Tuesday 2 May 2017

The Hot Soup Card

Bank Holidays should be water off a ducks back to a seasoned pro like meself.
I know what to expect:
By midday there's  at least a dozen lurkers all lined up outside champing at the bit for the door to open and the subsequent trolley dash for the best seats.
But this latest one started off a bit weirdly to say the least.
By half past twelve there was still no sign of a single punter.
A Bank Holiday without punters is indeed a worrying thought, especially in light of the extra staff you've drafted in,all swanning about on double time,not to mention the copious amount of prep stacked up in readiment in fridges bursting at the seams.
Ever the optimist,and with the years hurtling by,and with us already having passed the seven year well publicised lifespan of a restaurant and with us clearly now living on borrowed time,I retreated to the kitchen to inform Chef that this was it..this was actually the year we were going down.

Big time.

'Don't be ridiculous' said Chef 'they'll all be lined up at the bottom of the hill under starters orders perfectly placed so they can all arrive conveniently at exactly the same time'
Bizarrely this comment prompted a protracted discussion and much reminiscing about the Wacky Races and a failed attempt to name all the competitors and much hilarity that I hadn't at the time realised the irony of the name Professor Pat Pending,and how childrens programmes aren't what they used to be.This in turn led on to Captain Pugwash and we all know what went on there..
I digress, this filled in a bit of time..

Much as it irks me to say it,Chef is usually right..

Come 12.45 a bulging stampede,a solid mass of custom was squeezing its way through the very small doorway,making its way to the very small bar where the not very small barman was doing his best to control the rabble and direct them to tables so that WE could be in control of them and not the other way around..

After the initial rush and feeling moderately self impressed with ourselves that we'd managed to retain control of the situation,our attention was momentarily taken by a bloodcurdling scream followed by a loud clattering not comparative to the size of the two sets of tiny feet making their way to the only remaining unoccupied table.
Mummy and Dada followed shortly behind,Dada grabbing at the copy of the Times left out for the convenience of the customers,most of whom would secretly prefer the Mail.
The two sets of tiny feet somehow dodged the seating at the table,Hector making a beeline for the service point nearby,heading for my new and beloved on line booking platform,left invitingly open,but no..chubby hands were already pulling at the little wooden drawer that contained all those little helpful items needed to get you through service.He already had his hands on the packet of Strepsils I'd placed there earlier, but not quick enough to stop me grabbing the attractive little purple discs of delight out of his grubby little paws.
Meanwhile, Xanthe was heading off down the service steps toward the kitchen,the ones which I'd noticed earlier that morning had a nose coming loose on the stair end and which in this event, to prevent a member of staff's(mine) toes becoming entrapped and subsequently going flying through the kitchen door,had helpfully placed a rather large rock sourced from the garden, at the far end of the step which in effect might cause serious untold injury in itself.
Locally sourced Little rock of Horrors.

Managing to grab her just before she reached the summit of the rock face I pointed her deftly back in the direction of the table.
At this point,ever practical,Farm Girl had taken it upon herself to comandeer the last two remaining high chairs and was hastily attaching them to the remaining two seats at the table.
By now, Dada had retreated into the safety of the Times,head and upper body completely obscured to the pandemonium around.
Mummy had also taken refuge in a large glass of the liquid variety.
Meanwhile,The Artful Dodger was now air rowing across the very crowded bar floor, a compact purpose built multiple trip hazard,arms flailing and legs akimbo,a clatter of silverware displaced by unchecked limbs scattered in his wake.
And I won't lie,the thought of the Bank Holiday cutlery shortage and the inevitable repolishing before further usage did not fill me with joy.
On the plus side I'd been thinking the floor could do with a buff up for ages.
Farm Girl passed for the umpteenth time giving a hardly perceptible to the untrained eye knowing nod and a raised eyebrow....I nodded back.

Message recieved and understood.

