Monthly Archives: September 2009
I have seen some weird food in my days serving. It never ceases to amaze me how a slimy fatty liver or something that is cut out of a fish can be considered a delicacy. This is a little section that discusses 3 foods I think are absolutely disgusting, but still cost more than a week of groceries.
I love how at parties I will carry around trays of something absolutely delicious, such as a mini Cuban sandwich. Everyone will turn their noses at the sight of a tiny smear of butter and cheese. Then I will bring around a huge tub of forest green, stinky caviar. (When I serve it I almost want to speak in a British accent … it just seems appropriate.) So I offer the tub of gooed fish eggs, and everyone actually begins to acknowledge that I am a human being and start oohing and ahing over this mass of undeveloped minnows. ‘Oh caviar! How lovely. I adore Caviar” Yadda yadda yadda .,.. you probably actually hate it but you can’t let Nancy sitting at your right think that you aren’t made of all class. So the caviar always sells.
But I was researching the fish that the eggs actually come out of, and it was quite… disgusting. I wonder if people would be so excited about the ‘delicacy’ if I served it wearing a T-shirt with this image on it. Muahaha:
Sick. You realize you are eating the eggs of a fish that sports a moustache tackier that Hulk Hogan’s. Honestly it doesn’t taste that good.
2. Foie Gras.
For all you people not accustomed to fine dining I will translate foie gras for you. It is is French for ‘fat liver.’ They take a duck and stuff it until it is resembles Michael Moore in Supersize Me. Then, they slap the slimy slab right on the plate and top it with whatever they feel like. At the hotel, we often serve it topped with …ready for this ….brace yourself…. peanut butter and jelly. I just threw up a little typing that. Say WhAt? PB&J over a slice of obese DUCK LIVER? Lets just say that is a far stretch from the PB&J my mom would pack me back in the good old days. At what point in life do we stop wanting peanut butter and jelly on delicious white wonder bread and instead turn to fatty duck liver? This is the worst part. They stuff tubes down the goose’s throats and don’t let them move just so their liver gets fatty enough to be enjoyed on a cracker.
Now pair that with this:
Are you hungry yet?
3. The Oyster.
Ah seafood. I know oysters are not that fancy schmancy or even that gross. Many people like them. However slurping down something that has the consistency of a slimly lymph node does is not appealing to me, especially when it smells like a marina. But this is why I added the oyster to the list of foods I won’t eat no matter how dignified I become.
A lovely gentleman, who works at the hotel bussing dishes down into the dishwashing room, told me this tale of oyster horror. Since he gets to encounter all the left over food (and trust me there always is enough to feed every homeless person in Florida), he endulges here and there. He told me that he loved oysters, and whenever a raw bar would come through he would eat a couple. Then…(cue dramatic and frightening music) …one day he crack opened the shell…and he found a worm. This worm had by itself consumed the entire oyster before any human even had a chance. A WORM. That is just wrong on so many levels.
All right kids, there you go. Take this as a lesson on how to truly eat with class and dignity at a high society event. Pass on the fish eggs and parasite ridden oysters, and say yes to the hummus platter and fried cheese. Onward soldiers!
So the entertainment for the night was going to be the band Styx. Sweet…. who are they?
I know I know… shame on me for being not born yet when the band hits their peak. But after forcing a couple co workers to awkwardly sing some lyrics, I at once knew who there were. So, for all you 1987’ers who may be a little foggy on their Styx knowledge, please see the following video. It probably will ring a bell … and make you wish you were alive and kicking via 1977 when this little number topped the charts:
Amazing, love those white linen pants. If you look close enough you can tell that those long hair beauties are indeed men.
So the rock band sets up, huge stage, huge event. Despite the border line tacky slash amazing rock band now made up of old dad’s, the dinner and decor was nothing but superb as the hotel always manages to pull off.
Cocktail hour begins. With my black tie tied oh so tight and my hair already a frizzy mess, I begin to serve. The guests are in there black tie best, long gown, suits.
But then a couple minutes into the wine and dine session, I began noticing some people that just didn’t …well look right.
There hair was a little too long, and a little too mullety.
So after my manager approached and removed men stuck in 1985, with there Styx tattoos poking out of there cut off t-shirts, the party resumed.
