When I think back on the entirety of my working career, I really went to work stoned.
A lot.
When you are a young chef candidate, you are crushing long hours with other young hopefuls, and guess what?
Every one of them is high.
Once you attain a level of autonomy and say-so in an operation, it is even worse.
I recounted once how my Food and Beverage Manager at a major hotel-casino admonished me for not having enough scotch in my office bar. He wanted me to spend less time penny pinching and more time schmoozing with the high rollers and VIP guests (in-room or balcony gourmet meals and private parties).
This is where I met an English comedy superstar who was beloved by millions.
“His people” had visited me in my office (for scotches, of course), and BH had requested me to make him a staple of his homeland, the Empire.
His request was Caesar salad, French cauliflower cream soup with fried pancetta bits and crumbled Stilton cheese, mutton, roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, tomato concasse, raspberry ice cream, and warm Bird’s custard with blackcurrant sauce.
Piece of cake.
I actually grew up on exactly those same foods in my youth spent in the midlands of England.
I insinuated myself into his room under the guise I was the Executive Chef and had to supervise the kitchen porters as they set up the tableside service. I also had a portable freezer unit for the sole purpose of chilling salad plates and forks and keeping sorbets firm.
He was sitting in a large overstuffed chair surrounded by two tall, gorgeous blondes.
Very Las Vegas.
He started to rise, but settled for a handshake. We spent the next twenty minutes or so, talking about football and our favorite players. We also chatted about shows on the English telly.
He was very passionate about his football, and quite knowledgeable about the game and the different players.
When his party left (they occupied the entire floor), one of the kitchen porters handed me a sealed envelope.
I kept the note he scribbled for almost seventeen years, and it read, “Thanks for the great dinner. Reminded me ever so much of home.”
—Benny Hill
The envelope contained five thousand dollars.
It was the last I would ever see him again and I was saddened when he passed.
As soon as I crossed over from back of the house operations into management, getting stoned wasn’t an option. I took my responsibility to improve the lives of those who worked hard for me day in and day out very seriously.
However, as soon as the clock struck the magic hour, I was off to a bar for several before heading home for more of the same.
My “retirement job” was as an Academic Advisor for what once was the largest online university in the world.
I was stoned every day, and I had to finally leave to try and regain some semblance of sobriety. That and the fact that I had fulfilled my commitment to the Domestic Despot by going back to work so I would “get your ass off the couch and quit watching reruns of Family Matters. Go. Do anything.”
However, it wasn’t until I started singing along with the canned audience and the theme song that pushed her over the top.
I still have fond memories of that last job of mine and I met some fantastic people there.
I’ve said it many times…
Educators.
Pay them.
Stay well.
