Good grief, two days in a row. You can tell I’ve got lots of other really important stuff to do, can’t you?
Like, writing something for Wendy. I write a fortnightly column for a website she manages and this time she wants me to work in more fist-fights (over fish) and less recipes. She would have made a good newspaper editor…
Mondays are Dustbin Days, the days when I drag our five (OK, four today Рthe Seconde forgot to take the one outside the office outside onto the street to be emptied last night) giant containers, as they call them in France, round to the car park at the back of the hotel and scrub them clean. With a fire hose and a plastic-bristled brush and a special produit which costs EUR35 a gallon. Good grief, for that money I could get 20 litres of the Mas Montel red I picked up in Sommi̬res last weekend.
I was going to do the copper saucepans too, but there wasn’t time – I peeled five kilos of carrots, then five kilos of onions, then a kilo of garlic instead. Which, on balance, is much more fun so I’m glad I did.
I think one of the waitron stagaires is trying to become my friend. He keeps joking about the clients and slipping little bon mots into his conversations with me. I just pretend I don’t understand and keep scrubbing, it’s not the done thing to fraternise with these sorts you know.
This is an interesting journal, written by a chap who gave up his office job and became a chef at the age of 30; youngster.
And it’s interesting that his top piece of advice is to get a proper job in a restaurant before going to school, advice with which I have to wholeheartedly agree. Even working at La Grange de Labahou a year ago, while useful, didn’t teach me just how hard it is doing this day in, day out because it’s how you earn your living.