Salmonella pants

“Slow is fast,” we always say.

In a high-volume kitchen, this is as much advice as it is a plea - we are begging our team to be thorough, precise, and efficient, so as to not burn down the entire house. It takes more time to clean up a mess than it does to prevent it in the first place (I should take my own advice outside of work).

But it’s a game day at USC today, which is equivalent to Civil War at Softies, and fast is not fucking fast enough. Breakfast hours from 9-11am are actually just breakeven prep hours for lunch, when the real action happens. We’re okay with not selling too many breakfast burritos, because it lets us play catch up before selling way too many burgers. Today is not the day for slow - you need your guns loaded, your swords sheathed, your knives sharpened and your mise en their place.

So at 9:45am, I know that we need to get a head start on frying chicken. We sell way more than we ever expected or wished to - this is the regrettable reward for launching a caesar wrap and salad that fly off the pass.

It’s a time-consuming process: portion and trim the fat off 20 pounds of thighs the night before, throw it in a buttermilk brine, use the same brine the next morning to make a wet dredge with eggs and flour, coat each piece evenly in our “special” blend that you can easily find a recipe for online, and fry at 300F for 7 min to cook the inside without burning the outside.

But whereas the staff would need an hour to do this, Sam and I can get it done in thirty. This is the first curse of ownership - you need to trust and delegate, but no one can do it like you. On a day like today, trust is not the answer, I am.

Here’s the other reward for launching a breakfast menu, though - shit, people actually want it. Today especially, the kids want burritos - ten of them walk in at 9:47am. My chicken prep is now competing with soft-scramble prep, a time-suck in its own regard, a baby of a dish that needs constant attention and stirring and heat adjustment to get right.

I am now flying around like a headless chicken (or a boneless thigh if we care to beat the metaphor to death), trying to Gordon Ramsay these fucking scrambled eggs while cracking four more into the wet dredge bowl. I am working incredibly fast because I am either that good or that impatient. Every service is a competition with yourself, really - can you be better than you were yesterday? In a sense I am trying to clean up the mess I was yesterday, today.

But at the perfect moment, right before I stick the landing and stick it to yesterday’s me, I knock over the buttermilk brine bowl, the BBB, spilling 600 grams of overnight chicken brine onto my $150 apron and $165 clogs and $250 cargo pants and the floor of our $200,000 restaurant. Slow is fast - in this case, it happens in slow motion, and my blood pressure is fast-rising. FFF.

Justin and Eddie look my way and grow silent immediately, likely for different reasons. The former because he is a chef who instinctively senses the impending crash out he is about to witness; the latter because he likes clothes and knows that I’ve just salmonella-ed $250 cargo pants.

I am notoriously a ticking time bomb, a third-string line cook at best trying to be a chef-owner of a restaurant he never intended to open. The second curse of ownership, however, is that you’re not allowed to have a bad day, because if you do, you’re the toxic boss, the inconsiderate hothead.

I have four words that I want to say and none of them are a good idea, so I stay silent for a bit, evaluating the damage on the $565 of clothing I am wearing, with half a mind to Google search “can salmonella seep through boxers?”

No, it can’t, and no, I will not be a bad boss today. I look over to Justin and Eddie and smile, trusting that they’ll know in their gut that I actually feel anything but happy, knowing that even though today I must take the L that I am slow, the chicken will get done and the eggs will get scrambled and the guests will get fed, maybe not fast this time, but eventually.

I’m only two hours into the day, and I’ve already become better than yesterday. This is the third curse and most important blessing of ownership: the worst moments make you better, biting your tongue grants you more words of wisdom, almost contracting salmonella makes you immune to all other diseases, and yes, slow truly does make you faster.

I’ll go get the mop.