It was time to play the Hot Soup Card.
The Hot Soup Card is the penultimate and usually most effective piece of artillery in the Front Of House battalion of weaponry.A useful tool deployed only as a last resort,akin to a yellow card bookable offence,the one before relations break down completely and you red card the punters, ask them to leave and wave goodbye to the spend.
A small alerting cough signalled commencement of operations and I was poised for action.
'AHEM..,this soup is VERY HOT indeed'
The Hot Soup Card is evermore effective if accompanied by the elevation of the two soup plates high above the head for added drama.
'I would hate for you to get burnt'
Beam.
It worked.
Mummy made a running rugby tackle for the Artful Dodger and attempted strapping into the highchair.
Several sets of sympathetic eyes half smiled at me in empathy and in validation of the successful outcome of the Hot Soup Card.
If there's anything that gets the punters on your side,even if they've been waiting a bit for their grub,its a badly behaved child and a parent with no control.
In a weird way it creates a feeling of camaraderie, a keep the home fires burning kind of feel.
At the table Mummy called for some bread.
If all else fails stuff 'em full of bread,that'll shut them up,then when they leave the actual meals that have been ordered for them, all hell breaks loose.
Dada continued,oblivious, face buried in the paper..Mummy had the time worn look of someone to whom this was not an out of the ordinary scenario.
Another crutch of Chardonnay would help.
The escalating situation was momentarily put on the back burner as a gent from a nearby table called me over.
'Excuse me-can you tell me how long my food will be??'
Reader,I'll be honest,I'd been so distracted with the goings on in and around table Four and with the mental list of jobs that I was ticking off in my head having now a serious backlog, I may actually have not realised what the wait time on food was and therefore had no concept if this bloke had waited overly long or not.
'I'll just check for you..'
He raised his hand calmly to silence me,indicating the fill level at around one third of a pint of his  glass of lovely hand pulled local ale.
'As you can see my glass is now one third full.Now, normally when I eat here my food arrives as my glass is around this level of fullness'(indicating with precision the half pint level).
Its not often I'm stumped for words.
Thoughts of the many variables which could be called into play in response to  this statement were racing around in my head,what if you had a quick sandwich or what if it was a steak or something which takes longer to cook?What if you went to the loo and there was a queue or godammit what if it was a HOT DAY and you were bloody thirsty and DRANK QUICKER??
FFS.
Then I had a lightbulb moment.
Top EXHIBIT A up to half pint level.
My God.
Will that make it ok?
Of course I could spend the whole afternoon topping the glass up to half point level with no timeous arrival of any food.. had I finally and inadvertantly stumbled on a solution to the ever common problem of the punter waiting too long?
I bought him a free drink.
On delivery of the gratis pint and managing to extricate myself finally  from the drink speed/food arrival analysis,I was gestured over by Mummy.
By this time she was looking on the far end of the frazzled spectrum.
'DO YOU NOT HAVE A PROPER HIGHCHAIR?? HE NEEDS TO BE CONTAINED.."
Finally.
Never was a truer word spoken..
But herein lies another anomaly.
Granted, the seat was a clip on one, not a freestanding independant type arrangement,but it still had a harness,a seat and a tray.Which left one pondering what properties a 'proper high chair' would possess  over this one.
'What she's looking for is a straight jacket' said Farm Girl, ever practical,through near perfect ventriloquists grin.
Snigger.
'No I'm sorry this is all we have..'
On my next circuit of the table a loud clapping song which involved bursts of manic laughter and alternate deafening banging on the table had commenced.

The elderly couple on the adjacent table gestured for the bill.

Hopefully:'No coffees or puddings?'
Sympathetically:'Not today dear..just the bill..'

If allegiance was measured by value of tip, then the very generous one indicated these two were definitely Allied forces,which was of some consolation.

The kitchen bell had been ringing frantically now for several minutes,meals stacked up on the pass.
"where've you been?' said Chef without looking up,shovelling ever more chips on to the lovely vegetable dahl which was meant to be served with basmati rice,but which the punters were asking for with chips.
We'd both forgotten about the fateful Bank Holiday a few years ago when we'd served up Fish & chips with 'chip shop style curry sauce' which incidentally we'd spent ages perfecting,and in effect spent most of the Bank Holiday serving up chips and curry sauce without the fish for an excruciatingly low spend per head.
We never learn.
'I thought you must have been unblocking the bog' said Chef
'No not yet,Ive got the stick and the bin bag ready though' I replied,matter of factly.
Preparation is the key to running a successful business..
By now,the activity on Table Four had receded,but I could see Mummy impatiently gesturing me over.
There was rather an unpleasant smell.
In all the excitement it looked like The Artful Dodger had shat himself.

