nice to be beyond the clutch of the building for a moment and amongst the freeness of the street.
8.30pm
I glance over the heads of the diners and gaze into the kitchen, which is still cooking at a frenetic pace, the chefs faces are red and glistening with sweat. My barista who had been welded to the coffee machine all day has the ‘Thousand yard stare’ that shell shocked war veterans present. I do a till reading and it confirms the obvious.
We've been extremely busy so I decide to shut the kitchen and the venue at nine.
8.35pm I pass this on to all the staff and the smiles on their relieved faces is like Calamine lotion on an itchy-bite, soothing news.
8.45pm
All remaining guests are informed that last orders are being taken but those still enjoying dinner are of course able to have pudding and coffees.
9pm
The ‘closed for the day’ sign goes up on the door.
9.01pm
The first of many customers start tapping on the glass. I explain our situation and mostly everyone accepts this but again some people are just plain angry.
We begin the big wind down. The kitchen, always quick to pack down sets the pace and pretty soon they are mopping and swabbing. The last diners are quietly enjoying the calm and the staff, though fatigued, are exchanging banter as they clean up and pack down.
Meanwhile in the tent they are also elated that they will lock up at nine thirty, though the stream of foot traffic threatens to swamp them constantly. I could keep it open and make more dough but at what cost really?
9.35pm
We quickly move to place the section of fence back on its hinges, effectively ‘shutting the gate’ on the street outside. However the fence is so cumbersome and awkward to manoeuvre several nifty patron squeeze in just as we are wrenching the bolts on to hold it all together. We continue locking the gate, thus fencing them in. They make their way out of the café with their purchases as a few more people plead to be served.
It’s a grim task telling hungry people that you’re closed for the day and I cop a bit of stick for it. It seems we were one of the few places still open at night and we bore the brunt of a few disappointed festival goers because of this.
10pm
The tent is now packed down and the last customers are leaving. We all now concentrate on getting the room as tidy as possible for the next day. Tills are reconciled.
11pm
Prep lists are being compiled, and all but a couple of FOH staff remain. Those left share a drink in the courtyard outside which is lovely and cool compared to the room inside. The staff are weary but still manage a few giggles between gulps of cold beer and ciggies.
11.30pm
I lock the building down and leave for the day. In the streets, the tempo has again picked up and the notes of ensembles in the park across the road and in the Town hall are lifted on the breeze. The sounds of a bottle smashing, yelps of laughter and shouting have begun to take over though. The night will be long and I worry about our shopfront windows remaining intact. I get home to a quiet house except for the dog snoring on the verandah.
12.15am
Hit the pillow and fall asleep worrying about the windows.
Wake up. Shower. Get dressed. Shorts, black Tee shirt, work boots, stripey apron.
6am
Arrive work.
Coffee machine on. Messages listened to. Lights on. Ovens on.
Tent coffee machine on. Tent Baine Marie on.
6.15am
Computer on. Emails read.
6.30am
Filling and baking pies. Boks bacon and free-range egg, spinach, fetta and dill.
Make muffins.
Cherry, raspberry and blueberry
7.15am
FOH manager arrives, sets tent up.
7.45am
Unbolt a section of the fence to open up the courtyard outside. Open tent up. Place menu boards on the footpath. I display the muffins and place the pies in the Baine Marie.
7.50am
Start baking sourdough.
Kitchen staff begins to arrive. Kitchen meet, tasks delegated, lists written.
8am
Open tent to the public.
8.01am
First coffee orders are taken
8.30am
FOH staff arrives and begin to set up. Kitchen primed for big breakfast.
Cake counter filled to bursting with fresh cakes
9am
Queue at the door of the café.
9.05am
First of the brekkie orders come in.
10am
Café chockers, people are everywhere, remaining rostered staff arrive, kitchen already red lining
11.30am
Kitchen closes for breakfast, a few tables straggling in over the line.
FOH staff scrambles to set up for lunch
11.31am
Placating annoyed patrons who we’ve had to turn away until we can get set up for lunch. Some random guy even grabs my shirt collar and demands coffee!
11.45am
We’re in the eye of the hurricane now and it’s eerily quiet as the remaining customers finish their coffees and breakfasts. Staff chat nervously, like soldiers about to spring out of the trenches and face the onslaught. Outside the street is awash with humanity.
12pm
Open café door and start seating people.
Immediately the kitchen roars into life and accelerates through the gears, pans clanking, orders shouted, oil sizzling, plates clinking.
