Zut Alors!

After working the 2-10pm shift for the past two weeks, including last night, I had to switch this morning to 8am-4pm. I managed to get to work without caffeine, too. Technically I'm working in the office, learning What Chefs Do All Day (lots of paperwork, interrupted by tension-filled meetings and opportunities to yell at underlings), though I spent most of the morning plating cakes for a monstrous convention of 16,000 people that starts in a couple days.

The highlight of the day, without question, was nearly being killed by Chef Lumiere.

Okay, so there's a touch of hyperbole in that, since I didn't actually fall out of the golf cart he was driving when he swerved to avoid the UPS truck, but still.

He decided to take me to the daily meeting he has with various catering managers and another chef, during which they review all the convention and party orders. The meeting itself was interesting and helpful to me -- helpful because it confirmed that, while I might work in one right after graduation, I do not want a career in hotels. Too many meetings populated by too many cranky people. The other chef there, for example, muttered under his breath much of the time and prefaced every comment with a statement such as "Even though I'm completely disgusted with this group," or "I'm too frustrated to even ask why, but..."

Ok, we get it.

Chef Lumiere was his jolly Lumiere self, however, and noted later "I come with my smile, and I go with my smile, eh?"

While we're on the topic of coming and going...

Chef decided we should take the electric golf cart to and from the meeting, which was at the opposite end of the property. My job was to hold his clipboards and pray to baby Jesus that I not get killed four days before the end of my externship. He makes me look like a pokey driver. We hurtled through the corridors, swerving around forklift drivers and bumping down ramps. A woman who knew him (funny how Chef seems to know all the ladies) shouted "be careful with him!" to me, while a French baker we both know shouted either encouragement or warning as we rocketed past.

"Why people say I am not a good driver, because I am French?" Chef pondered as we careened past a pallet of wine bottles. "You know, in France, we have very narrow streets. More narrow than this, eh?"

"Yes, Chef."

"I am a very good driver."

"Uh, yes, Chef."

When we got back from the meeting, miraculously whole, he asked if I was ready for my presentation tomorrow. What presentation, I asked. The tasting for me and Chef Olmos, but of course.

Uh....

I told him I thought, since all of them were there on Saturday, that that had been my final tasting.

"Ah, okay, as you like," he said, feigning disappointment.

I couldn't resist.

"I could make more white chocolate and saffron panna cotta, if you want," I offered.

I think Chef actually blanched. "No! Not that again!"