It is inevitable in the industry I work in that people complain. Food is important, and expensive, and people are increasingly particular about both the meals they eat and the service they receive in pubs and restaurants across the country. This, for the record, is a good thing.
As a chef every time a meal is sent back, or a customer is dissatisfied, it hurts. You see, with cookery you get immediate feedback for the work you do. There is no angry email to send or evade, no bureaucracy to soak up the rage. Just the cold fact that you just fed someone something you made, and they didn't like it. It is hard not to take these criticisms personally, and as a result many chefs (maybe the vast majority) are very defensive, and are adamant that it is not their fault. Ever. The flipside of the coin is that if you do your job well, people tell you immediately. I still feel a surge of pride if someone has said compliments to the chef. It is the best part of the job.
Even the most exclusive, high-end eateries receive complaints. Perhaps given their clientele and the sums of money being spent they actually get more disgruntled customers. Whatever the case, the poor soul usually caught in the crossfire when a customer complains is the innocent waiter. They are the ones who have to inform the kitchen (chefs definitely are guilty of shooting the messenger) and then translate the chef's barrage of swearwords into 'I'm sorry sir, the chef apologises and regrets he overcooked your steak, we will replace it immediately' to an increasingly testy table. Being a skilled waiter is a job that is grossly underappreciated.
Sometimes the complaints are absolutely justified, sometimes they are absurd, and often people are fishing for freebies. Below is a list of my all time favouritecomplaints.
1- That's lamb's liver, not calve's liver
This was enraging. Liver and bacon was on our menu, and it was calves liver. Even when shown the packaging from the butcher, and a liver that is actually bigger than a lamb, the customer was adamant. Of course, the customer is always right.
2- This bacon is too bacony.
What??? I remember when the waiter came back with this information my head chef at the time almost had a nervous breakdown. How do you deal with a complaint like this?
3- 'It was too much food.'
Well don't eat it all then! Indian restaurants must get this all the time.
4- 'I wanted it rare with no blood.'
There are no words. I'm a chef, not a magician.
5- 'My food is cold.'
A pertinent remark, you may think. After all, you expect your food to be hot. Well, it was hot when the customer received it a whole hour previous to making this complaint.
6- Serial complainers.
A peculiar breed, these people have frequented every restaurant, cafe, pub and hotel I have ever worked in and cause the staff misery on a regular basis.They come in so often they must enjoy it, (or suffer from a strange form of masochism) yet they moan and complain on every visit. When your job is to give people a good time, these people make life very difficult. If the food and service is flawless they will find some minute detail to whine about (the plate isn't hot enough. It's a salad.) Part of me thinks perhaps such people enjoy demeaning those who serve them, or think that spending their money gives them carte blanche to behave like tools, but who could be that cruel or moronic?
7 -Anybody who doesn't eat gluten.
Not strictly a complaint, but I wanted to put this out there. Now people who have a gluten intolerance get a free pass and my utmost sympathy, as physically not being able to enjoy pizza or scones or sandwiches or cake is a tragedy.
These other anti glutenites and their bandwagon jumpers however, make chefs lives a living hell. 'Do you have gluten free cake?' No. No we don't. I dont understand why bread, which is an art in itself, has fed us for millenia and comes in myriad, awesome forms - from soda to pitta, foccacia to bloomer - is suddenly touted as a bad thing amongst foodies, health nuts and ladies who lunch. It is madness. Gluten is good! Rant over.
8- Anybody who tries to substitute salad or vegetables on a dish for more meat.
It doesn't work like that! You can't compare lettuce to chicken. It makes a mockery of the food chain and basic principals of business! Again, this isn't strictly a complaint, so as this post is in danger of becoming a chef's and restaurateur's edition of the panel show Room 101, I'll call it a day
Tuesday 24 February 2015
Friday 13 February 2015
In memoriam: Neil Connelly.
On 31st January of this year my brother in law Neil passed away. His loss is a tragedy from which my family may never fully recover.
Neil was a man who believed in the power of words for good or evil, and would always correct my grammar or argue with me over semantics. His vovabulary was such that I often had to reach for the dictionary! He could speak so eloquently he would run rings around most in any debate, or captivate an audience at any dinner table. As such, I thought putting something into words would be the most fitting tribute to him. This poem is for Neil. I loved him like a brother, and I will miss him dearly evermore.
IN MEMORIAM NEIL CONNELLY.
He was the enigma with a thousand faces,
He bore a stigma that time erases.
Sit and talk, listen and walk
With this sage among men, and he could take you to places
You never knew were there.
He was a husband and father,
Devoted beyond compare,
He blessed his kids with
His own brand of
Compassionate intelligence,
Wisdom that betrays their years.
He raised them with
His own hand, and
With his presence
He allayed their fears,
Wiped away their tears.
