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This is a question Restaurants, Kitchens and Bars... Oh my!

Many years ago, I went out with a chef. Kitchens are merely vice dens with food. You couldn't move for people bonking and snorting coke in the store room. And the things they did with the food...

My personal vice was chocolate mousse - I remember it being very calming in all the chaos around me. I think they put things in it.

Tell us your stories of working in kitchens, bars and the rest of the nightmare that is the catering trade.

(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 9:58)
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never shake hands with a comedian
During the early nineties, to assist funding the lavish lifestyle i had acquired at university whilst studying what used to be called 'Fine Art' (is called pretentious shite these days) i acquired a job as grillslave in a tex-mex restaurant.

During pauses in service, the kitchen team would decant to a table thoughtfully provided by the management. said table was next to the broom cupboard sized, and cardboard walled gents pissoir.

so between nipping out to the storeyard for a quick herbal, our other entertainment consisted of checking out the birds walking past to their bogs, and loudly casting doubt over the functionality of the manhood of any male customers we had taken a dislike to....no-one ever complained;

"Excuse me Ms Manager, your chefs said i've got a needledick and sit down to pee and now i want to cry"

.......it was never going to happen :-)

so, to the point..

Greg Proops, merkin 'improvisational' comedian called in for munchies early one evening before he was to do his turn at a local comedy night - the local venue often sent performers to us for grub, we fed their doormen free too, in exchange we got free entry to gigs and after hours drinkies - lovely!

Mr Proops after a few libations needed to drain his lizard, timing it with one of our sit down breaks. "Hi Greg!" we all chorus as he approaches, "I think you're much funnier than that John Sessions" one of the preps tells him.

Proopsy decides to ignore us all, and with chin pointing to the ceiling, marches past to get to the pissoir.

Feeling affronted and a bit baity 'cos of the snub - we'd cooked his dinner, been polite to the fucker - a chorus of catcalls started directed at Mr Proops, about four feet away behind a very flimsy wall.

"That was a big splash Greg!", "Anything more than two shakes is a wank Greg!" and other juvenile taunts i forget.

Anyhow, he's in and out of there real quick, and still with nose in the air, and a walk like he's got a broom up his arse he stomps back to the bar area serenaded by "Seeya Mr Poops".

He didnt wash his hands neither.

no apologies for length, its the heat y'know

lurker no more
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 13:05, Reply)

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