overheardinthekitchen

The truly vulgar, socially unacceptable, and wildly hilarious shit-talking that really goes on in professional kitchens. Please submit today's war stories to share with like-minded lunatics and other culinary professionals.

[overheardinthekitchen]

Nail Polish

No nail polish on cooks, thats a rule. That shit can flake off into food. But that doesn’t apply to servers.  

Scene: Female server with long ass nails comes to BOH.

Her: I’m fucking starving. Gimme some fries dammit [fry guy is terrified of her] [shoves bowl her way] [she eats fries]

Saute Girl: [leans under pass] Woman, how the fuck do you lesbian with those talons? 

Her: Duh. Strap-on. [dismissive gesture] [murder walks back onto the floor]

Few minutes later she is back.

Her: [to Saute Girl] Just so you know, after they snap off, my girlfriend gets scared. She know I’m gonna go to town on her asshole. [waves nails with a flourish] [murder walks back onto floor]

I used to joke that I wished I has the confidence of a mediocre white guy, but I am calmly reconsidering my goals.

[overheardinthekitchen]

Crazy Russian is trying to tell Grill Guy how to make the fried chicken.

Grill: Bro, if I wanted advice on how to make borscht or some pickled herring shit, I would ask you. But let’s face facts, I am a fat black man. A fat black man I tell you! The only thing on earth I am certain I can cook perfectly is motherfuckin fried chicken.

[iriswestsallen]

Women’s March around the world [January 21, 2016] 

[jasontoddawareness]

‘Is this where you tell me that there’s a secret branch of the Met whose task it is to tackle ghosts, ghouls, faeries, demons, witches and warlocks, elves and goblins…?’ I said. ‘You can stop me before I run out of supernatural creatures’. ‘You haven’t even scratched the surface,’ said Nightingale. ‘Aliens?’ I had to ask. ‘Not yet’.

Rivers of London,

Ben Aaronovitch (via

chatona

)

You have my attention.

(via rocket-pool)

Oh man this is such a badass book series, I can’t recommend it highly enough.

(via sunneinsplendor)

Saving for later

[powells]

Maybe you’ve never picked up a book on feminism. Maybe you have bookcases devoted to the subject. Either way, we wanted to share with you some of our favorite titles by contemporary feminists.

[overheardinthekitchen]

Spread the word.

[buzzfeed]

People In Antarctica Are Holding Their Own Women’s March

[overheardinthekitchen]

Today in Culinary Fuckery: On This Dark Day In American History

Grandpa The Ancient Jamaican Grill Guy started TrumpRant 2017 ™ at precisely 1p Eastern and was still going strong as I left the crew to head north to Chambers at 9:20p. He has taken shit-talking to an entirely new level never before seen in a north american kitchen of this size.

I’m a gonna take my Johnson and Johnson and wrap it around that Kellyanne Conway’s skinny little neck and strangle her stupid ass with it.

The Wall is already gettin’ built as I speak. By the Mexicans, just like he said. Except its gettin’ built to keep us dark brown motherfuckers out of Mexico! And the Canadian’s be buildin’ a wall too. Keep all you white people who voted for Hillary out as well!

You know I owe the tax man $2000 dollars?  By the time tax time come around, no more IRS. He gonna get rid of the whole ting. Then I am gonna hug him because no one come for my two tousand dollah ahahahahahahah!

Meanwhile, I got to play with my new plating bottle with a thousand syringes. I was showing the guys how to make patterns with it in the soup using parsley oil.  Apparently, Exec Sous is having a bit of a meltdown.

Me: Hey ES! Did you see my new toys?

Him: I don’t give a fuck about your toys. Unless I can use it to shoot up some fucking heroin.

Now I am drowning my sorrows in wine and mac and cheese as an adult Chef does on this dark day.

[sixpenceee]

These are creative kitchen accessories by Ototo!

[modisoperandi-deactivated201902]

Imagine using these on the line….

[texnessa]

Dish Guy: WHO THE FUCK MELTED THIS SHIT ONTO THE FUCKING FLAT TOP AND NOW I GOTTA SPEND TWO FUCKING HOURS SCRAPING THIS SHIT OFF.  FUCK.EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. OF. YOU. [boycotts actual dish cleaning for the next four days] [blasts cooks with the hose as they walk by like a monkey flinging poo at the zoo] [dripping with soap and ash] [marches into head chef’s office] [now makes more an hour than you]

[texnessa]

Today in Culinary Fuckery: BORED

We were super slow today because it was pouring down all damn day. We had another huge party in the afternoon but we were seriously mised out already. I had NOTHING to do so I picked herbs and stuck close to the grill just in case a random ticket came in.