The dining room dotted by staff that stand like bowed sentinels, still, except for their flashing pens as they scribble orders frantically and move on to yet another table.
The heat from the kitchen begins to permeate the dining room and the fans struggle to dissipate the rising temperature.
The constant hiss of the espresso machine rises above the white noise of conversations and laughter, occasionally the Hi Fi system can be heard, like a fleeting shaft of sunshine through passing clouds.
The cake counter looks as though it’s in a stop-animation film because every time I glance at it the cakes are missing slices, the auteur in me wishes I could capture the moment.
The café is full, I have to start letting people know we don’t have any seats available, some take it well and others don’t.
Staff in the tent are making frequent dashes to the kitchen to replenish the food in the counter. The kitchen hands have now washed and dried every plate and set of cutlery in the place twice already. Sweat drips from one of their brows as they are met by vapours of steam billowing from the dishwasher. If the kitchen is the belly of the dragon, the dishwasher is surely its nostrils.
The person on the till looks like a church organist as her nimble fingers play the register with dextrous skill borne through years of gruelling practice.
The spike of spent dockets grows and thickens, resembling a paper Gyros on a spit.
1.30pm
Coffee machine in tent shits itself and shorts out several circuits in the café. For a moment I am faced with all of the fridges not working which are packed with comestibles and prep. Oh and the Eftpos and till aren’t working either. Oh and the lady on table 17 is furious that we have run out of Gluten-free bread. Oh and by the way people are sneaking into our courtyard from the back entrance and bringing their own food onto the tables.
I prioritise whilst feeling my hair turning greyer. I flick the fuses back on and all the white goods rumble into life. Next I manage to get the till and Eftpos working. Phew!
Until then the mighty staff have been keeping track of orders the old fashioned way-with pen and paper!
I ring the Electrician. Like the champ he is turns up quickly and we work together to isolate the problem. It turns out to be a faulty coffee machine. I ring the vendor who thankfully arranges a replacement machine and agree to delivery it to me. I then race out to the lady on table 17 and placate her with some hastily rummaged Gluten free bread. I also lock the back gate, catching one of the sneaker’s in the process.
2.30pm
Start to organize breaks for the team. As each one leaves, the surge of customers sweeps into the void, placing those remaining staff under more pressure.
They carry one stoically.
3.30pm
We begin to feel the watermark receding and with it the easing of pressures, the kitchen seems to also be changing down a few gears as they assess the levels of prep.
Outside the tent is extremely busy, the food is flying out the door and the cold drinks following suite.
4pm
New FOH staff arrive and others leave for the day. We close the kitchen for an hour, the kitchen staff retire outside, blinking into the hard sun and rest under the walnut tree to sip iced drinks. Birkies and socks are kicked off for the relieving salve of cool afternoon air between the toes.
Minds turn to the evening service and everyone goes quiet.
I get a phone call; someone is ill and won’t be working over the entire weekend. This means I have to go cap-in-hand to my already tired staff and call in some favours.
It’s never an easy or enviable thing to do.
4.15pm
Sent out to placate a person who is angry that we’re not serving food until five. Explain our situation to no avail. Person leaves angry.
4.30pm
Gulp a slice of pizza and a slurp of iced water. Say a fleeting hello to my daughter and get a cuddle from my industrious son whose been busking outside. He giggles when I advise him to only keep a few coins in the trumpet case, prompts people to show generosity. He rolls his eyes and says ‘Dad, I’ve already made $79!’ Clearly he doesn’t need my advice.
4.45pm
Cake counter re-loaded like a Gattling-gun magazine, we need all that firepower for the next sortie.
Need to look the part for the evening. A shirt, a pair of long duds, clipboard in hand and I’m ready to do the door.
5pm
Door opens and the punters stream in and fill up the cafe like rising flood waters.
5.30pm
‘We are reserving tables for dinner guests only this evening, but you are welcome to coffee and cakes on the available couches or on the tables outside’, becomes my mantra all evening. Most people are in for dinner, ravenous due to a full days’ concert going and are grateful for a seat.
However a small but vocal minority expressed their disappointment.
7.30pm
The night rolls on; staff are beginning to tire and its showing. The tent is selling food as fast as we are putting it out and the crates of chilled soft drinks are thinning.