'Do you have baby change ?'
The fact that this question has to be asked is surely indicative of the acceptance that not all pubs have these facilities otherwise the question would be 'where is' not 'do you have?'
In effect,we dont have.
The impartment of this bit of information was not received with warmth.
At all.
WHAT?
I repeated.
'I'm sorry,we don't have baby change'
Mummy was now on her feet and threateningly a lot taller and angrier than I expected.


'Well....WHAT DO YOU SUGGEST I DO?? CHANGE HIM ON YOUR FLOOR?'

This is a situation that with the benefit of experience one needs to handle very carefully.
There is no point in making a suggestion,a half way house between a dedicated babychange facility and something thats going to blow back up in your face via the Health and Safety Gestapo, you know that's just going to end up all over a popular review site.
So with damage limitation to the forefront I replied calmly and with an encouraging smile :
'That's your decision'
 Dada peered over the top of the newspaper and spoke for the first time:
"I think we'd better have the bill please'
At last some progress.


Much later when Chef and I were in possession of a couple of well earned crutches of our own,and I was in mid flow with my usual post battle debrief over the highs and lows of the Bank Holiday trade,giving special attention to the babychange issue and how the family in question had proved far more troublesome to us and the other diners than the we had to them with the lack of a fold down plastic mat,and how people have such a sense of entitlement these days and how they need to take responsibility for themselves and how if the absence of a plastic mat was a deal breaker then they should have researched the aforementioned before they came.The rant had by now moved on to the setting of a global stage,I was now in full flow on the soapbox 'there are so many wonderful places to visit in the world ,many without even basic toileting facililties or running water,never mind a plastic mat and a packet of wet wipes and fancy closing yourself off to all these new experiences.'

Then the final thrust before I finally came up for breath:

'AS A SOCIETY IS THIS WHAT WE'VE BECOME?'

'I don't know what you're worried about' said Chef 'it's not like we've built a massive play park out front and engaged a childrens entertainer,where you went wrong was not red carding them when you had the chance'


Roll on May 29th.

Friday 6 January 2017

Fork Handles

I am spending an increasing amount of time these days talking at cross purposes with people.Simple everyday conversations are becoming daily more protracted and complicated beyond belief.
I think I'm displaying the symptoms of early onset dementia.
The truth is unless you enjoy talking to people or more importantly eavesdropping their conversations you wouldn't last five minutes in this job never mind the length of time I have.
Lately, we've attracted a couple of regulars who I'd put in the category of high maintenance punters.Don't get me wrong, they're dead canny but not the sort who come in the 'smile-order and pay up happy' category.These two practically want to know your whole life story including what you ate for breakfast yesterday and the colour and style of your knickers if you were willing to share the information
And they've been coming in far too often.
There's a fine balance between being a well loved regular or an annoyingly needy sort that's right up in your grill every time you open the flaming door. It worries me when people start coming in too often cos the chances are they're going to sicken themselves, then they're frightened to come back in case you ask them where they've been.Its a no win situation.I've seen it happen many times,couple come in every day then all of a sudden nothing, then you happen to see them in the supermarket and they avoid you like the plague because they're embarrassed they haven't been,
Anyway this particular couple came in for dinner for the third time in as many days and i'd spent as much time chatting as I could without neglecting the rest of the diners.I could see they'd finished their meal as I collected a rather large drinks order from the bar when I noticed him making a bee line for me.
He was beaming at me joyously and waving.
I was wondering what he could want now and hoping he would make it snappy so I could get the drinks delivered to the rather pleasingly thirsty table of six who had already demolished 15 gin and tonics, 2 bottles of red, a bottle of rose and now delightfully overriding us by ordering a bottle of Sancerre despite being recommended the rather cheaper Picpoul to go with the fish.
He just caught me as I was about to pick up the tray.
'Do you serve Grouse?'
Oh great,he was fancying an after dinner digestive,drinks sales doing pretty darn well this evening.
'Oh yes we do-we also have Bells and a nice selection of single malts if you'd like to have a look'
Beam.
He looked a bit confused but continued to smile and nod.
 I wasn't sure he'd understood my rather strong Geordie.
He repeated himself.
I repeated myself.
Slowly.
He continued to stare at me then amazingly began to flap his arms repeating at intervals 'grouse'.
He was putting me in mind of Big Bird and I could feel myself starting to giggle as the penny dropped.The people on table 5 had noticed what was going on and I could see them winking at me over the poor bloke's shoulder.
As I told chef later It was an easy mistake to make.
How was I supposed to know he was enquiring as to the availability of a particularly popular and expensive game bird and not a run of the mill Scotch?
Got any Grouse?

Once we'd straightened out the confusion and I'd explained that there'd been none available from the local shoot but we expected some over of the next couple of weeks he seemed content but I subsequently fielded daily calls from him asking for updates on the grouse status..You just know a situation like this is going to end in tears as anticipation and high expectations are a sure fire route to disappointment and devastation Tripadvisor assassination.

In other news,I'm still persevering with The Snail,he's actually quite a canny lad once he cranks up his conversation, the first line of which is always 'errrrrrrrrr' and he does actually say the right things to the customers.
Albeit at a very slow speed.
It's really important to able to crank up a gear when the going gets tough but over the years I've come across numerous people who don't have this ability.Chef calls them plodders. Plodding along at an average speed is one thing but when your average speed is just above stationary tempers inevitably  fray when things hot up...Ive tried trotting along behind him so he can hear I'm there in the hope that it makes him have some sense of urgency but mostly it's only resulted in me adding to my already grand bruise collection.
Anyway, I decided to give him a little confidence boost and let him do the bar as it was a midweek night, with the precursor that he must speed up and get the drinks out quickly,ideally before the ice in them melted.He was managing ok,I could see him taking a card payment over the bar out of the corner of my eye as I filled up a couple of water glasses when I heard the following:
'errrrrrrrrrr...I'm afraid you're card's not working'
I glanced over the bar,the bloke looked stony faced,I didn't recognise him, definitely not a regular.
Obviously from time to time cards are declined,usually the customer looks a bit shifty then produces another one-job sorted.
The Snail looked down at the PDQ machine as if willing the receipt to miraculously appear.
The bloke stared at the Snail then said in unfaltering but Fawlty like tone:
'It's not working because its fallen out of the machine.'
Reader, the card was lying on the floor at the Snails rather large size tens...
Things hotted up at this point so I thought Id better get him off the bar where I could keep an eye on him.
There was quite a bit of food going out so he was helping as best he could.
On my third visit to the kitchen to collect the table of six's main courses I was informed rather curtly that chef had narrowly averted disaster having prevented The Snail from delivering an unbruleed creme brûlée masquerading as a pot of aioli to a punter at the bar to go with his chips.
Phew.
There's always a leader on large tables,someone that thinks they know far more than anyone else and isn't afraid to say so.A particular gentlemen on the six was pontificating to the rest of the party about how our Rib of beef sales over the years(on display) were a metaphor for the state of the economy and how the the stock market mini crash during 2014 was mirrored exactly by the lower sales during that particular year.
I had to force myself not to tell him sales were down because we'd taken it off the menu for a couple of months because beef prices were too high and Chef was getting tetchy about his GP.
Sigh.
As Chef said later over a well earned brew:
 'people don't half talk a crock of shite'
Snigger.
In other news we've employed a new Kitchen porter.Regular readers will know that our kitchen porters over the years have proved a rich source of material for this blog and reader believe me this one is no different.He's worked in kitchens for most of his life yet cannot identify many common herbs.For someone who's been in the business for so long he is also gloriously inept at washing dishes.
But reader, what he lacks in dishwashing skill he more than makes up for in pure comedy value.
He is basically just a very funny bloke .
What he doesn't know in music trivia is nobody's business and listening in as the kitchen do to our local radio station over lunch service and there being a particular programme where you can text in and guess the year of the tunes that day, our KP's unrivalled and all encompassing knowledge of all things pop was getting us quite a few mentions which we were enjoying no end.
However ,after a few days it was getting a bit boring hearing 'the kitchen staff at the Inn' so things kind of escalated in a rather amusing way.
Pop Master started texting in correct answers from rather questionable sounding businesses which I kid you not had me crying.
Amongst others imagine getting this read out over the air:
'Hoof 'n horn blacksmiths' with the announcers comment 'it must be hot down there today'
Also:
'Beaver Liquors Artisanal spirit suppliers'
I kid you not.
Chef says its only a question of time before he gets arrested..








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