Ten years ago I started working at Oak Island Resort in between Chester and Mahone Bay, a confounding place that I both loved and hated, which I spent five years at when it was all said and done. I loved some of the people I worked with, forming what will be life long friendships with a few people and collecting countless stories and memories along the way. Unlike some of my Oak Island survivors I look on my time there mostly with fondness.
To be truthful I wasn't sure if I was qualified for this kind of job as I had zero experience running a larger place. I had run my own restaurant and a few others and acted as sous chef in some other larger places but never steered the ship on anything so large. My own self doubt creeping in I suppose, and the fact that when I envision chefs of large hotels I don't see myself as one of those guys. There was, and still is somewhat, an aura around these guys that make me feel slightly nervous...like I'm not up to snuff in someway. I walked in and found chaos. Which by the way seems to be my lot in life when it comes to kitchens...I come in and un-break the broken things and point the ship in the right direction. This wasn't in anyway hard, on the contrary it seemed quite easy. Stop doing stupid things, use common sense, teach and train your team on what the expectations are and help them along the way. And finally, get out of the way. Trust them. Works every time. Anyway, back to the chaos.
The kitchen was dirty, the staff lost and the quality and reputation was not very good. Food cost was through the roof with a phantom inventory, which is what some (a lot) chefs resort to in order to hide issues. Methodically I went through the challenges. The very first weekend there was a wedding in house. My sous chef asked me how I wanted them to do the dinner and I told him exactly how you have been doing it so I can see what's going on. What a fiasco. Talking to said sous chef afterwards my answer was simple...you know how do it better and that's the way we are going to do it from now on. One day was spent in the walk in freezer; opened up like a heart patient I sat there chucking things out that were freezer burnt, undated and un-labelled. If I couldn't get an answer on what it was or how long it was there, out it went. Prior to that day one person could barely fit in the freezer...now I could stand four of us easily. And so on it went. And in what seems very short order, things were as they should be.
Labour day weekend comes around and the family decided to go camping at the Ovens. Beautiful park on the ocean with somewhat private camping areas. A chance to unwind a bit before things were to get busy with the resort and the kids started up at school. At this point I was 38 years old and just starting to get the old stuff going on. You know, sleeping on the ground doesn't kill you but you feel it the next day. And you're not as spry as you once thought you were...and then you brake your foot. Well, a hair line fracture on your foot. Son of a bitch did that hurt. And I knew it right away...having done it to my other foot 15 years previous playing squash. Side note, of all the things I have done to myself I have only three hair line fractures to brag about. Both feet and my left hand. And it would seem numerous blows to the head.
Fast forward a few days and in to work on crutches I go. I can still do office work at the very least. Problem was that we were ridiculously busy in the month of September. I was short staffed and we were pumping out banquets and weddings like it was going out of style. There was no way I was going to be able to sit back and let my team go through that with out my help. I purchased a walking boot that I was strapped into and proceeded to work the next 15 days straight; 14 hour days mind you. The boot was great and allowed me to make it through without too much pain. I earned my stripes that month with my team and the whole hotel. And a new nick name.,,,Robo Chef. One of my cooks was rather talented at white board drawings and he had done up a picture of me busting through a brick wall with my bionic boot...Robo Chef to the rescue. I wanted to ask how he had time for that drawing and not for peeling a bucket of potatoes but there you have it.
My non industry friends think I'm a little nuts when I tell this story and others that point to an almost sadist view on our approach to work. It is quite simple really, there is work to be done and who else is going to do it if not you. Calling in sick is only an option when you are actually in the hospital. While I can leave a report on my desk till such time that I am feeling better, the meal for 80 can't wait. And letting the team down is not an option. Crazy? Probably, but it is the way it is..quite militaristic actually when you think about it.
Now, ten years later I end up in the hospital three times in a week for kidney stone related issues and I must admit, I'm not feeling invincible lately. Having been knocked on my ass a few times over the past six months and maybe, just maybe, I am not indestructible. I don't think I like that. I rarely get sick and most times I can usually scare a cold or flu away by simply looking in the mirror and saying out loud, don't you even think about it. Seriously.
I like to think that my family and friends see me as a strong and reliable guy that can be counted on for many things. One of them is being able to overcome minor maladies to do what needs to be done. It's a badge of honour in some ways. And this goes along with the machismo that lives in my world really...all that matters to the person you're standing next to is if you can keep up with your end of the bargain. Generally we don't care what colour you are, if you are male or female, gay or straight...it doesn't matter to most, just keep up and do your damn job well. Maybe we all have Robo Chef visions dancing in our heads, we like to be thought of as able to do all and overcome all while leaping tall buildings and stopping errant knives from hitting the ground. Yeah...done that as well.
One of the adjustments to my life I'll have to make over time I suppose. The knowledge that you will actually die if you stand in front of a bus to save a cat or a meatball sub. That maybe a sick day is just that, a day to be sick. It'll be a slow progression I am sure but one that seems inevitable. Whatever will they call me now?
Ciao
D
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