May I?

Over the course of the past couple of months, there has been a bit of a spotlight shining on to the restaurant worker community. Essentially, a Red River student created a book for a project that asked some local chefs to tell her "uncensored" tales of working in a kitchen. One local chef wound up in a jam about what he spoke about. I'm not interested in getting into that - not my business. However, I do want to talk about behaviour by restaurant workers.

Let me preface this discussion by saying I grew up in a feminist workplace. For ten years, I worked in a unionized, left-wing, feminist, health care facility. Loved it! Loved my co-workers. Loved working in this very safe, highly protected work environment. There were days of dark humour born out of the life and death situations we found ourselves processing but there certainly was always very respectful behaviour amongst staff and clients.

Then I came to work at a restaurant. Wow. I'm not in Kansas anymore. First of all, we are in a tiny workspace. I have to say that the amount of bodily contact in a night would make anyone blush. What can you do? Sometimes you can't get pass another person or reach for a bottle without some inappropriate touching! And, the language! I have become the queen of the f-bomb. I talk like I was raised by sailors! And then there are the jokes and put-downs. Got to have tough skin and be able to laugh at yourself or you'll never survive. I always use to admire that Alex can so easily laugh at himself but now I get it: he grew up in a restaurant. Now, I too have that skill. Essentially, it's a brutal environment: you are hot, tired, and inevitably someone has treated you like something they found on the bottom of their shoe, running for about 10 hours at a go. And, SMILE! (Not every day is like this but every day has at least one of those elements.) Add into all of this, the predominantly 15 year old boy support staff and you have a recipe for some very basic humour.

I have to admit, I was shocked by it all at first. I am now acclimatized.

Here's the interesting thing, tho. The piece that hasn't been talked about in the FreeP or the Guardian. During service, restaurants work on an age-old system of basic respect. Everyone says, "May I?" before speaking to you. Servers run each others' food, bussers hustle to clear tables, cooks make beautiful meals for their co-workers, shifts are covered, cooks call each other 'brother' and when they are in the shit, they mean it. Sometimes people comment on how long we keep staff. And we really do. We've had people with us since the beginning. We're small and started with no money so they haven't been staying for their stellar salaries. The environment at Bistro is very familial. We are there to take care of each other. It is amazing how sweet and kind we can be to each other and to the customers. That's very important to me. But just like siblings on the playground, when we play it can be ugly!

So, yes, restaurants breed rude and inappropriate behaviour in their staff. And, yes, restaurant workers are some of the sweetest, hardest-working, most respectful people I have ever met.

beer

The other day, I had a talk with myself. This is, fortunately or unfortunately, not a rare event. On this particular occasion, I was giving myself a talking to.

Here's the thing: I like to be helpful. I like to have a purpose. I like to aid the project along. And so, when things are jumping at the bistro, I will sidle up to people and offer to get them a drink. Most of the time, this is not a problem. They say, "Sure, I'll have a caesar or a vodka martini extra dry," and I toddle off to create it.

However, sometimes, people say, "Sure, what kind of beer do you have?" Now, at that moment, I panic. Complete despair. 'I don't know' I whine in my head. And then I rattle off a few different beers that I know we carry: Fort Garry Pale, Fort Gary Dark, Stella, and then on into others like Half Pints, Leffe, Heineken. Of course, the person responds with: "Great, I'll have a St. James Half-Pint" And off I go to the beer fridge, muttering a prayer of hope that we actually have the beer that I have suggested we might. More often than not, Murphy's Law kicks in and we don't have the beer they order from me and I have to go back and try again. Including trying really, really hard to memorize what beers we actually DO have.

There are three things: One is I don't drink beer. I really love beer but I cannot drink it as I'm allergic to tyramines which are found in beer. This means that I can't remember the names of the beer beyond a very few specific ones. If I don't drink them, I can't remember their names (a learning style issue, I'm sure.) Second, I don't stock the beer fridge so I have no idea what we have and what we are out of. Third, we are a tiny restaurant and don't have a ton of storage space so if a party of 10 people focus on one beer, they will blow through the two cases we started the night with and I won't necessarily know.

