“Why not to hire a singer to serve
food at your fancy restaurant”.
*It should be noted for anthropological
accuracy that only some of these events happened.
Thursday, 26th
of July, 2012 I arrived at work and was promptly informed by my
manager (somewhat righteously if I don't say so myself) that a food
critic would be having lunch at the restaurant today and that I would
be charged with giving them the utmost care and attention. I quickly
remind myself that I don't work in a brothel and breath a sigh of
relief that it simply means I have to serve them food. After which
something happened which most traditional Psychologist would probably
call a “semi psychotic episode” with a side of “transference”.
You see, dear anthropologist of the future (futurepologists), it's
been a while since I last had the opportunity to perform, to really
earn the respect and adoration of the critics, or anyone really since
I'm so popular most of the time.
The pre-show/ Pre-critic lunch
conversation with myself went a little like this:
“Holy shit, the crits are in, what
are my lines!???? Just be cool...you know what to say: Still or
sparkling water?....or maybe I should improv....Sir, would you care
for Water with oxygenated bubbles which are waaaaay overpriced, but
because of some very clever marketing campaigns in the 90's you now
think you can't eat your lamb without adding a little gassy quagmire
into your meal...trust me sir, or is it “Sire?” you'll end up
farting like a bastard if you choose sparkling...or maybe I should
emphasise the 'l' more when I say “still” to make it sound more
sexy and appealing....Stilllllllllllllllllee....or maybe I should
talk with an American accent the entire meal....or French....or
French Canadian just so people don't think I'm being racist.
Shittyfuck.
And then his holy grace lord the food
critic came in.
“Can I take your coat?”
He smiled and I took his coat.
Everything was cool. I just had to be cool. Be yourself and the
audience will connect with the true you. This is not the front row of
beginners broadway dance class when you're doing pirouettes, just
keep your head lady!! No need to run around the restaurant with your
t-shirt over your head, like you do in dance class, saying: “I'll
give you pirouettes!!!!” while decking all of the other diners/
Beginner Broadway dance class dancers in a rage because you just
can't turn left. It's going to be ok. You know your lines, you've
done this a million times before.
Act 1. The Amuse Bouche.
I took out the Amuse Bouche. Place it
on the table and announced:
“A complimentary Amuse Bouche for you
gentlemen...well, actually it's not complimentary, it's free, because
you're eating here for free aren't you, because, well you're a food
critic...anyway, it's a trout tar tar with seeded mustard, croutons
and something rather spicy which I can't remember, ...but on the top
it's garnished with “watermelon radish”...they crossed a
watermelon and a radish...it's um...(think of a fancy descriptive
word)..tasteless...(yesss, good work)”
The food critic looks up at me: “No,
a watermelon radish is variety
of radish. You can't cross a
watermelon and radish. Those two things can't have sex.”
My response: Oooh, you mean like a duck
and bear?
Food critic: Yes. What would you call
that? A “dear”
Me: No, a “buck”, rhymes with
“fu-la-citaionary-iction” Enjoy your meal.
I see the whole business as a
resounding success and piss off to the kitchen to retrieve the next
course. Huzzah!
ACT. 2. The Entree`
Me: “Gentlemen critic and his friend,
here we have a delightful entree of scallops with pork belly and
purple carrot puree.”
Critic: What did the chef use to colour
the puree...carrots aren't that purple.
Me: Yeah, he used purple carrot.
Food critic who owned restaurants with
Neil Perry: No, the outside of the carrots are purple, but the inside
is white.
Me: Maybe he just shaved off the
outside bits with a razor.
Food critic that owned restaurants with
Neil Perry: Not likely.
Me: I'm just going to leave it here
then.
*backs away while maintaining
professional eye contact.
Obviously the second Act is a little
shaky, but I'm pretty sure we'll get them in the third act.
My manager observes that they are
taking photos, we see this is a good sign.
Act 3 the Main Course:
Me: Gentlemen, we have a delectable
main course of duck, with many other things also on the plate at the
same time as the duck...I noticed you were taking photos of the
entree...would you, perhaps, like me to hold the plate...you know,
maybe have my hands in the picture, to add a little human interest?
Critic: No, that's not necessary, thank
you.
Me: What about if I'm just near it?
Critic: That's very kind, but no thank
you.
Critic then proceeds to take photos of
the duck and seasonal winter vegetables.....
Me: *slowly lower my face so that my
eyeballs are level with the plate...then slowly, subtly turn my face
to the side so that there is a perfect symmetry with my profile and
the plate of duck food. The critic stops taking photos as I do this,
which is fine, he probably got some really good shots already.
Meanwhile back in the kitchen the chefs
are curious as to what the critics think.
Chefs: How's it going?
Me: I think they like me.
Chefs: About the food?
Me: *stares at the chef,
expressionless.
Act 4, Finale`: Dessert
*Futurepologists,
it must be noted that in general I like to reveal my true identity to
patrons during the dessert. It might be because they are more drunk
by then and I think they might be more inclined to ask me to sit down
and join them for a drink, maybe it's my superhero complex... “Yes,
I have been serving you all night, but really I'm batman.”
By
desert I've really settled into my role. The cast and crew are
flying, everyone gets their place in the show as a whole unit. The
audience are with me. It's going great, we just have to rap it up and
send them home singing the Lion King Medley.
Me:
Gentlemen, for dessert we have a crème brulle tart....which involves
the best ingredient of all time. Custard.
Critic:
Ah, custard itself is not an ingredient.
Me:
Yes,...you are right. (Tries to think of what Maeve O'Mara would say
on “Food Safari”), you'll probably find this is a really well
balanced, intelligent dish...(and then I try and do a bit of an
orgasm-y face)
Critic:
Let me be the judge of that...
Me:
You are right in everything you say. Do you know what else is well
balanced?
Critic:
*no response.
Me: I
am. I like to warm up with a simple Bach cantata, follow it with a
stirring, yet upbeat Jazz rendition of Simon and Garfunkles “Are
you going to Scarborough Fair” wrapping it up with a Show Boat
Medley, just to show my versatility.
Critic:
*focuses on food in front of him and returns to conversation with
friend.
Me:
That's right, I am a singer! I'm not just a waitress people, I'm
actually a singer, yes it's true!
Critic:
*raises eyebrows, curiously unsmiling. “That's great, good for
you”.
I'm a
FOOD critic. I've owned 5 of Australia's best restaurants.
Me:
Nice one, so what would you give me... uut of five?
Critic:
I don't know how to answer that. I'm here to review the food.
I
retreat to the kitchen feeling awesome. Finally they know. They know
the true me. It's akin to the moment Louis Lane discovers Clark Kent
is Superman. As I sit in the kitchen eating left over chips I feel
like my foray back into the theatre world (while inside the
restaurant world) has been a resounding success. The critics,
presumably, are happy, no, rapturous with my performance. I have
balanced perfectly between my two identities, but, when it came to
crunch time, I put the food first, because in the restaurant world,
like in the theatre world, it's about the food/ art, not about the
waitress/ performer.
THE
END.
25-
50% of this is story is factual.
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