Tile Foam for Two
At 7 o’clock, Roy hands me a pot of beige liquid. “Tile foam,” he says. “There’s THREE orders in there, so don’t use it all.” Only one plate of tilefish is going out, so I buzz the foam with the immersion blender and pour a third of it into a serving vessel. I give the pot back to Roy.
At 9:30, he hands it back. There are two plates of fish on the pass. “Two orders in here?” I ask, motioning to the foam.
Roy looks at me and rolls his eyes. “No, I put one order in for two plates.”
“What?”
“YES, there are two orders in there, you stupid bitch.”
I start to retort but think better of it. As I aerate the foam, I wonder when, if ever, this gets easier.
*Rochelle’s note: Please know that this piece is certainly not an attack on Roy or the restaurant. I value my coworkers for everything they are and have taught me – in their own … special … ways.