All of this translates into my knowledge of the state of beer at the bistro at any given moment being pretty dismal. And yet, I keep pretending like I know. Hence, the talking to. And the fessing up: I will no longer pretend to know what beer we have even though I feel like a spaced out goof when I say to a customer that I will have to get a server to list them. The price of being honest.

significant moments

There are moments in time that feel significant. Moments where you think to yourself: Well, that's going to change my life. Tonight, I had such a moment.

Five years ago, I had such a moment. I should preface this by saying that I am an intuitive gal (and I believe that this is an important part of people - yeah, I know, it can flaky and weird but it works for me). I rely on my gut, a lot! So, five years ago I was sitting in my tent trailer at my uncle's property near Clear Lake reading the newspaper and I saw a pencil drawing of the building at 725 Osborne St. and I knew that this moment was a biggie. I called Alex on his cell (he was still at work and going to join us later in the week) and said, "I found it." He knew what I meant. He called the landlord and the rest is Bistro 7 1/4 history.

Tonight, I had a moment. I sat in a meeting with two chefs and a friend and thought, "Well, there you go." Many of you know that Alex and I are constantly curious and working on multiple projects at a time but tonight was a meeting with a significant weight.

We'll see what happens but I am excited to be on yet another adventure!

the news to now...

I apologize for not writing more recently. It has been a crazy few weeks! First, I turned 40 which felt significant. I'm still processing that one although I sense my forties are going to be good to me. One of the advantages of owning a restaurant is that you can use it to host parties on occasion and so Alex threw me a fabulous birthday party! Thank you to all the staff for working so hard to create wonderful food and a lovely evening for me. Thank you to all my friends and family (my sister flew in from Vancouver!) for celebrating such a important event with me.

Next we flew off to Montreal for a couple days of rest and relaxation (read: catching up on sleep and eating incessantly.) Aside from two overnight trips to Grand Forks, Alex and I have not had a holiday since our week off last January so we seem to be trying to create more space for play (as the work piece is intensifying - see below.) Okay, every time I go to Montreal, I wonder why I don't live there. I love the urban nature, the metro, the restaurants and the markets make me want to weep. I love the French culture, the in-your-face, of-course-I'm-right, let's-have-a-drink-and-laugh craziness of it all (for those who don't know, I am half French Canadian). We ate ridiculously yummy food, mostly involving Au Pied de Cauchon restaurant and the markets. We bought fresh chickpeas, sausage from Ile-de-Madeleine and the most glorious cheese imaginable. My favourite is called Le Secret, a runny, oozing, melt in your mouth bit of joy (my girlfriend and I call it 'cheese puddle'). The cheese list at the restaurant takes up half the chalkboard and is being gobbled up by appreciative cheese lovers! I know Alex is going to write more about the food in his blog.

Next, we are heading to Toronto with our kids for some quality time with Alex's extended family. And, to shop for kitchen items (we need a quail egg cutter - who knew?) and food! In her retirement, Alex's aunt Inara took a part-time job at The Cheese Boutique. Of course, this is one of the few members of Alex's family that isn't obsessed with food so there is a fair bit of irony in that. Anyway, we'll be spending lots of quality time with Inara shopping for cheese! We also plan on checking out Mark McEwan's new market/restaurant, going to our friend Joanne's restaurant Relish, and heading to the Black Hoof for some offal and other nasty bits. If anyone has any suggestions for food stores or restaurants, please pass them along.

We are also planning trips to Brandon for the Royal Winter Fair (I love the fair, horse jumping and pig displays rock my world) and then to Vancouver in May to see our family and friends there. I haven't even begun to wrap my head around the food possibilities of that trip yet.

In between all of this, we have begun the process of planning the folk festival (yeah!!!) and our expansion (yeah?). I joke. Of course we are excited about the expansion of our restaurant to include a lounge and a private party room (and city planners willing, a patio) however I am not so daft as to not recognize the mountain of work involved in that process! We have drawings, we almost have a prospectus done and we are in negotiations with the landlords to take over the space next door. It's exciting and terrifying all at once. I will continue to update on the progress of this project.

As for the Folk Festival: full steam ahead! We are going to have a building to cook in this year. The design (Syvverson Monteyn) is fantastic but I will be a little bit sad to let go of my tent in the bush. There is something very empowering about saying that you cooked dinner for 5000 people in a tent in the bush. We are working on the menus (so if you have any desires/suggestions/needs, say them now), planning our guerilla kitchens (popping up next to you at any given moment), Alex's mainstage act, maybe some wine pairings, and a few surprises, too!

