Cheffing Around

Thanks, but no thanks

New York City, 2014

“Y’know… I usssssed to be in catering…”

The tongue of this leathery blonde stranger lingered on a ginny ice cube before she took another swig from her rocks glass and leaned against the counter for support.

“It jusss got to be too much for my body. I’m into better stuff now…” Her voice was gravelly and deep, like a tired catering cowboy from the old west.

She must have seen me from across the room and knew this would be the perfect moment to remind me how hard my job was. I was a mess. My hair was frizzing out of my ponytail, eye makeup smeared, chef coat stained, and my energy tanking from not eating for hours. I wanted to tell this woman two things… that I’m a force of nature that will never be stopped by the failings of my body or mind; and that I’m so exhausted after a long day in the kitchen that I collapse into a useless heap of Alison the moment I get home.

I settled for, “Yeah, it can be really tough, but I LOVE what I do” in a singsongy voice that sounded over-rehearsed.

She reached over to the pile of cocktail napkins I had clumsily stacked and swirled them into the perfect fan.

“There ya go, sweetie,” she snorted with masterful passive aggression and moseyed back to the bar.

I had set myself up for disaster at that party because I hadn’t stood my ground when the hostess decided against hiring a server. It was just me vs. 25 hungry (some pregnant) women. I had no shot. The hostess had promised it would be a casual baby shower and that everyone would help, but when push comes to shove I can’t stand it when guests at a party I’m catering start bussing plates or glasses. It is my job after all. I always smile and say “Thanks, but I’ve got it”. 

I’m not stubborn (um…), I just like to do things the way I do them.

The party went well in the end. The mother-to-be and guests applauded when I said goodbye. Even the blonde raised a glass to me. I took a cab home, walked in the door, and collapsed. The dogs think this is my greatest trick and kiss me until I can barely breathe, which is a reward all on its own.

The following week, I made sure I was loaded for bear. This time, I was catering a cocktail party fundraiser. The clients rented glassware from my collection to save some money (rental companies charge astronomical fees) and I had my bartender help load the equipment, food, and glassware going to the party.

My team worked flawlessly – intuiting my needs every step of the way. By the night's end, I wasn’t thinking about the Advil waiting for me at home but how I could enjoy the rest of my evening. I hailed a cab, which my team helped me load and, since I still had a lot of energy, I knew I could manage unloading without anyone else.

There is a certain smell that emanates from a post-party chef that’s not like any other odor. It’s not all bad. It’s not b.o or not ALL b.o. It’s a fusion of fry and sauté and char and spices and onions and crab and chocolate and mayo and vinegar and frosting and coffee and dish soap. Yeah, it sounds gross, but I like to think of it as a depth-of-character bouquet. That being said, Martha Stewart isn’t making scented candles called “Cater Chef” any time soon.

I mention it because that night I had so much equipment in the cab that I had to sit up front with the driver. He seemed uncomfortable and I attributed that to the smell wafting off me. I’ve had my share of rides with cab drivers who smelled so rank that I breathed through my mouth the whole ride, so I didn’t feel guilty, but I have developed a great rapport with cabbies over the years and it felt strange to have this stiff silence. He didn't want to talk, didn't want to laugh, didn't want to look at me. Ah well, that's fine. I stared out the window, feeling strong and grounded. 

We got to my apartment building and I started unpacking the car. I had been working since 7:00 am that morning, and this was the final push. My muscles squealed and my head throbbed but I didn’t mind. I love that final exertion. Pain reads as an accomplishment to me. 

I was setting down the last two bags of equipment at my front door when I heard an explosive crash. I turned to see that the shy and quiet cab driver had suddenly decided to help with the last load and accidentally dropped 2 racks of glasses on the sidewalk in front of my building.

There were no words.

I was in shock.

He started to say that it wasn’t his fault and then ran to his car and peeled off my block faster than I’d ever seen a car go.

I hadn't asked him to help. I’d told him specifically that I could do it on my own. If I had known that he was going to leap in, I would have told him to be careful with the racks because I know them to be a little unsteady.

There I was a few minutes past 1:00 am, on my hands and knees carefully sweeping glass shards from the 20 rocks and 20 wine glasses shattered on the street when a man walked by.

"Oh wow, are you ok?  Can I give you a hand?" he asked, emphatically.

I looked up holding the dustpan and broom, smiling.

"No, that's alright. I've got it. Thanks though."

The man, closer now, focused on the big pieces of glass I was sweeping and changed his tone.

"Hey, clean this up! We have kids that play on this block!!!"

Huh. I wonder what he would have said if I’d taken him up on his offer to help?

“Yeah,” was the only response I could manage as I watched him scurry away.

Furious, frustrated, tired, self-pitying, I tried to glean the lessons as I swept. Something about being the boss, something about asking for help, something about sharing the load, something about,“DAMMIT!” I yelped as I cut my finger.

When I got upstairs, I could barely stand. Luckily, I had a few of these tartlets left and they lifted me the way only a cheesy, sweet, flaky pastry tidbit can. Somehow they reminded me to be grateful for my life and my wounds became badges.

These are SUPER easy, affordable, and very cute at parties.

You won't need any help at all.

BAKED BRIE CUPS WITH HONEY GARLIC SAUCE

Makes 15

INGREDIENTS

• 1 package frozen mini pastry cups

• ½ wedge of brie (about 4 ounces), rind trimmed off and cheese cut into ½ inch squares

• 2 tablespoons butter

• 2 teaspoons chopped garlic

• 2 tablespoons honey

• Salt to taste

• Parsley, chopped fine

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

2. Heat a small saucepan over medium heat.  Melt the butter and when the foam subsides, stir the garlic in and sauté for about 30 seconds.  Add the honey and let simmer for a minute or two.  Add salt to taste.

3. Place mini pastry cups onto a sheet pan, fill with squares of brie and 1/4 teaspoon honey garlic sauce.

4. Bake for 8-10 minutes, checking to make sure none of the cups have toppled over during the baking.

5. Sprinkle with chopped parsley and enjoy!