Restaurant Owners Pt.2

Well, the honeymoon phase of my new employment is over. I had my first major blow out with the fucking dumbass owner. I don't know what planet restaurant owners are bred on but I get the feeling there is a severe lack of oxygen in the atmosphere. These people live in fucking la-la land. Every one usually has one or two trivial things they fixate on, and this one is no different. This dumb fucking rich asshole has figured out how to get on the POS (if you don't know what a POS is, go fuck yourself) and click the button that gives labor percentages. He then proceeds to fret about the number it gives him. The labor percentage is basically what we spend on labor versus how much money we are bringing in. Simple right? Except when you ask the computer to give the percentage at the beginning of the night instead of the end it looks all fucked up. I've got 8 guys on during dinner. At 5:00 pm the restaurant hasn't done any business yet so the labor percentage looks horrible. If you checked it at 11:00 pm it would look great. The dumbass owner can't get that through his fucking head though. I cringe when I see him walk in early in the evening before the rush has started because I know he's gonna hover over the screen (the same screen the servers need to punch in orders, thanks for getting in the way asshole) and get a bunch of skewed numbers that make it look like we're losing our ass when we're not. Then I have to hear all about when I should be preparing my kitchen for service. Fucking bullshit. Since I've arrived I've shaved $2,000 a week off our inventory (that's over 100 grand a year) and yes, I've lowered the labor cost too. Yet I have to listen to this prick chew me out because of some inaccurate bullshit numbers the computer threw at him. Last night, after I finished dealing with some random crisis for the fiftieth time that day, he started in on me again. I fucking snapped and told him I'd fucking walk if he didn't back the fuck off. Naturally he didn't appreciate that to much and it only escalated from there. I probably would have been fired if the GM hadn't reminded him later that I set up a system that's going to save him over 100 grand this year (which is a fuckload more that I make) and I will be saving him more in the future. If I do end up quitting or getting fired I will be damn sure to undo all the improvements I've made so that asshole can wallow in a couple hundred grand of unnecessary expenses every year just because he's too fucking stupid to let a goddamn professional like me do his job without interference. Fuck restaurant owners.

The Chef Hates You

Sleep is for the Weak

Fuck it, I don't need sleep. Tobacco and booze are a viable substitute. I am fucking delirious. I had to cut some dead wood at work in the last week. Fuck euphemisms, let me rephrase that: I'm on a firing spree. I really, really want to be the 'cool' boss, I really do, but there comes a time when motherfuckers need to be cut loose. I had to shit can a bad ass cook today and it hurt to do it. This fucking guy busts ass. Before I can even think of giving him something to do he's already done it. Why did I fire him? Because he's a fucking flake. He had the idea that he can do a great job and that earns him the right to show up when he feels like it. "Oh man! I feel like shit, man. I can't make it tonight, cough cough." Fired. I can train a fucking monkey to cook. I can't train a monkey to be reliable. If you work in the restaurant business and want job security, show up to work on time. Every fucking time, all the fucking time. Hung over? Sweat it out over the grill. Sick? Buck up. The grill will kill those germs. I don't buy that "I'm sick" shit. Your average kitchen worker is exposed to a vast array of harmful bacteria every minute of every day. Spend a couple hours elbow deep in raw chicken every day and you will develop a top notch immune system. Real cooks don't get sick. It boils down to this: If my cooks don't show up, I have to cover it. I can't call someone in because every kitchen worker on Earth is bombed out of their skull when they're not on the clock. I can't manage a perishable inventory, maintain an acceptable food cost and write a reasonable schedule when I'm covering for people on the fucking line. Holy shit, I'm becoming a fucking tyrant. Oh well, it suits me...

The Chef Hates You

First Report From the New Gig

OK. I've been burning the candle at both ends getting my new kitchen in line. I've got a crew of about 25 scoundrels that look to me for answers and I just walked into the joint. I love my new crew though. What a pack of fucking psychopaths. I don't care if you eat at Denny's or La Bernardin, it's the same story behind the scenes. Drunken wastrels with no regard for personal safety or well being pumping out the best fucking food they possibly can. I more than have my hands full with this gig. Most of my experience is in small restaurants, supervising 6-10 people. I've got a small army on my hands in this joint, all showing up to work with the remnants of last night's libations rupturing the capillaries in their sunken, world weary eyes. We're producing some fucking outstanding shit though. Here's a little dose of reality for you fuckers. When you're eating in a high end, expensive restaurant close your eyes and picture the chef's office. I bet you think it looks something like this:



Guess what? You're full of shit. Get those fantasies out of your head. Here's what the executive chef at a five star establishment's office really looks like:



Welcome to my closet, bitches.

The Chef Hates You.