Meantime, it was mutual Chef masturbation. This is when they demo dishes and then all run off to the Chef’s office together to taste things. Its a bunch of boys comparing dick size and I find it so stupid.  At one point, all three of them are debating adjustments to the kid’s menu- which is priced at $22 a head so its basically adult plating of kid style food. Head Chef presents these agreed upon dishes to the crew and invites us to comment.

Me: I think the replating on the grilled chicken and fries is good and the addition of ketchup is perfect because rug rats love them some dipping sauces. [general agreement from the hot line in murmurs] But the weird green crust on the baked ziti is not very kid friendly.

Chef: [blah blah blah excuses for something he has his heart set on and won’t listen to reason about so tries to justify this stupid weird green shit] Anyone else have any comments?

Wee Man: Chef, I got a ton of kids, and every one of the little fuckers is gonna scrape that green shit off. And none of them would eat a salad with that salmon. Some carrots and steamed broccoli, yeah, but lettuce? Hells no.

Head Chef: We’re keeping the salad.

I walk back onto the line and return to picking Alaskan King Crab legs with Other Saute Girl who suffers no fools.

Me: So, did we just get told we’re stupid by three Chefs who have zero kids between them?

Her: Apparently so. I just wanted to shout at them to make some fucking chicken fingers already and why not spaghetti and meatballs? I am so done.

I finally figured out what I hate so much about the way Asshole moves in the kitchen. His every gesture, every use of a knife, how he plates, he learned from watching cooking shows on TV. Its surreal. He has this idea of how a “Chef” looks and tries to mimic it at all times. I mention this theory to Wee Man.

Him: Its so fucking true. He loves that stupid shit man. He watch all those shows.

Me: How do I move in the kitchen?

Him: Like you want everyone to get the fuck out of your way or you will stab them so they run to get out of your way.

We were so slow I marched into the dish pit and calmly explained to them that the dirtiest place in the kitchen is the fucking place where we clean the fucking dishes so I would like that rectified during our down time. I usually get a bunch of attitude out of these guys but today was strangely different. One of them grabbed the step ladder and made the fucking steam cleaner gleam while another one detailed the sinks and then the ice machine. So proud. I am gonna send a note to the Chef about how good they were.

[overheardinthekitchen]

Crazy Russian is trying to tell Grill Guy how to make the fried chicken. Grill: Bro, if I wanted advice on how to make borscht or some pickled herring shit, I would ask you. But let's face facts, I am a fat black man. A fat black man I tell you! The only thing on earth I am certain I can cook perfectly is motherfuckin fried chicken.

[overheardinthekitchen]

Do you think Trump will give me a license to open a whorehouse in New York City? I'm gonna call it Fuck 'n Blownuts.- Grunklestan Grill Guy

[texnessa]

Today in Culinary Fuckery: I Have A Love Hate Relationship With Our Specials

By love hate, I mean hate hate. The Chefs order random proteins and then leave it up to the morning crew to figure out sides and garnish. Which is why we end up with these chimera sauces of shit like raw mustard seed and fig jam on a gorgeous veal chop.

I mean, I can make that shit look pretty but for fuck’s sake, why didn’t anyone make a fucking red pepper coulis for the crab cakes? Or at least blanche and toast the fucking mustard seed if they are too lazy to pickle them?

‘Roasted root vegetables’ were chopped up baby carrots from our normal side dish, some baby fennel and white beets. At least I caught it early and got them to dress that shit in a brown butter vinaigrette.

Ugh. So Exec Sous got told on by someone and he is desperate to know who did it. It wasn’t anyone on my crew but he felt the need to meet with everyone for a few minutes privately. All of them came back and told me I was going to be summoned. I guess after everyone told him to calm his fucking jets, he decided to not even bother to talk to me. Which disappointed me because I would have fucking ripped him in half for being so stupid to conduct a snitch hunt. Idiot.

I think he realized a few days ago that he had swung way too far into the AM crew and alienated the guys who have always been on his team- me and the pros who bang out the night shift. The other day he was pissed about a million call outs and got real fucking sarcastic with me. Me. Who came in early to cover for the call-out fuck ups. So I got in his face.

Me: [leans close and looks up into his big blue eyes] [quietly whispers so no one can over hear] Your sarcasm is acutely misdirected today.  Turn that shit on someone who isn’t me, pal.