7.35pm
A lone diner makes a dash for it, I quickly check if he’s paid and see that the table is still registering on the till and the amount is unpaid. I scan the street and through the zig zagging people suddenly his shirt jumps out at me like one of those 3D puzzles that you stare at for hours. I bolt after him and tap him on the shoulder. He spins around already blushing pink and says:’ I was just coming back as I realised I’d forgot to pay!’
All I can muster is: ‘I point you toward the till’
Back inside the place is heaving, despite the situation, it was nice to be beyond the clutch of the building for a moment and amongst the freeness of the street.
8.30pm
I glance over the heads of the diners and gaze into the kitchen, which is still cooking at a frenetic pace, the chefs faces are red and glistening with sweat. My barista who had been welded to the coffee machine all day has the ‘Thousand yard stare’ that shell shocked war veterans present. I do a till reading and it confirms the obvious.
We've been extremely busy so I decide to shut the kitchen and the venue at nine.
8.35pm I pass this on to all the staff and the smiles on their relieved faces is like Calamine lotion on an itchy-bite, soothing news.
8.45pm
All remaining guests are informed that last orders are being taken but those still enjoying dinner are of course able to have pudding and coffees.
9pm
The ‘closed for the day’ sign goes up on the door.
9.01pm
The first of many customers start tapping on the glass. I explain our situation and mostly everyone accepts this but again some people are just plain angry.
We begin the big wind down. The kitchen, always quick to pack down sets the pace and pretty soon they are mopping and swabbing. The last diners are quietly enjoying the calm and the staff, though fatigued, are exchanging banter as they clean up and pack down.
Meanwhile in the tent they are also elated that they will lock up at nine thirty, though the stream of foot traffic threatens to swamp them constantly. I could keep it open and make more dough but at what cost really?
9.35pm
We quickly move to place the section of fence back on its hinges, effectively ‘shutting the gate’ on the street outside. However the fence is so cumbersome and awkward to manoeuvre several nifty patron squeeze in just as we are wrenching the bolts on to hold it all together. We continue locking the gate, thus fencing them in. They make their way out of the café with their purchases as a few more people plead to be served.
It’s a grim task telling hungry people that you’re closed for the day and I cop a bit of stick for it. It seems we were one of the few places still open at night and we bore the brunt of a few disappointed festival goers because of this.
10pm
The tent is now packed down and the last customers are leaving. We all now concentrate on getting the room as tidy as possible for the next day. Tills are reconciled.
11pm
Prep lists are being compiled, and all but a couple of FOH staff remain. Those left share a drink in the courtyard outside which is lovely and cool compared to the room inside. The staff are weary but still manage a few giggles between gulps of cold beer and ciggies.
11.30pm
I lock the building down and leave for the day. In the streets, the tempo has again picked up and the notes of ensembles in the park across the road and in the Town hall are lifted on the breeze. The sounds of a bottle smashing, yelps of laughter and shouting have begun to take over though. The night will be long and I worry about our shopfront windows remaining intact. I get home to a quiet house except for the dog snoring on the verandah.
12.15am
Hit the pillow and fall asleep worrying about the windows.
Friday, January 07, 2011
Whacky & zany competition offer for the Red Velvet Lounge
Every month I am offering a dinner and grog for two to the value of $100 for the greatest Limerick about the Red Velvet Lounge. Please send in your finest efforts and I'll also publish the winning monthly Limerick on the website. Please forward them to:
theredvelvetlounge@bigpond.com
Whoa! lets put the brakes on and do the 'conditions' bit.
The winning entry is not transferrable and must be redeemed on one occasion and within six months of the winner being notified by email.
Cheers Steve
theredvelvetlounge@bigpond.com
Whoa! lets put the brakes on and do the 'conditions' bit.
The winning entry is not transferrable and must be redeemed on one occasion and within six months of the winner being notified by email.
Cheers Steve
Thursday, January 06, 2011
Being comfortable in your own skin
Did any of you catch the Ricky Gervais TV show called ‘Extras?’ he of ‘The Office’ fame. I watched the ABC i-view replay of the 2007 Christmas special of extras and it was hilarious and moving at the same time.
In the show, the Gervais character who was once a move extra writes a sitcom that becomes enormously successful and he is lavished with all the adoration and wealth that comes with its success. However he becomes increasingly unhappy because whilst he is enjoying the trappings he begins to crave kudos. In a staggering display of career suicide he cancels his show and insults his audience before embarking on what he feels is a far loftier level in which to exercise his talents. Months and months pass without any work until he comes to the realization with help from his pragmatic but manipulatively oily manager, that all he wants, in fact, is money and celebrity.
