If you don't like the chef, wait 5 minutes. It'll change.

In classic Cape Cod fashion, the weather has been unpredictable. Today for instance, it was predicted to rain, heavily. As 2pm rolled around and the sun had been out since morning, I decided to hit the beach for a quick walk. By the time I drove down and parked, the wind changed direction, the sky darkened, and, right on cue, the rain began to fall. A for effort though.

The shitty weather has affected business at the restaurant as well. It’s not quite as busy as it was last year at season open. This affects me adversely as the Sushi Chef called just hours before the start of my shift telling me the boss told him I wouldn’t be needed. Hence the impromptu beach trip. The restaurant industry is unpredictable like that; the over-used simile of restaurant as theater is true, and in the restaurant business, if there aren’t enough theater-goers, some of the actors get cut. Despite being cut, I’ve worked hard this week and proved myself to the sushi chef. Proved not that I can roll sushi, but that I am a proper cook. In order to prove oneself in the kitchen, you must do three things. First, work and stop working only when your superior stops, or tells you to stop. Second, be quick about whatever you do, and third, and perhaps most importantly, demonstrate enough arrogance to send the signal “just leave me alone and let me work.”

It’s funny how things can change so quickly in a restaurant. When I arrived for my first shift this week, I noticed the executive chef was missing. I felt a slight change in the dynamic of the kitchen. People seemed slightly untethered; nervous, but lifted. Most nights I would go in and the executive chef would be barking out orders or yelling about how the dirty dishes weren't organized properly. She was pushy and was devoid of people skills, always yelling at people to stop talking during service. Needless to say, she was not particularly popular. Around 5pm, at the start of service, I ran into a line cook I had worked with last year and who had just come back for the season. I asked him, “Where’s the head chef?” He just laughed and said with his southern drawl, “Oh, you weren’t here on Sunday, were you?” I didn’t have the time to get into it, balancing a hotel pan of vegetables over my head, but I didn’t have to. I figured she was gone. Later I got the story from another line cook; she had insulted the sous chef and yelled at two other line cooks last Sunday after service and half the kitchen threatened to give notice. The next day she was told to “pack her knives and go.” Like I said, unpredictable.