Tuesday 24 November 2020

Rishi Knows Best


Can you believe that back in January MY BIGGEST CONCERN  for the business was how many logs get chucked on the fire on a daily basis??

 At least we have another memorable summer to keep us going, maybe we can forget about the long hot summer of  '76 now....

The heady days of THE FIRST lockdown which we settled into quite nicely after the first couple of weeks  seems like a lifetime ago.The transition from running the pub to a life of no structure brought with it a weird sense of grief and lack of purpose which I don't mind admitting I struggled with at first.

Chef, however, was like a pig in shit from day one, we got stuck into the garden, enjoyed long walks and YES took the wonderful weather for granted.

The highlight of the week became Gardeners World, I say this genuinely-I can't remember anticipating anything so much since:  live from Norwich it's the quiz of the week it's *drum roll* The Sale of the Century'...A show which led me to believe Norwich to be a very glamorous place, a fact which was later confirmed when I found out Delia lived there.

I digress..

Is there anything as soothing as the pause to hear the birds tweeting in the Jewel Garden followed by Monty's dulcet tones?

Nope thought not, gardening is definitely good for mental health.

All good things come to an end though and just as I was thinking we've got until September at least, Rishi gave us a two week green light to get the show on the road again.

There was a 45 page Government guideline document to trawl though, much of which was open to interpretation due to the 'wherever possible' clause tagged onto the end of each recommendation, which  the requisite Risk Assessment for reopening the business was drawn up from.

We didn't open on the first weekend.We weren't really sure what to expect but I was SHIT SCARED , I hadn't been around the public for three whole months.

We'd planned to keep some staff on furlough part time but within a week we had everyone back and had employed three additional staff.

Things were chugging along quite nicely, consistently busy every day, business was better than we could have ever hoped and for the first time in my long career in hospitality people were stunningly FLEXIBLE.
At first I thought I'd misheard as I took the first call from a customer requesting a prime 8pm slot, usually people are so specific about time and often will not accept a reservation with even 15 minutes deviation from their preferred time, and even if they do accept a slightly different time they will still turn up at the time they'd asked for in the first place.Anyway, we were pretty booked up already and wanting to keep the kitchen happy with the spacing out of the bookings and having been away from the show for three whole months and wanting to kind of ease everyone else (me) in fairly gently too, I replied:
'I'm very sorry we can't do 8pm, the only time I have available is 4.45pm'
With no hesitation WHATSOEVER came the response
'We'll take it'
And they were GRATEFUL to boot.
Reader,I could not believe my ears, they even THANKED me for fitting them in for a nursery teatime slot when what they were after was a grown up dinnertime.
I ran straight through to the kitchen to report the news:
YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT HAS JUST HAPPENED
'Bloody Hell' said Chef looking up briefly from the chip production line.
What I assumed to be a one off turned out to be a repeating pattern.People were so desperate they would accept widely ranging times and our plan to address the thirty covers down inside table deficit by offering the full menu all day, thus spreading the bookings out over the afternoon, WAS BLOODY WORKING a goddamn treat.
So much so that we decided to cap the bookings and do last orders at 8pm and *win* no more hanging around on a Monday night for a 9pm booking.
There was a creeping realisation that what we were experiencing was a definite shift in power.I was frightened to acknowledge it at first in case I jinxed the situation but after two weeks of controlling the bookings in a way I'd not seen anywhere before we actually became quite, well I wouldn't say blasé, but quite confident about not being able to defer to diners first choice of times.I no longer had the inner voice of doubt that's niggled me throughout my working life that made me incur the wrath of the kitchen (it's  always a glitch on the booking platform eh?) by squeezing people in at a time as close to their request as possible in case they ended up not coming.
Kitchen/FOH relations were at an all time high.
I'm not saying the customer (and I say customer not guest-a guest is someone for whom I will pick up the tab, not someone who has entered into a financial contract whereby we provide a paid service and therefore there are certain expectations to be met by both sides.Also BTW a guest will not come into your home and start rearranging the furniture.. I REST MY CASE..) is no longer king, but I think this shift is important on many levels and might just signify a new era of equality for those of us working in the industry.
Anything that makes people realise the intrinsic VALUE of the hospitality industry can only be beneficial in the long term especially at a time when people need to understand the cost of serving food in a restaurant setting.Respect on both sides is not too much to ask for is it? 
As someone said to me recently, the tail has been wagging the dog for TOO LONG.

Let's hope it lasts.
Dream on...


Then came Eat Out to Help Out.

As if being confined to quarters for three whole months wasn't enough incentive for people to get out and about, who knew that the great British public's appetite for a bargain, specifically a maximum of ten pounds sterling per person, would have them chomping at the bit like Dominic Cummings on the last day of the Specsavers 2 for one offer.

IT WAS AN ABSOLUTE SHITFEST FROM DAY ONE.