Don’t ask me how these guys even found out about the Styx concert let alone got into the hotel. Maybe there is some sort of a classic rock band light signal that flashes in the sky like Batman. Maybe there is an underground classic rock society that meets in caves and drinks beers from cans and whips there long hair around and shows off there guitar pics they caught at that super rad concert they went to in 1986 before there favorite band broke up and with it broke their hearts. Maybe.
Anyways, dinner was served, and desert came and went. There was a dull chatter among the crowd. If you listened close you could hear far to many stories about there Styx experiences, back in the good ol’ days.
Then, it happened.
The lights went out. The stage lit up. The women, with there Versace gowns and silicone chests, jumped out of there chairs and began screaming like they 16 again.
And then, Styx emerges.
What do you think they look like these days? Has there hair gotten smaller, or there clothes a little classier?
No. They were still rockin it Styx style. For example, here is a then and now photo comparison:
As you can see, the hair still flows in the wind, the leather is still plastered to their body’s, and the moustaches still make onlookers uncomfortable. Ew moustaches.
So as the Palm Beachers were day dreaming about the night they first kissed Tommy in the back of his Trans-Am Firebird, I began feeling the Styx vibes myself.
It was an amazing concert, and even more amazing to see these men rocking it out like they never went out of style. Truly talented and truly entertaining, I will now forever be a Styx lover.
So the show wraps up, and my manager orders me to go clean out a conference room.
I walk in, and I discover that I have entered… STYX DRESSING ROOM.
I then too drifted back to the memories of my very first concert, my hair bigger than Texas and freshly permed, my Styx t-shirt on, and ripped jean cut offs…and making out with Tommy in the back of his Delorean after the show, with fruit punch wine cooler on our breath.
Ok that never happened but a girl can dreammmmmm.
So I start picking up the room. I see some Organic Herbal throat-coat tea, so necessary for a rocking band like Styx.
I also see half eaten sandwhiches, a pile of un-touched cookies and a half drinken coke. Maybe they prefer Tab soda?
I also find shirt tags, newly ripped off. I couldn’t help but check out how much it costs to look as fab as Styx.
One t-shirt- size small- was over one hundred bucks! Bah. Who knew it cost so much to look so …. grungy.
Ok, then, as I rounded the corner, I found the strangest thing of all….
it was a big ….huge…. pile of …….
OK so to the one person who gave a guess (Love you Kristinaaa!)
Ha! The answer is…
Styx had a massive pile of used bandaids and bandaid wrappers.
So if you ever have been a server…you have had a moment like this.
You know, when you clumsily slip, trip, and spill the darkest possible liquid on the lightest possible piece of clothing in a five foot radius.
No, you couldn’t have spilled the glass of sprite or ice water…. it only makes sense that you spill the neon blue margarita. And no, it couldn’t have landed on the nice goth wearing all black, as fate would have it, it HAS to land on the snobby woman wearing brand new white pants, and a white tank top. Such is the ways of life.
This was one of those waiter moments. And to all of you ladies wearing the white outfits… stop it. We will find you. It just waiter fate.
Anyways, it was one of my first weeks working at the hotel. It was time to go around and ask everyone at my table if they would like coffee…only to have them not drink it and for my to have to clean it up. Joyous.
We serve in these silver pots that look like they were from Christopher Columbus’s own personal collection. They are not the most sensible coffee serving contraptions… but oh they look so pretty … blah. So that is what we use.
For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to hold the decaf and the regular pots at the same time, one in each hand. They are heavy even without coffee so this is just a caffeinated recipe for disaster.
I walk up to the first woman, and of course, she is wearing a white, SILK, floor length gown. She is rockin that gown, and she knows she looks good.
I offer her a cup of blazing hot joe… and she accepts. “Regular”
So, I tip the regular pot and pour into her cup.
As far as I can see….I am getting the hot liquid into the cup. I am a superstar server.
The other pot also decides to tip…. and spill HOT. BLACK. COFFEE…..you guessed it… down the woman’s back, and all over her white gown.
With a little high shriek, and a shudder of the shoulders and clench of her fists….she turns around slowly.
Her face is red, and if I remember right her hair turned into a tassel of snakes like Medusa, and her eyes began glowing neon green.
Yes its true…she transformed. Most rich people also have magical powers.
Clearly very upset…she manages to stammer…
Sigh. Why couldn’t I have worked at a place where guests thought designer clothes came from the Isaac Mizrahi collection at Target …. not thousand dollar gowns.
So I starts spitting out my “Sorry, I am so sorry mam… sorry sorry blah blah blah” You know what I am talking about.
