How Do They Do It?

By 1:30, when the last couple finally walked out the door, I was beat.  My feet were aching, my back was sore, and I felt like I wanted nothing more in the world than a good long nap.  I looked around at my comrades and saw the same flushed face and sweat-mopped brow that I'm sure I exhibited, and the same torpor I felt through my body.  I'd been awake for only 5 1/2 hours, we'd been open for just 2 1/2, yet I felt more exhausted than any 8+ hour day at the office.  And even more draining - we were, at best, only half done.  As each dish, fork or glass had arrived in the sink over the past 200 minutes or so, its insipid clunk or grating chime just said that we'd be cleaning up for that much longer afterward.  As a group, we trudged back to the kitchen, while I just thought to myself, 'how do people possibly do this for a living?'

I'm certain that almost everyone, at some point, has entertained the notion of opening a restaurant.  I myself have seen my fair share of restaurants open and, just as quickly, close in the hands of those who thought it would be easy.  There are statistics that say restaurants are among the most likely-to-fail business ventures one can start.  And still, there's the allure of it all.  Going out to eat is such a magical experience: sitting in plush comfort while others tend to your every need, sampling exotic foods you've never had before, dining in pleasant company but not needing to clean up afterwards - as a people, we love our restaurants.  So once you learn how to cook, it's not that big a leap from making your first pot of spaghetti to dreaming of one day providing epicurean delights to others for huge sums of money.  That's even how it looks on TV, with the glut of cooking-based reality shows.  As is often the case, though, reality is not quite as easy, glamorous, or (financially) rewarding as we all like to hope.

Not that reality and I were all that well-acquainted prior to this past weekend, when my Mother-in-law invited my wife and me to help out in her old cafe for a one-off Mother's Day lunch.  I thought, 'I love to cook; let's do it.  It will be fun!'  We piled in the car, and drove the familiar 3 hours to small-town Edgewood, arriving at Cafe Rose at the end of the one-block business district in the charmingly restored former bank building.

Friday night was spent relaxing, then Saturday came with the promise that we'd "be cooking 'til midnight."  I naively laughed it off, thinking instead of what to do with all our free time after we were prepped.  Then that pesky reality started to show up and remind me that running a restaurant is actually a lot of work.  We needed to make 12 pies from scratch, plus 5 salad options, while my Mother-in-law cycled countless chickens through the ovens, prepping, cooking and breaking down each one.  When 11 PM rolled around and we were still working, I begged my way into a quick respite at the local watering hole two doors down.  And then it was off to bed to rest prior to the big event.

Like the bum that I am, I slept in until after 8, while Stacia and her Mom were hard at work downstairs.  I joined them for the remaining prep, working in the kitchen as the clock ominously ticked closer to opening time.  Our first customers walked in, and we all scattered to our various tasks.  Stacia cheerfully took their order, her sister dished up salads, her Mom plated the main courses, and I helped where possible while finishing a little last-minute chopping.  Piece of cake.  But then more people came.  And more.  And even more.  Soon our carefree little ensemble was in full-fledged organized chaos.  Stacia still handled the waiting and her Mom retained control of the mains, but besides that, no one really had any stations, as we all flew about the kitchen, prep area and dining room, handling whatever task needed attention.  Speaking for myself only, in those few hours I made and dished up salads, brewed and poured coffee, sliced and plated pie, ran orders to the dining room, bussed tables, chopped or faux-sous cheffed in the kitchen, was an overall go-fer, and washed dishes, depending on what the moment required.  And I was the least important/experienced person in the cafe, so I probably did less than any of the other three.

I won't bore you with how we made ourselves get up and do dishes (my least favorite part of cooking).  In the end, though, we did it.  We served lunch to about 30 people and I couldn't believe how tiring it was.  It was fun, too, but it's either a lot more work than I expected, or I've just grown soft in my years of sitting at a computer all day.  And that's just for one weekend of restaurant work.  People do this for 8 hours, every day, and in most cases do it for a paltry sum of money.  I have so much more respect for wait people, busboys, line cooks and chefs than I ever did - and this is from someone who already respected them quite a bit.  This past weekend I spent more time continuously working a kitchen than I ever have before, and I couldn't help but be amazed at how grueling it was.  Stacia's Mom has the kind of limitless energy for projects like this that means she can handle it, but for someone like me, who's lazy by nature, it was tough.

So why do it in the first place?  For some, it's just a source of money, from a skill they have.  For others it might be ego: I can cook better than the guys at the other restaurants.  But especially when you're at a place like the cafe, where food is made from scratch and not defrosted frozen glop like you see some other places, it has to just be for a love of the food.  I don't know what those 30 people would have eaten had the cafe not been open last Saturday.  I do know that in part due to my efforts, they got a handcrafted healthy meal.  I did that (Well, three other people and I did).  That's something that I think I can be proud of.  And not in an I'm-better-than-you kind of way, but just a feeling of satisfaction that I've provided something of value for other people.  Sure, airplane parts have value too, but not in the same innate, primal way as good food.  After just two days of it, I don't think I'll be opening a restaurant any time soon, but I in no way regret the hard work I put in.  My feet might have been sore and my back may have been aching, but I left Edgewood feeling pretty good about things.  I hope the people we served did too.