When I first started as
manager at The Corner House I asked the owner what the difference
between gross and net profit was.
No, really, I did.
Everything froze for a
moment, the birds stopped singing in the trees, the coffee machine
ground to a halt. To her credit she merely stared unblinkingly at me
for a fraction of time (whilst she wildly calculated the risk she'd
taken) before launching in to a 'Finance for Idiots' explanation:
“Imagine you have a hundred pounds...”
Larabelle, my
predecessor and educator, has fielded so many mind numbingly stupid
questions from me its a wonder I haven't found her rocking in a
corner. She sometimes draws pictures to explain things to me. And she
does this on whatsapp whilst dandling a baby on her knee. The Corner
House was her baby until she had an actual baby and she has bit by
bit handed me the reins with great grace and kindness.
Everyone I work with in
one way or another has had to teach me something they probably didn't
think they'd have to teach me.
“Ali. ALI! How do I
get someone to come and look at this beer thingy that doesn't work?”
“You see that number
on the wall right next to the beer barrel?”
“Uhuh.”
“Call that number and
ask them to send someone.”
“Okay. And will they
know what I'm talking about?”
“Yes. Just say you're
calling from the – I'll do it.”
“Okay great! Thanks.
Busy busy!”
I shuffle some papers.
“Ali. ALI! We need
bin liners and -”
“I do that order on
Fridays.”
“Right. Well there's
hardly any Twisted Nose Gin left -”
“I've ordered some
already.”
“Okay, good, great.
Good job everyone, keep it up.”
During one of my early
meetings with the owner she gave me some golden advice:
“The secret to good
management is surrounding yourself with people who are better at
something than you and then letting them crack on with it.”
Never let it be said
that I don't listen.
But I am learning
things. And I'm better at my job now than I was three months ago. The
first time I had to arrange for a man from Dyno-rod to come I was so
amazed that he actually showed up and fixed things I embraced him
like a long lost friend and kissed him on both cheeks. I'm told this
is unnecessary. But then on the two subsequent visits he's made he's
always greeted me with a bear hug and a 'two sugars just a dash of
milk sweetheart.' I feel like we're old friends now. His name's Rob
and he and his wife are in Majorca at the moment so I'm not allowed
to call him.
In the words of Blanche
Dubois: 'I have always depended upon the kindness of strangers.'
Though I think she was largely talking about sex. And that's really
frowned upon in a managerial capacity. Never let it be said
that I don't listen.
The place is starting
to feel like mine. As do the staff. They are mine. And if one of them
leaves me for any reason at all (Damn you Karon and your glowing baby
growing betrayal!) I will take it in much the same vein as I would
being dumped. Three of my girls used to work with me at my last job
and I brought them with me as a sort of security blanket. There's
Janna who handles all my ailments with the stock phrase “Here,
drink some water.” There's Sam who can answer most questions with
“Yup, did it already.” Sophie who does one shift a week is
basically a mum from the 1980's trapped in a 20 year old body
“Everything looks better with a bit of parsley on top.” And now
Ben has joined us. Ben and I worked together for a few years a while
back and we compliment each other in that
It would be remiss of
me not to mention the chefs at this point.
There's this joke about
how all chefs are basically pyromaniacs with a knife fetish who work
in kitchens because its the only place their tourette's is considered
par for the course.
Our chefs are NOTHING
like that.
They skip in to work
every morning fresh as a daisy and rearing to go. They often wear
flowers in their hair and listen to Joni Mitchell whilst prepping.
They all drink nothing stronger than camomile and can be found
weeping in butchers shops. Show them a 14 hour day and they will show
you a heart giddy with anticipation.
I've enjoyed writing
fiction from an early age.
Something you won't
know unless you've worked in a kitchen or its vicinity is that chefs
suffer the most physical ailments of anyone you'll ever meet. One
chef sleeps with breathing apparatus stuck to his face because for
the brief few hours he gets to be unconscious his body decides to try
and kill him. It thinks its doing him a favour. Don't get me started
on the varicose veins from constant standing, the burns, the scars,
the high blood pressure. They can move seamlessly from humour to a
towering rage and back again before you've had time to whisper
'Aneurism'. And no, being a chef does not mean that you eat
wonderful food all the time. They all eat like 14 year old boys.
That said, if you show
them a little appreciation, make them a coffee or take them a cold
beer at the end of a long shift they will always have your back. They
wear their hearts on their sleeves and care enormously about what
they produce and how. The Corner House uses local produce wherever
possible. They're passionate about cooking, all of them. If you ever
meet an indifferent chef he won't be a chef for long. The positive
feedback from a table means a lot. You know how it is when you're
throwing a dinner party for say eight people and you're fretting
that your soufflé won't rise? Now imagine there are between forty
and eighty coming for dinner and a few people you weren't expecting
might rock up too. And some of them have deathly allergies. It's
important to love your chef. There's no magic in that room at the
back. Just a lot of hard work, heat, and a stunning amount of
preparation.
Over two decades of
working in this environment on and off I've watched gangly
monosyllabic kitchen porters become confident talented chefs. You
have to learn to be disciplined, take criticism and praise (both can
be equally hard) and be part of a team.
They always play tricks
on the new kitchen porters. Always. You will have heard about those.
Doe eyed kids being sent off to find glass hammers, tartan paint,
salmon feet, or walking down to the hardware shop to ask for a 'long
wait'.
They're a bit tribal
really. The nature of the job means they often spend more time with
each other than they do their families.
The Corner House is
small by restaurant standards but it produces a vast array of
different dishes and all of our menus; breakfast, lunch and dinner
cater generously for the gluten intolerant and those that prefer not
to eat anything that once had a face.
On the 18th
we're having our first pop up vegan and vegetarian night and the
bookings are flowing in.
Tuesday's Acoustic
night is slowly finding its feet too. Charlotte was magnificent with her sax and Alex continues to make us swoon a bit with his pirate good looks and covers of Jolene.
I've been sticking posters up
around town and handing out flyers but I find asking a guest face to
face if they'll pop in one night works best. Usually whilst holding
their plate a food just out of reach and staring at them balefully.
People think of us in
terms of food and I want them to know we're a bar too. We have an
array of bottles that would give the most hardened of drinkers pause.
I've been cataloguing our spirits. There's stuff I've never heard of.
One chocolate liqueur called 'Mozart' baffles me. I tried it and its
really nice. Trying everything is a very very important part of my
job. At the moment I'm suggesting it as a shot or something to pour
over ice cream as a boozy dessert. Unless you have any better ideas?
Simon and I are compiling a list of cocktails. He's already done a
few and he's laminated them so he means business. He has been quietly
biding his time by the coffee machine waiting for someone to let him
off the leash and have at it. He loves the cocktails and he's
really good at them. They'll be on the menu next week so you should
really pop in and try one. Because y'know, we're a bar too.
A few weeks ago the
owner printed off a ten foot X reading from the till and told me to
study it as it would really help me understand what we we sell, how
much, what that means etc.
After a particularly
long day I took some scissors to it and made one of those banners of
paper men holding hands. I then strung it up and took a picture of it
which I sent to her saying “I really feel like I'm getting my head
around these figures.”
She texted back: “We
need to talk.”
Probably about how
hilarious I am and that humour is a perfectly good substitute for
business acumen.
Everything is going to
be just fine. Every new job comes with a learning curve and so what
if that curve is more of a bell curve? I now know the difference
between gross and net profit. It's 20%. Right? I'm fine. This is
fine.
Fine.
