Saturday syncopation

Saturday syncopation

Saturday syncopation

A short story by Katelin Hogard

 

We got food dying on the pass, guys! I need fucking runners! Kyle, you got four ribeyes, 3 hanger and a cauli.

Heard, chef.

Billy, I got 1, 2, 3… eight poussin all day and three scallops.

Heard!

And boys after this pick we’re gonna start plating the party.

Yes, chef!

Owen! 42, 53, 64, 27, 24 and 82.

Heard, chef.

 

It’s like every single table is full of eighth grade math teachers. Rose for days tonight. My god.

Do we still have snapper or has that been 86’d?

Of course, ma’am. Yes. No, the cabernet is a blend. Yes, Bordeux is the region.

Poussin? That will be a young chicken. Think teenager.

Let me get you a new fork, sir. No, I will not forget. Oh, I apologize. Let me get that for you right away.

 

Billy, poussins. Now!

Plating now, chef.

Owen, start running.

Hands!

 

Ribeye, one. Hanger, two, Cauli, table.

Fuck, what Susan? No we’re not splitting the scallop entree. Because that’s stupid. Bring share plates.

Anna, I need hands!

Scallops, three. Poussin… fuck. Billy! Poussin. Now! Just go with the scallops. Poussin follows. For fuck sakes, dude. It’s fucking chicken. Lets go!

Hands!

Poussin’s going to four, five and six. Cody, can you carry three plates tonight?

Brandon, hands, now!

Scallops, one. Ribeye, two. Snapper, three.

No, fuck. Just take two. Billy! Poussin for 24! Now!

I need a follow!

Stay here. Don’t move. I don’t care. Do not move.

 

Sure. Yes. Of course. No, dessert is not free. Your birthday was when?

Alex, I need 53 cleared, 62 preset for salads and a fois. Remember the spoon. And share plates!

Yes, our Chablis will be an unoaked Chardonnay. Yes, I promise it is Chardonnay.

I don’t care what I said earlier, I’m drinking all the whiskey tonight. Fuck.

 

Billy! You better be plating those scallops, buddy! I don’t have time for this!

Hands!

What the fuck was that?!

Okay, go… fois for the table. Follow! Greens three, four and five.

Hands!

Goddamn it, Cody. Are you high? Do heroin on your own time.

Hands!

Owen! 23, 54, 22 and 85.

Heard, chef.

Billy, I swear to god. You better be plating everything right fucking now.

 

Yes, chef. Sorry, chef.

Hands!

What, Susan? No, absolutely not. Because it’s a whole fucking fish! With bones!

Billy! Now!

Hands!

Scallop one, snapper two, spinach for the table.

Anna, hands!

Poussin one, scallops two, follow!

Ribeye three and four.

Are we closed yet?

Hands!

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Saturday syncopation