It’s is 8 pm on a Saturday night and the restaurant is booked. The buzz of the dining room fills the air as a small platoon of wait staff hustle through the crowd delivering the chefs nightly offerings. Pungent aromas of garlic, herbs, and truffles entice the senses as order after order is put through to the tiny kitchen with its motley crew of culinary renegades. To the dismay of the sauté cook, one of the waiters has forgotten to order an entree for his table. Accompanied by an audible grumble the cook quickly fires the dish as the general manager enters the kitchen to announce a VIP table that has just sat down in section 3. By now the kitchen is humming like a well oiled machine, putting out dish after dish of impeccable cuisine, but alas, catastrophe has a way of showing up at the most inopportune times. The rhythm of the line is quickly thrown off as the cold station cook slices his index finger while cutting into a blood orange. The expediter quickly jumps in to finish off the salads while the cook attends to his injury. Plates are now starting to get backed up in the window and ticket times are beginning to become long. This makes both the wait staff and the guest restless. Just then Murphy’s Law kicks in. In his haste to alleviate the back up at his station, the sauté cook hastily turns to grab the aluminum sauté pan containing the persillade crusted sea bass without grabbing his side towel. The cook lets out a high pitch yelp followed by his favorite explicative, and consequently drops the pan and its prize on the floor.
“On The Fly”