Describing my mood as foul is a gross misunderstatement. This week I had to deal with unusually substandard staff food (that crap they feed you in restaurants when you work there), newcomers on the team that exhaust me and a shocking rota as everyone is suspiciously ‘off sick’ the day after Soviette’s vodka bashing party. To top it off, average spend per head has also dropped significantly. The Boss went mental. He’s saving up for his new Jag, you see. In obscene contrast I’m still saving for another pair of shoes.

So what happens? Well, I go home and take my frustrations to the missus, and as usual I nag and nag and go over the top. She tries to calm me down with some Earl Grey and The Superbly Moist and Delicious Coconut Cake she read about on planetmona. My mood is still on and I tell her that it looks ‘dry as fuck’, without even trying it. She decides to punish me by giving me the silent treatment and announces the beginning of the dry season in the bedroom. Appropriate to my comment but in the damp and the wet of the London autumn, I find it painfully ironic.

Now I go to work again and take my frustrations to the staff. ‘Careful,’ they warn one another, ‘he has sand in his vagina’. I do NOT. It chaffs like bloody gravel.

So I close my eyes in a desperate attempt to calm down. (Relax, think of a happy place). (Happy place my ass.) Table 5 walks in, a Chinese couple that fancy themselves food bloggers. First question – ‘can we take pictures?’, and they start snapping away before I even answer. The pictures, by the way, are all on internet. You’ll find me under the caption ‘Waiters from Hades’. ‘Which part of China are you from?’ I ask innocently. ‘We’re not Chinese,’ they sneer. ‘We’re American.’ ‘Oh, you really looked Chinese to me. You managed to pull it off’. They gasp, and bring out their notebook and start scribbling.

‘We’d like to order the fillet of sea bass’ they conclude. Now that’s a brilliant dish. Fillet of wild bass, with carrots du sable and a blood orange and bergamot reduction. ‘And I want it off the bone too. No heads. No eyes’ she says. ‘You don’t need to worry madam, it’s a filleted portion.’ ‘Well… double check with the Chef anyway. You can never assume.’ They laugh and giggle like Manga schoolgirls, obviously hinting back at my apparent racial slur. ‘I’ll do that.’ I snap impatiently. ‘Thank God you didn’t choose the fillet of beef.’ They stop laughing. It seems like I offended them again, so I escape by leaving the table and greeting a new arrival on table 7. The lady is elegant and well mannered, and has a calming, soothing effect. ‘How are you today?’ I say. ‘May I propose a glass of Bollinger to start while you await your guest?’ ‘Actually I’m his guest tonight. Mr Ashworth just texted to say he’s running late.’

I am rudely interrupted by an explosive white flash and realise that our Chinese-American friends have started to take pictures of myself talking to this lady. It is blinding. They had actually managed to upsize their camera by adding some sort of flash that's bigger than my arm. For some reason they seem to have taken interest in the conversation I am having with this lady, and have started taking pictures, trigger happy. Just as I have the urge to go over and empty the ice bucket over their giggling heads, the lady halts my thoughts. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she surprises me. ‘I’m used to it.’

‘I’m sorry about that; they’re American food bloggers you see. They insist on annoying everyone.’ (By everyone, I meant myself), I say, as I try to ignore the next series of Poof! Poof! camera flashes under the corner of my eye. ‘It’s good to have a hobby, I guess.’ She says calmly, seemingly oblivious to the fracas happening on table 5. ‘Agreed’ I say, ‘but my hobby is writing. That doesn’t bother anyone.’

The subject turns to writing, where I tell her of my plans to write two books. She seems interested. (Another poof! in the background, but I’m trying to ignore). ‘I always enjoyed writing’ she says. ‘Oh, so you write too? Anything published yet?’ The lady blushes slightly. ‘A few’ comes the answer, as her host finally arrives and I leave to continue on the floor.

The food bloggers call me over. They have been listening to every word of my conversation. ‘Oh man you are so stupid.’ They giggle again. They’re still enjoying their canapés. ‘How do you eat this truffle crème sandwich? Do you use a fork?’ ‘It’s a sandwich, sir, you eat it as is. You’re a foodie, use your imagination.’

‘Wait, wait.’ They cry as I leave the table. I turn around with my fakest smile and look at them. ‘Is there any animal fat in this smoked tomato dip?’ ‘Excuse me?’ ‘Yes, what’s this green liquid on top of the dip?’ I peer down at it. ‘It’s olive oil, sir.’ ‘Aaaah! I seeeeee’ Out come the notebooks again, as they write. ‘So that’s why it’s smoky!’ I can’t believe this level of ignorance from a food blogger. Or two.

The lady on table 7 is now leaving the table, and I go to bid her and her host goodnight. ‘Good luck with your book’ she tells me. I’m flattered she remembered. The Chinese, I mean, American, couple run towards us ‘Excuse me!’ they shout, the rest of the room looking, Mrs Rowling, can we have your autograph? (Poof! again)

All of a sudden I feel stupid. I can’t believe I just asked the great JK Rowling, if she had actually published anything yet. I was talking to the genius whence the world of Harry Potter came, and all I could think of was the babbling Chinese buffoons. No wonder they told me I’m so stupid. Well, how the hell was I to know?!’

The bloggers are back, and sit down again. I look at them helplessly as they ask for the bill. ‘We’ll write all about you!’ they sing, as they hand me their business card with their website address.

They put on the review that same night.

‘Food was very nice. A most amusing of nights with an incredibly dumb waiter’

I boil, again. Following the ‘report’ comes an exaggerated recount of their waiter’s antics. I am quoted on things I did not say, and they mentioned that I’m a sort of racist.

Next day, I go to work. I’m told I am needed in the head office.

The Manga bloggers have sent a copy of the review to The Boss.

 

Industry Insider is a 3-star Michelin restaurant manager who blogs for planetmona. Planetmona is a food, travel and restaurant review edited by Mona Farrugia. Industry Insider dares to insult Mona Farrugia's cake with no compunction.