Skip to main content

Kitchen Nightmares

I'm not as good of a sleeper as I used to be...and I suspect that has something to do with my pesky subconscious.

I only remember this dream because I wrote it down, and it's not a nightmare, per se.  At least, *I* don't consider it as such.

It's the night before my Grand Opening of my dream cafĂ©, and Dwight Schrute (from the TV show "The Office") is helping me make chicken noodle soup. 

Since then, with the increasing dissatisfaction with my job, my dreams have become more nightmarish and more frequent. Usually, they consist of a sequence in which I'm making a customer's order, but there's just one or two little things preventing me from completing it...and usually, it's because I can't reach the plate or I can't quite get to the cooler where, say, we keep the bread.  Stuff like that.  Last night's dreams consisted of me trying to fill orders, all the while realizing that the restaurant isn't EVEN OPEN during the hours I'm trying to serve...so WHY do I keep trying to slave away??

Ridiculous, right?

The kicker one was about two weeks ago.  For some reason I don't know, I'd brought my youngest son (10) to work, and he was just sitting out in the dining room, reading or something.  Anyway, I was busting my butt around the kitchen, we were slammed, and I'm on my way to a cooler when I see two of the line cooks sitting on top of the prep table in the back, just chatting away like nothing was up.  What?!  Then, minutes later, I realize the chef had pulled my son from the dining room and was having him work back in the kitchen...and she's screaming at him about how he cross-contaminated everything.  I yanked off my apron and quit right there on the job...in the middle of my dream.

I woke up from that one in a cold sweat and I did not go back to bed for quite some time. 

Yes.  Chefs have nightmares too.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

(She) Blinded Me With...Citrus

Excuse my attempt at tying today's blog entry with an iconic Thomas Dolby song.  What a terrible pun-ishment. Har har har. So, we're on the backside of Winter Vacation/Christmas Break/Holiday Hiatus here.  The kids return to school tomorrow, the freshman and I start back to our respective colleges next Monday. The clock is ticking and suddenly, I am whipped into frenzy to Get Work Done.  I suspect this phenomenon happens to many, many educators who try to avoid that panic-stricken night before they go back to work. And believe me when I say, I had the deepest, most earnest of intentions to write lesson plans, write quizzes, and generally prepare for the restart of my classes next week.  Like, really. And then...I was distracted by...citrus.  This happened. Okay, so....the lemons on the far right are no big deal.  They're available year-round.  But Meyer lemons...MEYER...I only find around here in the winter.  I first read about them i...

Girl Friends Are Great!

About a year and a half-ish ago, I stumbled into a parent organization called Choir Boosters.  Just about every learning institution in America has one (or several).  If there's a sport or activity, there are parents who want to be involved because their kid's in it. My daughter, who was a freshman at the time, joined her high school's choir.  Actually, she was asked to join the elite Chamber Choir, and for the first time in my parenting history, I had a child in an organization with a booster club I wanted to join.  My oldest son, who is two years older, participates in minimal activities, and not any with booster clubs, so no chances there.  Until now... A very pleasant side benefit of doing this "stuff for my kids" is that I've grown close with a few of the other women, so much so that when our big fundraiser was done in December, we wanted to keep getting together. Thus, the Mad Moms (our big fundraiser is called a Madrigal Dinner..."Mad...

In Which I Suspect I Have Latent Tendencies...Much Like The Hulk, Or Similar

I find in most normally functioning families, the members have a distinguishing role or legacy or skill of some kind. Like, he's the smart one.  Or, he's the religious one.  Or...she's the glue that helps the fam together.  Or, she's the savvy one, so she's the Power of Attorney. In my family, that system went something like this: My dad was The Dad.  Cantankerous, crotchety, and especially tight with daughters' curfew times.  Also, not a fan of driving in Big Cities. My mom was the long-suffering, patient, reserved one. My brother was the baby, the one who got away with murder, the namesake, and also, Frosty Hoarder. Me?  My legacy?  The Ruiner of Remote Controls.  No lie.  Although I've repressed the memories, my parents claim I destroyed at least two remotes in my tenure as Child Under The Roof.  Remote #1: milk spillage; Remote #2: applesauce spillage. So, now you see why my younger brother was the favorite. Anyway, t...