Sunday Bloody Sunday
Finding fulfillment is a funny thing.
Sometimes you can be doing the same thing for a while and just be doing it.
Like a job. The word is short for a reason. No depth to it at all. Something
you do to get money and pay the bills and, most of the time, get stuck in.
Even though I've always loved food and
have been in this business since legal working age, sometimes even I have felt stuck
at a job. You know when you're at your job in my business, it's usually on
Sunday. If I was made in God's image, and he could rest on Sunday, then why o
why couldn't I, rather than working through a hellish hangover having already
worked a late crazy Saturday night, when the world and their mothers came out
of the woodwork to try and get a table, leading to said hangover in the first
place. The Sunday diners don't help either. These are the folks I compare to
Sunday drivers. The ones who only come out one day a week, a month or sometimes
even a year, and seem not to understand rules or manners, or are just plain
freaks. Why do so many holidays fall on Sunday too? Especially the big restaurant ones, Easter and Mother's Day
for example. I have to admit, foodies who like less crowds use this night to
their advantage as well, and can actually get a decent reservation time at an
amazing restaurant. But then there are also good drivers yelling at the Sunday
drivers, aren't there?
God help the poor souls whose restaurants are open
for Sunday brunch. Many, many moons ago, when I was one of them, Sunday brunch
shift always started on Saturday at 3pm. Draw your own conclusions, we are not
saints. We are the strong, we are the invincible, we want to take your order.
And a Bloody Mary would help.
So here I am trying to find some
fulfillment amongst the foodies and freaks. This particular Sunday is one of the biggies, Easter. The
stage is set and amateur night at the Apollo begins. This is the once a year
crowd, a more colorful bunch.
Switching Sunday from job to joy. Easy
task, not a freaking chance. For all the psyching yourself up for a great
shift, getting the proper rest, juicing, eating a healthy breakfast,
inspirational reading and meditation, nothing you do prior to entering those
doors can guarantee a smooth Sunday. It can all be shot down in a blaze of glory. Not only do we have the
given variable that we take into account, the guests, we have a full staff of
co-workers who couldn't all have possibly been doing those same enlightening
things to start their day. It's always the ones you love that can hurt you the
most, and who know what freaking buttons to press. When misery needs company,
everyone is invited.
My misery armor is thickest on Sundays
especially the lengthy Easter shift. The only way to fight the darkness is with
the light. The light of being and doing something fulfilling. People love to
see and feel it. It's shine is bright. It feels like the warm light you see
through the oven window when the cupcakes are rising, and the golden tops puff
up as the kitchen fills with the warm aroma of yummy. It's like a comforting
hug. A reminder everything is going to be OK. This is when job transforms to
joy. And yes, it can happen on a Sunday, even Easter my dear friends.
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| grandma, cousin mike & me |
What made Sundays and holidays so
enjoyable for me and many others growing up was the family dinners. No matter
how cray cray your family is, food always calmed the troops and brought that
fulfillment to life.
Sundays and holidays we run family
style meals and what I try and
focus on to bring that light into my life as people are trying to stuff it into
their faces. It's a family feast like no other I've ever served in any
restaurant.
It consists of antipastos that would knock over a donkey. An assortment
of items found in my bosses latest book of favorite recipes. A large platter of
assorted salumi, octopus, and potato salad, house-made ricotta and roasted
peppers, slow roasted beet salad with mustard seed vinaigrette, smoked salmon
pastrami (the best smoked salmon I've ever had, and I'm an honorary Jew trained
by the Walbaums themselves. It's smoked with the same spices used in curing
pastrami). All served family style. That's just the first round. Sounds more
like Tyson vs. Spinx in ‘88. But you're going to want to stick around longer than 91
seconds. (All who know me are quite impressed that I just referenced a sporting
event that I actually watched. So am I!)
Then comes the pasta course of
house-made gnocchi with sage butter and a paccheri bolognese (like large
rigatoni with no ridges with a veal, pork and beef ragu).
Third course is the meat and potatoes, literally
and figuratively. Entrées are usually rack of lamb, veal saltimbocca,
nonna’s roasted chicken, and
salmon. No more! No more! I do implore, let's see how high we can get the
score.
Onward, dear captain, the next course
beg you bring, I can hardly wait
for my palate's sweet fling. Final course is a seasonal assortment of our best
desserts. Always a pleaser.
So it's not just about the huge
assortment of amazing food, it's the togetherness which sets this style of
eating above all others. The grab. The pass. The "wait till you try this.” The uproar of laughter
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| laughing all the way! |
when a slow roasted beet slides off your spoon with a
plop and turns mom's pinot bianco to a rose. Being privy to these moments is
what fulfills me. Those moments that make a meal the only place you want to be
in the world, and I have the honor of being your guide on that great trip. That’s
how you spell job with a “y”!
You would think that in such a fancy
place, this kind of communal dining would be rare. Our restaurant was built in
a house after all, so you get that warmth and comforting feel of being wined
and dined in a home, without the pretense that three star dining most often
entails.
Foodie or freak, prideful or meek, this joy can be yours
even if you leave the house that one day a week.
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