A Vulcan Star



vulcan star

A Vulcan Star

By Timothy L. O’Neal

The evening scene at seven o’clock on a Saturday in any restaurant is typically the same – a merry-go-round of mayhem and madness that delivers new variations with each and every show.  Frankly, I’ve seen it all over the years; writing about it would be redundant, as plenty of books are already out there documenting radical behind-the-scenes stories from industry veterans.  Most famous is Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential which covers the back of the house (the kitchen and its staff).  More recently, Waiter Rant by Steve Dublanica does a darn good job of presenting a slew of unique and entertaining stories primarily from the peak of business when reportable waiter-based action occurs.  If you haven’t read either of these works, they are brutally honest, revealing and tremendously entertaining.

When the rush of a restaurant evening starts to calm at the end of the night, there’s an almost audible sigh of relief from those working.  Servers irritated by irritable guests soon forget when those gratuities are all added up.  In the office, one by one, servers check out and make their way out to start their evenings, where in turn, they will be irritated by irritable bartenders totally infuriated by the way they are ordering drinks.

As the last of the guests depart and the dining room empties, the geometric perfection of the room is more than pretty.  All the chairs and table settings in perfect alignment await the night’s passing.  Long ago, my grandfather found it relaxing to take a stroll through a graveyard.  Slightly less haunting, yet equally calming is a walk through a dimly lit, empty and silent dining room when there’s no drama left to witness.

The kitchen area too, is tranquil with only the hum of various refrigerator motors keeping foodstuffs cool.  Putting my hands on the oven doors to double check they’ve been turned off sometimes yields a surprise in the form of that pork chop ‘to go’ that never got picked up – well, it never even made it out of the oven and now resembles what you get for Christmas if you were super bad.

Last to check are the stoves, those monster Vulcan multi-units that birth a gas bill of the meanest super nova degree.  On each burner is a pilot light.  And they are large like candles.  Although the table flames are put out each evening, the Vulcan stove never completely gets snuffed.  It’s a beautiful hue of blue completely unlike the raging orange flames that sear cuisine for hundreds each night.  Transfixed on one not long ago, I thought to take a picture of a real – true blue- Vulcan star.


1 Response so far »

  1. 1

    Loretta Dobyns said,

    Timothy! You should have been writing long ago! Your descriptions brought me right back to scene. Different locations, same story. I loved it! Nice metaphor to the graveyard!

    Bravo! En’core! Lot fo love, Loretta

Comment RSS · TrackBack URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: