Saturday we were busy as fuck. The party of 22 could have really jammed us up except we were well prepared, not that I had too much involvement in it. My basic job was to keep my station running for all the other orders that were coming in, which at times was a lot.
Sitting at the bar after service I found out that we turned the tables 4 times on Saturday and that at one point the wait for a table was 1 hr 20 minutes.
On one of the lulls in service the chef called me over. To be honest I thought he was going to yell at me, or at the very least chide me for not hearing an order, but instead he had called me over to call me a “rockstar” and to do a shot. I was to do one more shot at the end of the shift with the chef and sous, before sitting down and having a couple of beers with Jon who was able to stop by.
In stark contrast to Saturday night was last night, aka Superbowl Sunday. For some reason the owner wanted us to serve wings, meatballs, chicken tenders and spinach dip. Now the size of our kitchen may be ideal for that style or level of food, but the sous and I were not too excited about this.
We were imagining a discussion like this:
“May I interest you in the special of the evening which is a one ounce portion of the best ham you’ll ever eat?”
“No, I’ll take the wings and make the sauce as spicy as you can.”
And that pretty much sums up the evening, except we barely sold any. We were all too happy to prep a bunch of this shit out, thinking that we’d be somewhat busy. And we were, for about 5 minutes when 3 orders of wings came in at the same time as a few regular orders. And then that was it. Our last ticket came in at 7:20.
So I finished prepping some stuff out, watched the last quarter of the game and got to leave at 10:30.