The Night Shift, etc.

Working nights makes me tired.
The swirl of the past two weeks has been more than pen-worthy. The question becomes, which subject to cover first? Last? At all? In some way the externship has become a job; that is, mundane. So the writing becomes equally so, it seems. But surely there are nuggets worthy of sharing. I know; I'll revert to my past. Here's a bulleted list of observations, talking points.
- The family and I went to dinner at the Four Seasons a week ago Sunday. I'll reserve my review until after the externship.
- No one has ever made a pair of dorky high-water working pants look as cool as the Italian sous chef with whom I work.
- There is a very prominent Italian curse word whose translation is wildly divergent depending on whom you talk to. I'm researching it further.
- One cook (I'll call him Dee) is the kind who puts doubt in ones own abilities. He's probably 25, extremely talented (and knows it), and bored at his position. Again, I have no doubt I'm doing the right thing. But he embodies the amount of work that remains if I ever want to be prominent in the restaurant biz (which I'm not even sure I want).
- Perhaps the most appealing thing about the culinary workplace is its incessant good nature (compared to the comparatively glum white collar environment). There are only a couple occasions thus far when I've experienced genuine anger. And recovery periods are short; the grab-assing starts fresh quickly.
- Diversity. The (over)use of no other word makes my eyes roll more than that one with lazy connotations of some highly unappealing color-blind utopia. The kitchen is home to some quite genuine ethnic diversity. College freshmen should be forced to work as dishwashers in order to experience the reality of it. There is no color-blindness (mercifully): Asians are asked about Asian food because they are...Asian. I made ravioli with a Korean who educated me about Korean dumplings. Many of the best cooks of Italian food are...Mexican, and they talk about it proudly. The banquet chef is Hawaiian of Chinese extraction. The pantry guy is from Hong Kong. A pastry cook is extremely gay. The women don't take any crap from the men. I'm the old gringo who speaks reasonable Spanish. The same holds true among my classmates. There's no ridiculous shame in any of this for which I am very grateful.

Now I need a nap. This schedule is rough.

On the line

Chef has me working the sautee/grill line (finally) all week. It makes me nervous because managing the creation of multiple dishes at once can get me ruffled. But I want and need to do it; Friday I'll be managing it alone without the hired sous chef. Good times.
Today was slow so there was little pressure. That will change.
Humor of the day: in order to learn how to prepare each dish I was reaching over the counter to grab a take out menu. It took longer than expected - far reach. Then I felt a spill on my leg. Turns out I had been leaning against the ice water dispenser. My whole back pocket filled with water: wallet soaked, freezing water running down my leg. It's like a Jerry Lewis routine, but not nearly as hillarious.