I didn’t even wait for a reaction because yes, thats throwing a lot of attitude at a Chef. But he needs at least one adult around here who he can trust to tell him when he is off the fucking res. 

He came over to me right after I expedited the hell out of the lunch rush.

Him: So. I am leaving promptly at 4p. I leave you in charge. Banquet Chef will be here somewhere and I doubt he will bother to check in on you. In fact, I would be shocked. So if you decide to burn the kitchen down like Big Man did the other day, don’t bother telling him, just text me that you burned the place down.

Me: Oui Chef. I am your girl.

Him: [stops dead in tracks because he knows EXACTLY what i mean when I say that] [smiles] [high fives me] Thank you. I mean it.

Me: You better, you sarcastic bastard.

[overheardinthekitchen]

Our goal is to achieve the highest level of culinary and service standards without pretense, snobbery or presumption. Instead, every moment in our service pattern, every gesture we make, every ingredient we place on a plate, every drop of wine we pour in a glass, comes from an honest and genuine place. We are never called robotic, dry or insincere. This is not a job. It cannot be; it represents much more than that. Our ability to achieve these standards does not represent what we do, but who we are.

Michael Muser, co-founder of Grace

[sunneinsplendor]

Upstairs Sous: Why do you still work for the pit? You should come up and work with us!

Me: I would die in a week with you guys.

Upstairs Sous: Can’t handle the pace? It’s cool, we can ease you into it.

Me: I can handle the line. The amount of whiskey and cocaine I would need to start using just to keep up on a social level with you assholes would literally kill me.

Upstairs Sous: That….is probably fair. That said, if you ever need drugs, you know I can hook you up, right?

Me: I remember my dealer options around here, yes.

Upstairs Sous: …….seriously, you just wanna be a prep cook at the pit?

Me: I’m making 16 an hour working a shift with absolutely no oversight for a boss with not a fuck to be had as long as we don’t go over a 40 hour work week, WHY would I give that up?

Upstairs Sous: ………….When you get bored I’m stealing you.

[texnessa]

Today in Culinary Fuckery: MOTHERFUCKER

In a professional kitchen, swearing and shit talking are an Olympic fucking sport. If a civilian walks in and overhears us, they usually think we are about to beat the shit out of each other. And my current kitchen is populated by some of the most seasoned, decorated and committed shit talkers of all time.

We were a man down on the line again today so it was musical fucking stations between me, Big Man and random passersby who we would shout at to jump in if we got a bunch of tickets. It was slow but steady from start to finish. 

At one point I was so bored I fucked off and started to mise out double chocolate banana bread so Big Man jumped over to grill. We got a VIP table and Head Chef and Exec Sous came rushing in because it was some super duper impOtent person and apparently we are a case of fuck ups so they stood there staring at us while we worked.

One of the dishes was a scallop special. Big Man pointed to it and then to me. I was confused and looked it.

Big Man: [leans over and whispers in my ear] They won’t fuck with you about it. But they will me so you make the scallops.

Me: What do you mean?

Big Man: They trust you. They don’t trust me.

Me: Bullshit.

Big Man: Little Doggie, they never seen me work the grill before. Remember, they always off on Mondays when you and I switch.

Me: Holy fuck. That never occurred to me. I got you Doggie. I am Scallop Girl. Watch me sear!

We cleared the board so I made the damn banana bread. It was fucking delicious. I was inviting the FOH asshats to have some as well as our last ticket came in.

Big Man and I both looked at it at the same time.

Us: MOTHERFUCKER.

Lamb well done? That’s 35 minutes in the fucking oven. 

Me: Whoever ordered that, I hope they get a splinter. And it gets infected.

Big Man: [raises eyebrow at me]

Me: On the tip of their dick.

Big Man: That’s my girl.

PS. Please check out Smitten Kitchen. Her recipes are brilliantly tested and her lit agent is a friend of mine so please to support my people!

[overheardinthekitchen]

Today in My Sous Is An Idiot

He was going through old mise on the fry station he was forced to work because someone called out.

Him: Hey, is there a 31st of December?

Me: Huh?

Him: Is there a 31st in the month of December?

Me: Yep. At least since we adopted the Gregorian calendar in the 1500′s.

Him: Smart ass.

Me: Emphasis on the smart of course.

And this is the guy they put in a position of power......

[overheardinthekitchen]

Exec Sous: [complaining to Head Chef] She threatened to cock punch me if I call her Old Lady again.

Head Chef: Then I strongly suggest you don’t call her Old Lady again. Unless you enjoy being punched in the cock.

Me: [smugly staring deep into Exec Sous’ eyes]