Everyday we start off with hopes of a smooth service. That, however, is never the case.
Today started off like every other day in the concrete and cinder block alcove know as Skills 3. That is until the teacher failed to show up at six, six thirty, seven o'clock. The chicken delivered from the store room was quickly approaching room temperature and there was no refrigeration in sight.
Now it's hard enough to turn out perfect plates to a teachers' standard who you've been with for four days, but throw me a German chef who I can barely understand and its like singing to a tone deaf man. Its useless to try to succeed.
The menu was as follows:
Pan Fried Pork in Sauce Robert with Collard Greens, Spatzle, and Glazed Beets
Beef Medallions in Chaussuer Sauce with Au Gratin Potatoes, Haricot Verts and Cauliflower Polanaise
Forget chef's directions and methods, the German has taken over and he is on a seek and destroy mission-- his battle cry:
"BEAT THE SPATZLE!"
"The potatoes are cut too early, cauliflower cannot be placed on a sheet pan, that is not how you clean a kitchen and you look sad."
"No chef, that's how my face is."
After seven hours of this impromptu German invasion, we're freed from his reign. You'd think someone would have come to check on us, the future of the culinary world, but no. There we were, in the trenches, fighting the garde manger teacher, spatula to spatula, trying to preserve the dignity of the Skills Three Kitchen.