Black Suits and Broken Eggs

I own only one black suit, and I hate it. It's not the suit's fault. It's a perfectly good black 3 button, fits me fine, and sits quietly in my closet while waiting for its use. I feel bad for this suit, but it only has one function. I only wear this suit to funerals. Unfortunately I had to wear this suit today.

But let's back up for a moment.

My new chef, Antonio, was working his first brunch with me last Sunday morning. Things were a bit shaky at first, much like all transitions. Our brunch menu is not terribly complicated but it is certainly labor intensive and people expect their food in a timely manner, so it was a bit difficult to get into a groove. Chef was plating a pork belly Benedict, which requires you to balance a poached egg on top of the meat and then put hollandaise on top. We had not yet gotten our immersion circulator, so he was poaching the eggs the old fashioned way.

He cracked an egg, and it was under cooked. He cracked another and it wouldn't balance. Leaning over the plate, the deafening silence that comes when you have hungry guests and no food leaving the kitchen dropped into the room like a sewage soaked blanket. I saw frustration begin to bubble into his face. Anger was right behind. Then he stopped.

He straightened up and looked up at me across the line, took a deep breath, smiled, and said "I'm not going to let an egg ruin my day."

I looked at him perplexed for a moment, and just started to laugh. As I did, he grabbed an egg, it cracked perfectly, and suddenly food was flying out the door. "That's a true Chef," I thought to myself. You see all of these silly Chef's on TV with hair trigger tempers, but when Antonio is in the kitchen he is smiles, laughs, and all business. His line is happy too cook with him. He really loves his food.

It's such a simple thought, really. There are so many things that deserve to ruin your day, so many bigger, uglier, dirtier fights that are to be had. There are so many bigger issues in my life and Chef's, and I beamed in admiration. And then there are eggs. There are little problems which will pass but can turn into something ugly if you allow it.

A week later I'm donning my black suit, tie, and vest, on the way to say goodbye to my friend's son. A hole the size of a continent had just been ripped through their family and there is nothing I can do but support them and crack a bad joke every now and again.

I sat in a hazy Ethiopian church today, a layer of incense hanging thick and sleepy, and listened as four priests melodically chanted as they prepared him for burial. I felt tears begin to well up in my eye, remembering the grinning young man who tried to duck out his bedroom window when I caught him at his parents house while they were on vacation. I remembered the way that his mother used to beam whenever she said his name and how proud his step-dad was of him going to college.

I suppose those are the moments that are important to let in. As I watched his mother collapse in grief, I let go of my personal wish to never have to hold another trembling body or watch a casket loaded into a hearse for a life extinguished far too soon. I would give anything to take their pain from them. There is nothing that I can do.

So today, I will do my best to remember that young man who was so loved by his friends and family. I will stand strong for my incredible friends who have helped me through some of the darkest times in my own life. I will bring them food and tell stories and crack jokes. I will, come hell or high water, go to work and do my best. I will sing, I will drink,  and I will cry.

But I will not let an egg ruin my day.

"Knowledge does not come in books, it comes in caskets." -Bane

Humbly yours,
The Bar Fight

An Interesting Dine-and-Dash

I've seen it a thousand times before, more than I care to count. It has happened to me more than once. It started with a puzzling look from one of my servers as I saw a woman using our telephone.

"She asked to use it," a server told me sheepishly. No doubt, they knew what I was thinking. When a guest asks to use your phone, very little good comes of it.

I raised my eyebrows with that unmistakable look on my face that says: "What the hell are you talking about; elaborate." The server looked back at me and explained that she had ordered a salad, was halfway through, and realized that she had no form of payment to be seen. She was currently calling her son, asking him to come to my restaurant to pay her tab. The phone was ringing and never picked up. My server didn't know what to do, so I instructed her to wait. Situations like this can disturb other diners, so it needed to be dealt with quietly and gently. Raised voices are never a good thing in restaurants.

Minutes crawled on, and dragged into a half hour and beyond. I watched this woman, eyes fixed to her plate, rotate the last remaining bites of lettuce and duck leg around the white porcelain like a ticking clock. Something needed to be done.

I went to the table and asked her if her meal was satisfactory; she assured me it was delicious. I told her that my staff had informed me that there had been some difficulty in processing payment and that evidently her son was on the way. She nodded and began to babble about traffic on a sleepy weekday evening.

I had two choices at this point. First, I could wait for her son or daughter to show up, pay her tab, and have her leave gracefully, though I knew this was an unlikely scenario. I knew she couldn't pay, and so did she.

"Miss," I said quietly, "I'm going to take care of your salad just this once. But it can't happen again."

Her smile revealed missing teeth and I watched as she grabbed her purse - stuffed to the point of breaking with clothes - as she began to thank me and admonish me with the blessings of Jesus and such.

We went down the stairs together and before she exited, I stopped her.

"This can't happen again; I can't feed you for free. Please do not make this into a habit." I told her. For effect, I repeated, "This can't happen again." She apologized again and assured me it wouldn't ever happen again. I could see tears welling in her eyes. That was the moment I knew she had no money. If she had money I would've been berated with anger and outrage of such an accusation. Shame always bubbles to the surface quietly.

She was about to turn and walk away and I asked her more quietly than before, "There is no son, is there?"

She looked at me for a moment, and said "There is, but we have not spoken in about 15 years."

I took a deep breath, reached into my back wallet. I had a $20 bill that was to be my beer money for later that evening folded in half. I handed it to her and asked her to make sure that she made her way into a shelter; it was going to get cold and windy.

Silently, she smiled, took the bill, and walked out the front door.

Humanity is funny thing, and sometimes it is hard to wake up and put on my tie in my nice apartment and realize that there are some out there with so little when some of us have so much. It's moments like those that are refreshing and important to scale our own personal problems to understand that there is so much out there that we do not understand, and far worse circumstances under which we could be living. Life, as a whole, is a humbling and short experience. If you don't take the time to look outside yourself once in a while, it's hard to rejoice in the happiness that you have. Maybe that is the key to this whole thing we call life.

Besides, I didn't really need to be drinking that night anyways.

Stay Thirsty,
The Bar Fight