He would sing rhymes of nonsense
To fill his home with the
Laughter of love.
Now they have lost it all.
He was a brother,
A young grandad,
A son and an uncle,
And now we have lost it all.
And until the end
He was my brother
And my friend
And now I have lost him.
Neil was a man who believed in the power of words for good or evil, and would always correct my grammar or argue with me over semantics. His vovabulary was such that I often had to reach for the dictionary! He could speak so eloquently he would run rings around most in any debate, or captivate an audience at any dinner table. As such, I thought putting something into words would be the most fitting tribute to him. This poem is for Neil. I loved him like a brother, and I will miss him dearly evermore.
IN MEMORIAM NEIL CONNELLY.
He was the enigma with a thousand faces,
He bore a stigma that time erases.
Sit and talk, listen and walk
With this sage among men, and he could take you to places
You never knew were there.
He was a husband and father,
Devoted beyond compare,
He blessed his kids with
His own brand of
Compassionate intelligence,
Wisdom that betrays their years.
He raised them with
His own hand, and
With his presence
He allayed their fears,
Wiped away their tears.
He would sing rhymes of nonsense
To fill his home with the
Laughter of love.
Now they have lost it all.
He was a brother,
A young grandad,
A son and an uncle,
And now we have lost it all.
And until the end
He was my brother
And my friend
And now I have lost him.
Wednesday 11 February 2015
Centerparcs!
In 2013 I went on an adventure with my family. Alongside my wife Natasha, there was my sister Samantha, my brother-in-law Neil, my niece Jessie and my nephew Haden. It was to be a week-long trip of badminton, woodland battles, aquatic madness, impossibly cute red squirrels and (for the adults) utter exhaustion. It was a trip to Centerparcs in the Lake District, and it was awesome.
This post will detail some of the highs and lows of that fun filled week, without trying to sound like an advertisement for Centerparcs!
After unpacking in our new home - a luxurious chalet - we said goodbye to our cars. This was a simple, blissful pleasure. To get around the site, which is essentially a large village, everyone uses bicycles. There is no distant roar of engines to be heard. The toot of horns was replaced by the chiming of bells, and the bicycle traffic gave the place a tranquil, utopian vibe.
There was, however, one small problem. My bike was fundamentally broken. The brakes didnt work. Not ideal on hilly terrain. The chain also had a habit of falling off if I completed one full revolution of the pedals. The result was that I either tagged along at the back of our group, jerking awkwardly on my crippled contraption whilst going uphill, or sped off at high velocity and out of control if going downhill. My family of course found this hilarious. Bystanders would peer as I slowly passed by, making a godawful racket as the chain clunked and whirred, shattering the woodland idyll. But I, being Mild Discomfort Boy (see previous post) persevered. I am happy to say I have since parted ways with that bike. I donated it to a homeless Albanian man. True story.
The week consisted therefore of cycling from one event to the next. I was not in peak physical condition, and the activities slowly took their toll on my flabby excuse of a body. The most embarrassing moment came during the rock climbing. We had to scale a 30 metre wall. Needless to say my athletic young niece and my trim wife both zoomed up the thing like a pair of spider monkeys, whilst I did well at first and then sputtered to a halt. Clinging on for dear life, my muscles were shaking and I was sweating profusely. In my mind I looked like Sylvester Stallone in Cliffhanger, but really I was a fat man hanging 5 metres above the ground unable to ascend a wall that (literally) an 8 year old just climbed. It dawned on me suddenly how much my body had deteriorated over the years, and then, from somewhere, adrenaline fired me up the wall. I got to the top, almost collapsed, then abseiled down like an absolute boss.
Following the ritual humiliation of the wall, we then had to do the Leap Of Faith. This involved climbing a telegraph pole, then standing on top of it and jumping for a trapeze suspended in midair. Jessie went first, and put on a typically fearless, virtuoso display. I was clumsy by comparison, and almost missed the trapeze, managing to grab on with one hand. There is video evidence of all these endeavours somewhere. Im sure my sister will use said videos to shame her little brother when the time comes!
Luckily my ego was restored when I later bullseyed a wild boar with a bow and arrow during woodland archery. It was a pretend boar, but hey, small victories.
Other highlights included a family boat trip on the lake. This started off as a very enjoyable and exciting communal experience - the harmony and unity of rowing as one, gliding through the water - and quickly descended into competetive chaos. 'Why can't we go as fast as them?' 'How do you turn left?' 'Don't run over that duck!'
Perhaps inevitably, the boat trip hit a climax when I somehow clouted my dear wife Natasha right on the head with my oar. Tears and shouting ensued as our vessel wended its woeful way back to the pier. The weirdest part of that whole afternoon though was the response of the young man in charge of the boats. 'Ah, yes' he said, when told of Natasha's unfortunate injury, before adding, both laconically and mysteriously, 'There's always disputes on the lake.' Sinister.
