Tobias
I’ve worked with Tobias more than anyone else at the restaurant. We shared the duties of garde manger station for a month, prompting our coworkers to give us a Brangelina-type nickname that combined ours. (I was just slightly annoyed that my name contributed only one letter.) Because we worked so closely, it followed that we bickered all the time. In fact, I called him my “kitchen husband” for the sole reason that we fought, sometimes, like an old married couple.
“Yo, so I’mma help you out here,” he’d say in his slow, lolling tone that was half-hazy. “If your vinaigrette is too thick, you can thin it out,” (he’d take a deep pause) “with some … water.”
“I KNOW HOW TO MAKE A SALAD DRESSING!” I’d snap in tones edging on hysterical.
“Whoa, okay,” he’d say, backing away, his hands in the air. We’d work quietly next to each other for a few minutes or so before guilt seized my stomach into knots and I’d look over at his cutting board.
“Your artichokes look beautiful,” I’d say sheepishly. “Want to taste the vin?”
—
He has this soothing, slightly maddening way of speaking, drawing out the syllables in every word, taking enormous breaths in between – and in the middle of – sentences. He cooks the same way. He’s not in a hurry; he just wants to do it right. Get his point across. I’ve never seen him get really flustered or even annoyed. He just cooks. And during service, he doesn’t freak out like the rest of us – if you observe him, he’ll just be plating calmly, his hat, as always, slightly askew.
I’ll remember the little bits and bobs of encouragement he’d hand out in the midst of chaos. “Yo, nice LO-lla. Whoever eats that is gonna feel like a STAR,” he’d say, watching me put a salad of lolla rossa lettuce on the pass. And then, after Tyler put it back on my workstation and scolded me for placing it in the way: “Yo, shit is CRAZY tonight!”
Every so often – about twice an hour – he’d put down his knife or mini offset spatula and look at me and say “Girl, I’mma be honest, I LOVE working with you. You are an INSPIRATION.” I’m pretty positive he was being condescending and ironic, but I must admit I always giggled when he said it.
“Yeah, right,” I’d respond, raising my eyebrows and shaking my head.
“I’m serious,” he’d say. “You are f-a-b-o-l-o-us.” (Deep pause.) “You know Fabolous?”
“Um, the rapper?”
“Yeah girl, I know you know all about that!” I’d look at him cross-eyed and pouty-lipped. He’d start laughing and then I would, and we wouldn’t stop, even as the machine spat out tickets.