Four hours to go

It all begins with an apron and the thought of a service. There is no service other than this one, the lunch service. This service has nothing very special, yet it has to be perfect. Because every service has to be perfect. You enter the kitchen; your hands don´t need help; they know their movements. They know how to turn on the electricity, the oven, the lights (..). They take the pen meaningless to go over the menu as well as the prep list. There can't be a single mistake, and the constant thought of that makes you hesitate and makes you make mistakes. The clock starts ticking. Actually, it started ticking the moment I got out of bed. The earlier I get up, the earlier I get dressed, the earlier I can start work and, therefore, be more prepared, better, and perfect. The rest doesn’t matter. Merchandise has to be put away, verified, and well-stocked. Put aside the peaches and the rosemary; you´ll need it. Four hours.

The tabletops look clean as if they have never been touched before. It almost seems as if they have never seen a service before. My left hand, after all. As if they weren't there when I scraped off chocolate, sent out orders, or cleaned up poured-over preparations. The 500 times I cleaned this counter or leaned on it because my feet hurt too much and sitting down wasn’t an option.

It’s all about timing. What should you start first, and when should you use the oven so others can use it after? Don’t burn your arms when getting out the ridiculous small sablés. When should I prepare that cream you need for service, since there is no left behind and it takes time for it to settle? If the time management is not proper, service won’t go well. The earlier you start, the better. Things take time and are well made when done with a calm mind. Nevertheless, that time is not there, and the staff meal is almost done and then service. Have I forgotten anything? Two more hours

An intern is a blessing and a pain. Failing at something is totally justified but teaching takes time. An investment you want to take in to ensure no more future mistakes. But no time. The mistakes have to be solved and redone. It takes time to cool down, to settle, in order to have the right considency. 1 more hour until service.

There it goes again. Countertops are being cleaned, and the traces of hectic movements are gone. But I´m not done, and neither are the others. We find ourselves with lunch plates next to each other, working, standing, hearts beating. It has to go well. It just has to.

And then they pour in. I greet them with a big smile, reviewing the prep list one last time. Is everything done? No time to look up to the customer; you’re right in the middle of it. One after another. The sablés are burnt, and I have to freestyle there’s no more time. No more. It rolls in slowly. That’s the worst part. You know the wave will come, but you just stand there. Slowly. You see it from afar, so you think to yourself how beautiful water can be and how easy it can be. Then it breaks, and suddenly, you’re under it; the dining room is filled. Then everything gets blurry and passes by really fast.

2 plates, five plates, allergies, three plates, two, two two, three. The ice cream is too soft; the quenelle isn’t perfect. I redo the whole thing. Not too much, not too less. You turn the plate 360, finish with some decoration and see it leave the counter. It flies on a tray like a carpet over the heads of people. The server, earlier adjusting chairs and laying out forks, each one like the other one. The food flies and lands soundless on the table. Innocent and colourful. A 360 perfection because that's what it’s all about.

And then it’s gone.

During service