My favourite part of the trip was the laser battle. We journeyed into the woods, and were met by a group of families who all temporarily became warriors. A guide gave us guns and split us into 2 teams. Then battle commenced. Now, even simulated combat gives you a sense of who people really are. One young lad was dressed in full camouflage gear and his Dad, a growling Scot, stood on the sidelines barking orders like a ham-acted general in a cheap sci-fi. My nephew Haden was far too small to carry his gun properly, but loved it nonetheless. Jessie my niece wandered around like cannon fodder, oblivious to the carnage! Two older ladies on our team looked harmless but had camouflage like Predator (they literally disappeared at the start of every round) and were crack shots I regressed to my childhood, and was reprimanded for doing a power slide, then jumping headfirst over a barricade. The guide said something about 'health and safety,' and I overheard two opponents muttering about 'the long haired nutter who takes it too seriously.'
I had a stroke of luck at one point that played out like a Hollywood movie. I was in a wooden dugout shooting at the enemy when a voice behind me said, 'Freeze.' I turned round and there was the lad in camouflage, his gun levelled at me. He could have shot me and taken me out of the game there and then, but I guess like all good villains he loved a bit of drama. He stepped forward (did he want to take me prisoner?) and his headset announced he was dead and out. The fool had stood on a clearly marked landmine. His dad was not impressed.
My absolute favourite memory, though, is crawling next to my sister. She was carrying a bomb (our objective was to blow up the enemy base), writhing around in a patch of mud, and both of us were laughing hysterically. Then, our referee announced my sister had been shot and killed. I, instinctively, took cover behind her body! That's war. You weren't there, man. It was hilarious.
So, after a week of mayhem, we returned to Surrey weary but happy. And the verdict on Centerparcs? Brilliant. Just dont expect to relax, and book a holiday afterwards to recover!
This post will detail some of the highs and lows of that fun filled week, without trying to sound like an advertisement for Centerparcs!
After unpacking in our new home - a luxurious chalet - we said goodbye to our cars. This was a simple, blissful pleasure. To get around the site, which is essentially a large village, everyone uses bicycles. There is no distant roar of engines to be heard. The toot of horns was replaced by the chiming of bells, and the bicycle traffic gave the place a tranquil, utopian vibe.
There was, however, one small problem. My bike was fundamentally broken. The brakes didnt work. Not ideal on hilly terrain. The chain also had a habit of falling off if I completed one full revolution of the pedals. The result was that I either tagged along at the back of our group, jerking awkwardly on my crippled contraption whilst going uphill, or sped off at high velocity and out of control if going downhill. My family of course found this hilarious. Bystanders would peer as I slowly passed by, making a godawful racket as the chain clunked and whirred, shattering the woodland idyll. But I, being Mild Discomfort Boy (see previous post) persevered. I am happy to say I have since parted ways with that bike. I donated it to a homeless Albanian man. True story.
The week consisted therefore of cycling from one event to the next. I was not in peak physical condition, and the activities slowly took their toll on my flabby excuse of a body. The most embarrassing moment came during the rock climbing. We had to scale a 30 metre wall. Needless to say my athletic young niece and my trim wife both zoomed up the thing like a pair of spider monkeys, whilst I did well at first and then sputtered to a halt. Clinging on for dear life, my muscles were shaking and I was sweating profusely. In my mind I looked like Sylvester Stallone in Cliffhanger, but really I was a fat man hanging 5 metres above the ground unable to ascend a wall that (literally) an 8 year old just climbed. It dawned on me suddenly how much my body had deteriorated over the years, and then, from somewhere, adrenaline fired me up the wall. I got to the top, almost collapsed, then abseiled down like an absolute boss.
Following the ritual humiliation of the wall, we then had to do the Leap Of Faith. This involved climbing a telegraph pole, then standing on top of it and jumping for a trapeze suspended in midair. Jessie went first, and put on a typically fearless, virtuoso display. I was clumsy by comparison, and almost missed the trapeze, managing to grab on with one hand. There is video evidence of all these endeavours somewhere. Im sure my sister will use said videos to shame her little brother when the time comes!
Luckily my ego was restored when I later bullseyed a wild boar with a bow and arrow during woodland archery. It was a pretend boar, but hey, small victories.
Other highlights included a family boat trip on the lake. This started off as a very enjoyable and exciting communal experience - the harmony and unity of rowing as one, gliding through the water - and quickly descended into competetive chaos. 'Why can't we go as fast as them?' 'How do you turn left?' 'Don't run over that duck!'
