So I've been trying a new way of messing with Chef's and the S-C's heads this week - well, why not? They're not using them for anything important.
It started when Chef pulled me up for not closing the door of one of the walk-in fridges behind me. The reason I hadn't closed it was because I was weighed down with about 50 kilos of shit which I was about to put on a shelf, shit so heavy that I couldn't get any part of my body to the light switch to turn the damned light on, but of course that doesn't matter. I left the door open so I could see where I was going in what would otherwise have been pitch darkness, but that, of course, doesn't matter either.
He actually wanted to engueule me while I was holding the 50 kilos of shit standing in the dark, but I carefully put it all down and stepped back out into the warm first.
Then we got into how me being lazy and not bothering to turn on the light and leaving the door open meant lots of things, starting with the slight rise in temperature of the fridge and heading, via a one-third shortening of the life of the fridge compressor motor, the rising costs of running the kitchen and the loss of all our jobs, to the destruction of the ozone layer and, hence, civilisation as we know it.
Cool, I thought.
Ah, I added out loud, and there's also the problem that the cooling unit will start to defrost more quickly and the floor will be covered with moisture and someone could slip over and break a leg, taking them away from work for weeks at a time.
Forget the defrosting, said chef.
And of course if the business becomes too expensive to run your daughters won't necessarily be able to go into the profession of their choice, I said.
This threw him momentarily, I could tell, but he quickly collected his thoughts and told me to forget that, too.
And what about the effect of all that moisture on the products inside the fridge? I wondered. Surely some of them could be damaged by it?
The door wasn't open long enough for that, said Chef. Just remember to close it behind you every time you go through it.
Yes, Chef, I said out loud. And added, Aha! to myself.
So then we get a new delivery van; painted bright red so it looks like a fire engine. Chef and I go to collect it and he examines it minutely with the chap who runs Petit Forestier, the bunch from whom he's leasing it. I gather the two are chums and Chef finds numerous small faults. So I join in.
Ah, a scratch! says Chef, pointing to one of the baguettes which cover the side corners and prevent them being damaged when I run into something (everything is called a baguette).
And there's glue here! I say, pointing to a patch were some label or other has been peeled off. Glue doesn't matter, he says.
And what about diesel? I ask, the old van is nearly full but this tank's empty.
Ah, that could be interesting, says Chef, and negotiates a full tank of diesel. Damn! The point of these observations is that they're so useless that they'll drive him nuts.
I try again; Should I remove the plastic seat covers or should a mechanic do it?
Seat covers don't matter. Aha!
It's a good game, this, taking Chef very, very seriously and trying to be helpful by pointing out stuff that's completely, utterly useless. Well, it keeps me happy anyway.
Yesterday I told him the story about the plongeurs at Thomas Keller's French Laundry restaurant in California; they scrub his saucepans so hard that, not only do they gleam inside and out (instead of being coated with a layer of fired-on carbon like every other kitchen saucepan in the world), they've actually removed so much metal that they won't balance on the stove any more - the handles are heavier than the bowls of the pans. Would he like me to scrub the carbon off the bottom of the saucepans? I've already done some of the stainless-steel gastro trays, chef.
He wouldn't like me to wear through his pans, no. Just wash them properly.
But how much is properly, chef? Surely the fired-on carbon should be removed?
He wanders away. Victory!
It's a fun game to play with the S-C too, except with him you need to discuss football rather than cooking (he could give a shit about cooking, I've come to realise, except when he thinks he's done something good - then I tell him that someone said something nice about his chocolate mousses which keeps him happy). So, for example, he supports Paris St Germain and it's an incredibly boring three-minute diversion to ask how they got their name. He did tell me but I can't repeat what he said because I wasn't listening, I was thinking about what to do at Christmas instead.
Then when he'd explained that I asked him how come the team got their unusual uniforms. I should say at this point I don't have a single fucking clue what their uniforms look like as I've never seen them, but he was happy to expound at length about the details. Again, I'm afraid I can't bring you the details because I wasn't listening - that damned holiday took my attention again.
And yesterday he spent several minutes describing the goals with their match against Marseille the other day. He mimed the actions of the goal-scorers and the look of stunned disbelief on the face of the Marseille goalkeeper, I do remember that. But not anything else, sorry. Yahoo! Sport pages may help you out here, I can't.
And yesterday afternoon I managed a completely useless conversation with Chef about the inside of the new van; it has a shelf made from some sort of aluminium, which stuff slides around on like mad except when it catches on one of the sticky-up bits where two lumps of aluminium join and so should we talk to Petit Forestier about getting them filed down or should I try something myself? I could bring a file in from home.
And then the floor of the van has some sort of sand-impregnated paint all over it to stop stuff sliding around, but when you push one of the polystyrene containers we send out every day to one client around on it it scrapes off little balls of polystyrene, so should we think about having it painted with something less abrasive but what and then what about boxes sliding around and how often does he think I should sweep out the inside of the van, every day or every week or every few days? Perhaps I could put some sheets of cardboard underneath but then everything would start sliding around again.
Oh, I tell you talking about absolutely inconsequential shite is a great way to improve your French - especially with Chef, who's a great fan of knowing where words come from. It's therefore lots of fun to pick one random word from a question and pretend you don't understand it and get him to explain it in depth, including its derivation, and then to take the English translation and explain its derivation too. It doesn't matter if you don't know its origins, you just make them up.
I tell you, the next couple of weeks could even end up being fun. And I think taking the piss is a lot healthier than being miserable too.
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