So, off to work and play I go!

The long distance reso

I am out and about today, running errands, schlepping children to activities, tending to life and an event occurs that takes place about once a week: someone recognizes me and tries to book a reservation.

When we first opened and this would happen (occasionally people would call us at home, strangers as well as friends, and do the reservation that way), I would happily agree to the reservation and remember to write it down when I got to work. I guess a few things have changed since then. Every night, we have multiple reservations for every table and so knowing what is available can be daunting. The other challenge is that I now have to remember 5000 pieces of information; the quantity grew exponentially as the restaurant grew. I often feel like my thoughts are like sticky-notes with no stick left. I have no place to put them and they just fall off.

So, I try to be gracious about resos taken on the fly but I really cannot remember what we have available for Tuesday, February 16th. I also can't be trusted to remember to put your reservation in the book unless I am standing in front of it with a pencil in my hand.

Of course, I can remember the really important things like what the woman on table 4 was drinking last Thursday. Oh well, better than nothing I suppose.

What's in a name?

On average, I think I meet ten new people every day. There are days when it is only a few but most days it is many people. Or, I re-meet people: someone I met three months ago, I am reintroduced to. Now, 3 years ago, if you had asked me, I would have said, "Oh yeah, I'm great at remembering peoples' names, no problem." Now, I stare blankly at my best friend and think, "Wait, give me a minute, I'll get it."

I have been thinking about ways to up my stats. I want a better average in remembering. Maybe I should get one of those brain games for my kids Nintendo systems. Or, maybe I'll up my intake of brain foods like spinach, soy beans and chocolate (I know, I know, wishful thinking...) I read in the paper this week that weight-lifting increases your brain capacity. I love lifting weights, I love having pipes, so that'll be easy.

Often, we use a team approach at the restaurant. The servers will caucus to quickly discuss what someone's name is. Sometimes it is a brief moment because one of us remembers right away. Other times, it is a little debate and squabble and we disagree. So, if you see us having a little moment, you know what we are up to.

I do have my own techniques, it's just that they seem to be faltering from the high pace of incoming information! I love mnemonic devices and have used them often. In fact, I used a mnemonic technique just this weekend when I met a couple who were at the restaurant for the first time: David and Jennifer. So, in my head, I thought: okay, David and Jennifer, David and Jennifer, Dan and Lisa. Crap. How am going to remember their names? (They very clearly said they would be back and I believe them, they loved it!) Oh, I know, we have regulars that come every Saturday for lunch and were the first table cooked for in 2010: Dave and Jennifer. It's the same, I can do this.

Of course, this whole stream of thinking is going on while I'm talking to these new folks and I fear I seem like an idiot! I am also keenly aware of one being a Dave and the other a David. I just now that is going to trip me up. When the new couple comes back I know I am going to stand, looking at them and smiling, silently panicking as I search my brain for their names and have a fight with myself about wether it is Dave or David.

It's hard to explain how important it is to me to remember people's names and stories. Actually, I have an easier time remember their stories. That relationship moment is incredibly important to me and it drives me crazy that I lose a piece of it (the name) the moment I walk away.

I think my new plan is I'm going to take photos of people as they come in and carry around a binder with people's information in it.

Or, I'm going to hand out name tags. I don't think anyone will object.

Really?

Tonight was busy, very, very busy.  Surprisingly so.  We had thought that it was going to be slow but we were wrong.  We had thought we would make a 10:20 movie but we were wrong about that, too.  It was fun, lots of interesting people (thank you to the lovely woman from the U.S. who talked about my blog...)

At about 7:30, when things were really hopping, a gentleman came in the door.  I asked him if he had a reso, he said no and asked if he could have a seat for one.  I apologized, pointed to my crazy, football playbook looking map, and let him know that I wouldn't have room until 9:45.  To which he responded, "You aren't letting me come in because I looked at your breasts.  And now that you aren't letting me in I'm going to look at them again.  And, once more on the way out."  Then he left.

Really?  Okay.  

Alex says I should have introduced him to my big husband who is in charge of flames and knives...