We, the audience are embarrassed for the fact that his pretences as an auteur have been revealed and all we are left with is what we expected all along but dared to hope differently. However after this initial response, we see him for what he really is and if he was just comfortable with this in the first place none of the calamitous events that follow would have happened. Maybe it’s just about being comfortable in your own skin?
This brings me to my point. Are critical acclaim and fiscal success mutually exclusive?
Can one have a critic laud an establishment and it be mega popular at the same time?
I once worked for an organization that made squillions in the restaurant game but critical acclaim was the thing the management craved.
To remedy this, many profiled chefs the country over were approached to see if they might come on board and the enticements were remarkable. Several took the bait but didn’t hang around long because the very culture that they were there to change seemed so ingrained that it was simply an impossible task. These chefs became more like trophies to be paraded around rather than given any real licence to effect change.
In effect, they were ‘acquired’ to buy some cred for the business but it never really rang true.
Conversely does it matter what the critics say if your business is routinely busy and enjoys a large and loyal patronage? As Liberace was once quoted (and often inaccurately as it happens by maybe me as well?!) when asked if he was upset that his music was not appreciated by the classic music arbiters of the day;
‘I’m crying all the way to the bank’.
Then again some operators are impervious to the whole hang-wringing quandary. Some friends of mine who have run a Hobart restaurant for many successful years summed it up nicely: “We do what we do and if people like it well that’s great.”
In the show, the Gervais character who was once a move extra writes a sitcom that becomes enormously successful and he is lavished with all the adoration and wealth that comes with its success. However he becomes increasingly unhappy because whilst he is enjoying the trappings he begins to crave kudos. In a staggering display of career suicide he cancels his show and insults his audience before embarking on what he feels is a far loftier level in which to exercise his talents. Months and months pass without any work until he comes to the realization with help from his pragmatic but manipulatively oily manager, that all he wants, in fact, is money and celebrity.
We, the audience are embarrassed for the fact that his pretences as an auteur have been revealed and all we are left with is what we expected all along but dared to hope differently. However after this initial response, we see him for what he really is and if he was just comfortable with this in the first place none of the calamitous events that follow would have happened. Maybe it’s just about being comfortable in your own skin?
This brings me to my point. Are critical acclaim and fiscal success mutually exclusive?
Can one have a critic laud an establishment and it be mega popular at the same time?
I once worked for an organization that made squillions in the restaurant game but critical acclaim was the thing the management craved.
To remedy this, many profiled chefs the country over were approached to see if they might come on board and the enticements were remarkable. Several took the bait but didn’t hang around long because the very culture that they were there to change seemed so ingrained that it was simply an impossible task. These chefs became more like trophies to be paraded around rather than given any real licence to effect change.
In effect, they were ‘acquired’ to buy some cred for the business but it never really rang true.
Conversely does it matter what the critics say if your business is routinely busy and enjoys a large and loyal patronage? As Liberace was once quoted (and often inaccurately as it happens by maybe me as well?!) when asked if he was upset that his music was not appreciated by the classic music arbiters of the day;
‘I’m crying all the way to the bank’.
Then again some operators are impervious to the whole hang-wringing quandary. Some friends of mine who have run a Hobart restaurant for many successful years summed it up nicely: “We do what we do and if people like it well that’s great.”
Monday, January 03, 2011
Staff-the staff of (cafe) life
You know how the saying goes.
You learn a lot about people when they are under pressure.
I’m sure many groups of people forge deep connections through the mutual subjection of undergoing an intense experience, in our case, many extremely busy services.
After nearly thirty years in the business I am proud to say that’s this mob, my tribe, have raised the bar to a level of commitment and loyalty that is hard to match.
Thank you, Jenna, Michelle, Ben F, Kate W, Tanya, Ally, Sally, Laura, Melinda, Penny, Kate B, Blue, Nina, Kate S, Ben T, Lewis, Miles, Isaac
These people make it all possible
You learn a lot about people when they are under pressure.
I’m sure many groups of people forge deep connections through the mutual subjection of undergoing an intense experience, in our case, many extremely busy services.
After nearly thirty years in the business I am proud to say that’s this mob, my tribe, have raised the bar to a level of commitment and loyalty that is hard to match.
Thank you, Jenna, Michelle, Ben F, Kate W, Tanya, Ally, Sally, Laura, Melinda, Penny, Kate B, Blue, Nina, Kate S, Ben T, Lewis, Miles, Isaac
These people make it all possible
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