We had to stop answering the phone..it  rang incessantly so I recorded a message to say we were too busy to answer and directed people to our on line booking platform to make a reservation.This was a huge relief until people started turning up in person without a reservation to tell us that our on line system was broken.

'We did try to book but your booking system isn't working'

IT'S WORKING PERFECTLY, ITS NOT ALLOWING YOU TO BOOK BECAUSE THERE IS NO AVAILABILITY...😬

We prayed for nice weather every day so that we could maximise use of the garden and catch up on the the three months lost prime trading time that generally gets us through the winter months.

As fast as money came in it flowed out like a bloody drain.
Everything started to break, in the first four weeks:
  • Our coffee machine
  • A double fryer
  • Robot coupe
  • telephone
  • Kitchen Extraction
No to mention the PPE, sanitiser stations, masks and additional FOH aprons purchased due to the increased daily boil washing in line with the Covid precautions, no getting two days out of anything. AND MY GOD how I wish I had shares in Blue centrefeed roll..

Then, HORROR during the height of EOTHO and  after we'd downloaded the APP which worked out the discount on each individual bill, our till system started to run painfully slowly
The discount wasn't as straightforward as you might think, and as expected the great British public weren't that sure how it worked either..most were fixated on the ten pounds discount regardless of what they'd spent.
One couple ordered two meals then asked for a spare plate for their grandchild and when it came to settle up expected a ten pounds discount for the empty plate:
'But our grandson ate too ?'
YES BUT YOU ONLY ORDERED HIM A PLATE..
Did anyone else interpret a plate as a diner? 
I fleetingly wondered if they'd brought another two grandchildren we'd potentially be in negative territory and could end up owing them cash..
After three months spent in the garden at home I was grateful for some continuing decent weather and enjoyed frequent trips outside to our bursting at the seams garden.
In the early days, on one of these reconnaissance trips, a dead ringer for Bob Hoskins at the height of his 'its good to talk' period called me over and cheerily asked if he was allowed a coffee top up.
Buoyed by the confidence of the new and hitherto unseen flexibility of the diners I kind of pushed my luck.
"I can bring you another coffee' BEAM. Note intonation of 'another' indicating a fresh order and not an extension of an already supplied good/service..
His wife shuffled uncomfortably in her seat and laughed self consciously, despite clearly being out for the bargainous  discount on offer, nobody wants to be seen as a cheapskate.
I laughed and could see he was playing along.
"Nice try- but we've been closed for three months.. '
They both laughed,I went to fetch the fresh (charged for) coffee and gave him an extra complimentary Speculoo for being so understanding.
My generosity knows no bounds.
Pride cometh before a fall though..
The till continued to play up and of course anyone working in hospitality will know that nothing ever goes wrong on a Monday.., so on a VERY BUSY prime day the little circle of dots that chased each other slowly round the terminal screen whilst information was loading up, became an increasingly unwelcome and regular feature.
I made sure my new Day Carer was always on the bar in case I had any issues with making out detail on the bills, new glasses plus the visors we were wearing were too much together so one had to go and unfortunately it was the Geps.
We were finding the visors marginally better than masks due to the median age of the customers and with the lip reading being a necessity rather than a luxury and LORD we all want to  keep our distance and avoid people shouting forcefully in our faces to make themselves heard in these times..
The other unique and unexpected advantage of the visor was the Hannibal Lecter effect.No dipping in the chip tray on the frequent kitchen pick ups, which was a notable blessing due to the surplus lbs amassed over lockdown.
`Every cloud eh?
 And of course a greasy splodge on your front windscreen, however humorous to witness, was not an aspirational look on any of us.
Cue more blue roll..

The culmination of EOTHO was of course the dreaded August Bank Holiday Monday.
Regular readers may well be aware of the carnage invariably unleashed on these days.

The day started badly as I pulled on my favourite bouncy trainers in anticipation of the marathon ahead ,I mean that literally, in some of the preceding days I'd clocked up over 25k ( that's kilometres not readies btw no trip to the Maldives on the cards just yet thankyou ).
Anyway, you know when you pull on your shoes and sometimes your sock gets riddled up in the toe?  At this point normally I would have taken off the shoe and straightened out my sock but I was running late and had an armful of baggage already so I leaned down, grabbed the sock at the back of my ankle and pulled hard whilst wiggling the toes to smooth things out.
We've all been there, no?
*Perfect.
(*I will come back to this later..)
I took the traditional group photo of the staff prior to service.
Some hadn't worked a Bank Holiday before, never mind potentially the busiest one ever.I glanced wistfully at the photo before I uploaded it to Instagram and felt a pang of guilt when I noticed the enthusiastically naive smiles, full of trust and eager anticipation.
As usual there were diners in the garden prior to opening, the weather was glorious(as if people needed any further incentive)and we were definitely in for a 'heap lie on' sort of day.
The Larder Chef, having a clear view through the porthole in the regulation fire retardant kitchen 'out' door, through to the garden beyond, called me over just prior to the opening of the floodgates.
(Incredulously):Have you seen the size of the bloke on table 27??
I peered over.
I was more concerned with the fact that the party had spread themselves out over three premium six seater tables than his considerable girth and was working out how the ensuing conversation I might have with him would pan out.
Chef brushed past on the way to the pot wash with an armful of pans in the final leg of his pre service clean down of the decks and with only a cursory glance outside, and without even looking up from the task in hand, made the usual quip:
'I haven't got enough food for him'
I must have heard this one a million times over the years but oldies are always goodies eh? And thank the Lord our God for small nuggets of humour in the face of adversity however un PC they may be..
I had a little giggle then headed out to explain in simple terms to the party of 8 whom we'd generously allocated two tables, the logistics of them then not commandeering a further table of 6 thus taking up 18 seats when in reality they were only 8, and despite the fact that one of them was indeed currently taking up three whole seats for himself.. 
Sigh.

