End of shift madness

You know it's time to go home when you make more mess than the devastation you're trying to clear up. These oats were nothing - you should have been there moments later when a family-size bag of white chocolate buttons decided to empty itself all over the floor (before my very eyes).

Next, there was a crash downstairs which turned out to be David (who rarely drops things, except during end of shift madness) dropping a pile of boxes.

That's what happens when you've been up for too long and the sum total of breakfast/lunch/dinner has been a club sandwich and a small lamington.

That's Saturdays for you. It's not surprising that we have to go for a beer after to get over it.

Johnny C ended the shift by wearing the croissants (which he was about to eat, not sell) on his head.

Thank God It's Friday?

Today was never-ending. It's not that time stood still, rather it went too quickly. Either way, today seemed a long time in finishing. In fact technically it's still going on.

I was only supposed to go in from 6-9am to get the baking underway for Saturday but it was lunchtime by the time I got out.

My parting move was to slice my thumb open with a knife I wasn't even using to slice things with (I was drying it, blade-side up, never a good look). It actually felt like slicing through raw chicken breast, such was the pressure I applied. So ensued much persistent blood and my body's inconvenient inability to STOP bleeding (for which, by the way, sister doctor's diagnosis is to eat parsley - though there's only so much of that green stuff you can eat and you never have any to hand, do you? Though I think she means to eat it generally within diet, not specifically as and when you cut yourself).

When you inflict some kind of stupid wound to yourself, a sympathetic nod can make all the difference, can't it? I received precisely one (smart-arse) comment about distraction and another horrified mutter of disgust. I had to go outside and find my own sympathy from a customer and a dog.

So here I am, back home, thumb wrapped in three plasters which are cutting off any remaining blood supply. Can just about type. Just about keeping eyes open. It's quite late.

Seen as you lot have eaten all the rhubarb & orange compote I've been called in half an hour earlier tomorrow morning to make another batch before you turn up for breakfast and find we've run out... That's how things like that never happen, you see.

Monday morning - and it's good!

A typical day in the kitchen?

Well, let's take today, Monday. It's actually my favourite day of the week. And this one was even better.

That's because we had a fantastic review in the Sunday paper yesterday (which I have just had laminated, so if you missed it, you'll have to drop by and read it. And have a coffee at the same time).

So, Mondays. We arrive at 6 o'clock. That's A.M. Well, that's when we're supposed to show up, and usually we all do. It used to be dark then but it's not anymore, which is nice. There's a lot to be done in that first hour before we open. Sometimes five minutes can set you back half an hour. Though no one's worked out how that happens.

First off, David makes the scones - sweet and savoury. Date and lemon are pretty popular and he's just perfected the mushroom and cheese. They don't take long in the oven and when they're done we normally have to admire them. They do look good - and they are perfectly nice - though I can't remember the last time I bought a scone in a cafe. I'm obviously in the minority, though, as they usually all go. Warm with a bit of butter.

(Personally I'd rather David set up the coffee machine first and make us all a coffee to be going on with but apparently the scones are more of a priority. It's usually knocking on around 7 o'clock when Johnny and I get our first flat white. The first one's always the best. It just is. Maybe it's because by the time it appears you've forgotten it's coming, so it's always a nice recurring surprise.)

Johnny C gets onto the bagels. We put my ipod on (which I keep meaning to update and we are both sick of) and try not to have it too loud, as you can hear it over the cafe music downstairs (we regularly get told to turn it down, like today). I enquire after Johnny's girlfriend, Theresa. Occassionally she comes in with him for a coffee but it's a bit early really unless you have to get out of bed at that time. After the bagels, Johnny makes the clubs - egg and ham on Monday.

You're probably wondering what I'm actually doing besides waiting for my coffee, distracting Johnny, admiring scones and hosting the ipod breakfast show. I normally get a couple of chickens on to roast. Two will last us the week. You can't beat the smell of chickens roasting. When they're done, I shred the meat for salads and club sandwiches (and usually eat the skin) and in the afternoon, Andrew and I stab the salty, tar-like pan juices with crusts from the club sandwich loaves (that's if someone doesn't put the roasting tin in the sink to soak). Today's was really, really good - very gelatinous, proper dripping. We couldn't leave it alone. In fact, I left it alone only when I left to go home at 4 o'clock as I couldn't carry the tin with me.

This morning Andrew roasted a sirloin for the week. So between the chicken tin and sirloin pan, we couldn't complain really.

Today I also made the pesto and two salads, baked the bread & butter puddings, shaped up some lamingtons, sliced up the slices and made a trial ricotta for the first time in the cafe. But more of that another time when I've perfected the recipe...