So she pushes away from the table, and marches right over to my manager…her stilettos yelling at me with every click across the dance floor.
She starts screaming at my manager….her arm motions clearly depict how upset she is.
15 minuets go by….20….30….45….AN HOUR GOES BY and she is STILL talking to him.
I am thinking…farewell oh college job. It was nice why it lasted…kinda. Clearly I was about to get fired if not slapped across the face.
(What if the managers did abuse us like little tuxedo wearing slaves? I could see it happening…)
Anyways, she finally goes up to her room to change…and I walk over to my manager…spitting out again my string of sorry sorry sorry! This time I meant it a little bit more….
This is what he says to me…after an HOUR of being yelled at by a guest because of what I did.
“Oh…it’s OK, don’t worry about it.”
Shrugs, and walks back into the kitchen.
I stood there. Blinked. Blinked again, cocked my head…shrugged myself and walked back to my table.
It was then I realized at a hotel that has more money our neighbor Donald Trump…accidents don’t matter. We can buy that woman a new dress and pay for her skin graft no problem. Balla.
Some times we serve mini hot dogs or something stupid like that on $200 Versace plates. I am not scared to break one…. I could break five and not really care.
Oh to have endless amounts of money. Somehow I think that being a server at Denny’s is a little bit different…
Maybe this job isn’t so bad after all.
JK it is.
Entertainment for everyone is always different. One persons idea of fun and excitement could be another persons idea of complete insanity.
This is one of those times….
It was a charity event…which to me is always an awkward term at the hotel. When I think of a charity event, I think of painting a house for an old woman…or going to Mexico and fixing the roof on a school. Anything dirty, sweaty, and selfless.
But in the case of the oh so wonderful hotel…charity events usually come complete with an auction off of a week in Vail skiing, a tour of Lilly Pulitzers home and a luncheon with the great floral pattern master, or buying a pair of earrings that cost more than my Toyota.
So, it was one of those charity events…the gowns were lavish, the hair was big, and the lips were plumped and glossed.
Fake laughs flitted through the air, and fingers weighed down by massive rings lightly grabbed at the prosciutto and cantaloupe hors d’oeuvres….but passed on the fried goat cheese and artichoke….(My favorite) (I want one now) (I wonder if they are hard to make) ( I wish I had my own chef) (I wish I was Oprah). This is how my mind works. Love me.
Anyways, cocktail hour comes and goes…people write their $10,000 silent auction bids on the paper…and begin to take their seats.
First course is served…and the shallow chatter continues.
Its time for…..the entertainment!!
What is it tonight? Japanese drummers? Circ de solei rejects? Michael Buble?
No none of those things.
I wish it was one of those things.
But instead….a woman. Out walks a woman.
Not just any woman..
A naked woman.
Ok…I over exaggerated.
She was wearing a tiny thong… I mean she did have her dignity!
So this naked woman walks out. My server husband….along with every other male server in the room, just about pours wine in the guests lap. They are thinking to themselves…best. shift. ever.
I am thinking to myself…why am I surprised? Its Palm Beach! This is normal.
So the thonged woman stands in the center of the ballroom…and ready for her talent?
A man…paints her entire body…. gold.
Fake gold? No no no….this is not the Holiday Inn. This is a classy establishment. We ONLY paint naked women with REALLLL GOLLLD!!!!!
I ain’t saying she a gold digger.
Again, only in Palm Beach.
Her entire body gets covered in gold one inch at a time…meanwhile our standards of service have dropped considerably….due to the fact that every tuxedo clad man carrying a silver tray was instantly oblivious to every guest who was not being painted naked…in gold.
This by far was one of the strangest dinner entertainment acts I have ever seen. Do you think these people are listed in the yellow pages? Or perhaps….the gold pages? Ba dum ch. That is the noise the drummer on Jay Leno plays when a lame joke is said and nobody laughs…until the drummer plays ba dum ch.
And how much did this woman get paid to do this? Maybe her weight in gold? Ba dum ch again.
After I got over the initial shock of the whole thing and the night continued…I was wondering if I could take the gold woman and trade her in at the jewelery store for an engagement ring upgrade. I have one 14k gold human…what can I trade her in for?
To the ladies in the admission office….while you should be catching sailfish you instead spend your time reading my meager blog. I am forever indebted to you and your faithful readership. My wish is that men as strapping as these one day will catch you…and your hearts… Especially you with the curly hair who dances with me to Jewish wedding songs.