Chef Boyardee.
A few weeks ago when I started my new job, a handful of new employees were invited to attend a ‘food show’.
This is the first time I’d ever experienced such a thing so I wasn’t sure what to expect. Yes, a few other employees gave me a quick overview of what would happen but I was still excited.
Plus, I knew it’d get me off the floor for a little while.
When I was invited into the private dining room to participate in the food show, there were 4 other new employees ready to participate too. Then a few seconds later, one of the servers I’d shadowed a day earlier walked in. Behind her came a food runner carrying a tray full of plates.
The whole idea of the food show is to familiarize new employees with the food we serve. In the process, we’re supposed to learn how to talk about the food too.
The server placed the 4 entrees in the middle of the table, and informed us that she’d be leading the food show.
Since I’d only been working there a few days, I had no way of knowing if she was qualified to lead the discussion about the food but I didn’t care. There was fresh cooked food begging to be eaten and I was starving. Her qualifications or lack thereof were not my problem.
Here were the 4 dishes on the table: Wagyu Bolognese, Roasted Branzino, Roasted Chicken, and Chilean Sea Bass.
The server’s job in the ordeal was to allow us to taste the dishes, explain the preparation, and talk a bit about why the dish is on the menu.
All of this made sense to me until she began describing the Wagyu Bolognese.
“To be honest, I wouldn’t serve this dish to my dog. Tastes like Chef Boyardee,” she said.
“Goodness,” I thought. “How bad is it?”
When the plate was passed to me, I tasted it and decided it wasn’t nearly as bad as it’d been described. This confused me after she’d spent more time talking about how bad the Wagyu Bolognese was than about how good any of the other dishes were.
I passed the dish to my left and watched as the others cautiously scooped a spoonful onto their plates.
We passed the other dishes around until we’d all tried each of the dishes.
Once we’d tasted and discussed them all, the server then prompted each of us to rank them from best to worst.
I was the second person to give my ranking of the dishes.
“I’ll say Sea Bass first. Second is Roasted Chicken. Third, the Branzino. And finally, the Bolognese. But let me be clear, I’m not sure if I actually dislike it or if the way you bashed it makes me terrified to say something nice about it,” I said.
The others at the table shook their heads in agreement.
As the next person gave his rank, the server interrupted.
“I have to apologize for what I did. Mack, you’re right. I shouldn’t have talked about the Bolognese the way I did and I feel terrible that it’s the first impression you all got,” she said.
We sat in silence for a moment before I spoke up. I admitted that I only ranked it last and said what I said as a joke. I had no intention of upsetting her which she visibly was.
Unfortunately, my reassurance didn’t help. It only led to more profuse apologies. She rambled about how wrong it was of her to do that to us and how unfair it was.
At this point, I looked around the table to ensure everyone felt as uncomfortable as I did.
Yet the apologies continued.
“It’s seriously ok. I was JOKING. I enjoyed the pasta. It reminded me of the pasta my dead grandma used to cook for my siblings and I after school when we were kids. This, of course, made what you said about it even worse. But seriously, I’ll forget it if you forget it!” I said.
As the hot air in the room slowly cooled, we began to clear the table.
While the others tied their aprons around their waists, ready to get back to work, I walked up to her and told her that I felt bad about what had happened. I promised I wouldn’t bring it up to her again.
And honestly, I wouldn’t have.
Not that I had the chance to.
Apparently, she got fired the following week for stealing bottles of champagne from a private event.
Which now gives me free rein to tell anyone willing to listen about what happened that night.