Perhaps inevitably, the boat trip hit a climax when I somehow clouted my dear wife Natasha right on the head with my oar. Tears and shouting ensued as our vessel wended its woeful way back to the pier. The weirdest part of that whole afternoon though was the response of the young man in charge of the boats. 'Ah, yes' he said, when told of Natasha's unfortunate injury, before adding, both laconically and mysteriously, 'There's always disputes on the lake.' Sinister.
My favourite part of the trip was the laser battle. We journeyed into the woods, and were met by a group of families who all temporarily became warriors. A guide gave us guns and split us into 2 teams. Then battle commenced. Now, even simulated combat gives you a sense of who people really are. One young lad was dressed in full camouflage gear and his Dad, a growling Scot, stood on the sidelines barking orders like a ham-acted general in a cheap sci-fi. My nephew Haden was far too small to carry his gun properly, but loved it nonetheless. Jessie my niece wandered around like cannon fodder, oblivious to the carnage! Two older ladies on our team looked harmless but had camouflage like Predator (they literally disappeared at the start of every round) and were crack shots I regressed to my childhood, and was reprimanded for doing a power slide, then jumping headfirst over a barricade. The guide said something about 'health and safety,' and I overheard two opponents muttering about 'the long haired nutter who takes it too seriously.'
I had a stroke of luck at one point that played out like a Hollywood movie. I was in a wooden dugout shooting at the enemy when a voice behind me said, 'Freeze.' I turned round and there was the lad in camouflage, his gun levelled at me. He could have shot me and taken me out of the game there and then, but I guess like all good villains he loved a bit of drama. He stepped forward (did he want to take me prisoner?) and his headset announced he was dead and out. The fool had stood on a clearly marked landmine. His dad was not impressed.
My absolute favourite memory, though, is crawling next to my sister. She was carrying a bomb (our objective was to blow up the enemy base), writhing around in a patch of mud, and both of us were laughing hysterically. Then, our referee announced my sister had been shot and killed. I, instinctively, took cover behind her body! That's war. You weren't there, man. It was hilarious.
So, after a week of mayhem, we returned to Surrey weary but happy. And the verdict on Centerparcs? Brilliant. Just dont expect to relax, and book a holiday afterwards to recover!
My (not very) Superpower
There is a superhero living among you. Do not be alarmed, for it is I! Yes, I have a dual identity. No, I dont wear a cape. Yes, I use my powers for good. No, I dont look good in spandex. Move over Spiderman, stand aside Batman, for I am Mild Discomfort Boy!
Perhaps not the catchiest title, and my powers won't be making millions for Marvel Studios any time soon, but in todays crazy world, my abilities come in very handy. Allow me to explain.
If you need a climbing frame/horse/swing/slide for your children, call Mild Discomfort Boy. He will tolerate being clambered on, having his nose squeezed, his head stood on, and all manner of minor injuries in the name of entertaining little ones.
Going hiking? Off on holiday but have too much luggage? Take Mild Discomfort Boy. He will happily be your packhorse. Although he's not much of a sprinter, he can plod on and on for days.
Need help in the kitchen? Too much to do for Christmas or that party? Mild Discomfort Boy is here to help. He will work 14 hours a day, 6 days a week and always smile! He is also burnproof and resistant to cuts.
Need to change the lightbulb? Not with Mild Discomfort Boy around. He will happily sit in the dark. For ever.
Mild Discomfort Boy has a host of other attributes too, including the power to sit or sleep practically anywhere (including on rocks or in bushes), the power to endure bus journeys of up to 3 days without saying 'are we nearly there yet', the power to open bottles with his teeth at any social occasion (including bahmitzvahs) and the power to converse with the elderly for what seems like eternity.
Perhaps not the catchiest title, and my powers won't be making millions for Marvel Studios any time soon, but in todays crazy world, my abilities come in very handy. Allow me to explain.
If you need a climbing frame/horse/swing/slide for your children, call Mild Discomfort Boy. He will tolerate being clambered on, having his nose squeezed, his head stood on, and all manner of minor injuries in the name of entertaining little ones.
Going hiking? Off on holiday but have too much luggage? Take Mild Discomfort Boy. He will happily be your packhorse. Although he's not much of a sprinter, he can plod on and on for days.
Need help in the kitchen? Too much to do for Christmas or that party? Mild Discomfort Boy is here to help. He will work 14 hours a day, 6 days a week and always smile! He is also burnproof and resistant to cuts.
Need to change the lightbulb? Not with Mild Discomfort Boy around. He will happily sit in the dark. For ever.
Mild Discomfort Boy has a host of other attributes too, including the power to sit or sleep practically anywhere (including on rocks or in bushes), the power to endure bus journeys of up to 3 days without saying 'are we nearly there yet', the power to open bottles with his teeth at any social occasion (including bahmitzvahs) and the power to converse with the elderly for what seems like eternity.
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