The infinite circle of spinning dots on the till was mesmerising me for notably longer than usual whilst the immaculately socially distanced queue to pay backed like a disjointed conga for as far as the eye could see, which in my case was not that far..
It's funny how easily people have become acceptant of queueing as a way of life.
My day carer checked in on me.
'Biff what are you waiting for?'
I looked over despondently, with bong eyes as vacant as a flatfish that's been quietly aging in the freezer for a couple of days. 
'The will to live?'

Self portrait


Just then miraculously the screen sprang to life.
I managed to extricate myself from the bar at the earliest opportunity but five minutes later I could hear my name being called again.
Overly dramatic sing sing voice:'Biff oh Bi...iff ,would you mind just going through how the discount works with this gentleman ?You're much better than me at explaining....'
GRRR.
Now maths is not particularly my forte (or even my fifty come to that) however with even a very brief scan of the bill it was GLARINGLY obvious what the craic was.The total spend was £58, the discount was £12.Crucially the majority of the spend was on BOOZE and whilst  we all know that Rishi sensibly drew the line at subsiding Joe Public's alcohol intake, try explaining this shiz in simple terms to someone who already has the £10 sterling discount per person prominently fixed in their beer goggles.
Picture the scene if you will:
  • Queue at the bar backing up by the minute
  • Day carer twitching to intervene with some carefully chosen expletives
  • A sudden and increasingly more urgent need to visit the ladies having tried several times already but  having been repeatedly pipped to the post 
  • Kitchen bell ringing frantically 
  • Glasses on the bar stacking up from arsehole to breakfast time
After several minutes making absolutely no headway whatsoever I made an on the spot executive decision, dipped into the burgeoning tip jar and without a word handed over the disputed £8. 
(Don't worry it was all in small change, not being great with numbers is not indicative of any impaired mental capacity)😂

The phone continued to ring incessantly, but we never picked up.
Well almost never....
Some fool happened to notice the same number repeatedly on the caller display and imagined someone getting increasingly frustrated with the lack of a pick up or maybe it might be a cancellation (which Lord we could do with now) so in a moment of weakness and glaring stupidity picked up.
'Hello (insert pub name) how may I help?'
'Can I book a table please?'
'Yes of course-how many are you?'
'Five people'
'And when for please?'
'20 minutes time'
'Oh.I'm very sorry we're fully booked today'
'WELL WHY DIDN'T YOU FUCKING SAY SO IN THE FIRST PLACE..(Jesse Pinkman voice)...BITCH'
*click*
😳

*Much later, to be exact sixteen hours later having just kicked off the trusty steeds which had tirelessly ferried me back and forth all day without respite, I happened to notice a strange black staining on the toe area of my left sock.
I peered down in confusion.
Only the one sock.
Weird.
I ripped the sock off, the second toe was a greyish white colour, the flesh soggy, wrinkled and dead looking, exactly like a virgin potwasher's hands after a first Saturday night shift.
I grabbed the trainer and thrust my hand inside and when my fingertips came into contact with something cold and clammy I knew instinctively what had happened.
 Chef appeared just as a silent tear plopped slowly from my quivering chin.
Can you get rid of the slug in my trainer please...
*SOB*
We both gazed over at the trainer and would you believe it the abomination was unbelievably STILL ALIVE and currently making a break for freedom over the heel despite having been impaled on the end of my toe for sixteen long hours.
It's not often Chef is lost for words.
ME:'Slugs carry meningitis you know'
CHEF (shiftily):' I think you''d better get in the shower..'



SIXTEEN HOUR SLUG SOCK



And if that isn't a perfect metaphor for the current state of the hospitality industry I don't know what is...



* NEXT INSTALMENT : THE BOTTOM DROPS OUT OF THE MARKET.......
















THE CHRISTMAS NIP

  You know what I’m unexpectedly missing in this weirdest of all runs up to Christmas? The drop ins from friends ,family, suppliers, custom...

favourite posts