In what is now close to 60 days, the elation that spurred me to say "no thank you I can do better" waxes and wanes on what seems to be an egg timers pace.
The new Job. My own Gordan Ramsey episode of fix this fucking kitchen, the food cost through the roof, staff that would 86 something than walk across the kitchen to refill their prep, a slippery floor and no professional shoes, and a menu that now seemed like an after thought.
Anything to be done had to be big and had to be immediate. No one was running the show and the show barely made it to curtain call on a nightly basis.
My first course of action was to find the good, find something that could be salvaged and nurture that one thing so that a new crop could grow. That was how I found my sous chef. Newly hires a little frustrated, a solid cook with a great background in french, and a work ethic to go with it. "young , (not so) dumb, and full of cum" kind of attitude. I forgive him the stovepipe jeans and the little lord Fauntleroy hat because he has the balls to wear a cravat in the kitchen.
With him as a light post I could see a way out and if I had to clean out the rest of the flotsam then so be it, I had a survivor, and we would show them all.
Only problem was I had to get rid of the old sous chef.
he is another story.