3:15 pm: I jump off the 1 train and walk the short block to work. Although it's a forty minute commute again, I'm thankful that I don't have to transfer trains at all. Once we all clock in we begin "side work," which refers to all preparation before (or after) service. Every restaurant has its side work, and we're still experimenting with how much to do the night before and what needs to be done at 3:30 pm so that we're able to establish an efficient routine. For now, we five servers set to work folding napkins, preparing candles, polishing silverware (BTW: I've never had to polish at either job previously, so to me this feels "real fancy like"), polishing glasses, cutting paper for the wood-top tables, preparing our mise en places (small platters with silverware), and finally, setting the tables. Maybe it doesn't sound like much, but it takes all of us two hours working nonstop in order to be ready at 5:30 pm, which is when we begin receiving guests. We have found that it's so important to "back up our backup"-- meaning, even when all our silverware and napkins and glasses are prepared on the floor, we must have two backups of all the items listed downstairs, because nothing feels worse than desperately trying to find forks in the middle of service and having to run downstairs and furiously polish what we can find.
4:15 pm: Family meal is ready. Almost done with our side work, we secure our aprons around our waists (they have to be tied a certain way, which can be a little frustrating to do well) and head downstairs to eat. Metal bins are filled with rice and stew and lettuce or some variety of those three every night. For some reason, I never have an appetite when it's time to eat family meal. But I load up my plate anyway with steak-cut potatoes, chicken and cheese surprise and chopped wedge because it's no fun to be hungry for seven hours as you're serving food. I especially consume a lot of carbs because I want to feel full throughout service. This place isn't like I.R.C., where I could just clock in, order something off the menu at my leisure, and eat on the floor among customers busily clicking away on their computers for hours and nursing a watered down iced coffee.
Family meal is when each of us takes the time to silently munch our beef stew and meditate on the night ahead of us. Around this time, one of the owners takes a seat with us and begins to eat as well, talking about service, what we need to do to be prepared, and who we should anticipate coming in to dine that night. We serve a variety of people, but I think this owner summed it up perfectly when, one night, as my fellow server Andy and I were able to steal a moment to polish glasses during service, he walked passed and stopped briefly to observe that "We have a lot of attractive people here." "He's talking about us, right?" I joked with Andy. But we both knew exactly what he meant. We've all noticed it: the skinny, tall fashionistas escorted by their sharply-dressed, shaggy bearded, Ray Ban wearing in a dimly lit restaurant hipster boyfriends. This is par for the course and it's what I always thought was typical of a Manhattan restaurant.
So at 5:30 pm, the lights are dimmed, candles placed on tables, music cranked up, and we stand near our respective sections, arms folded behind our backs, pleasant expressions frozen on our faces. At first of course, it's slow going and we all try to find little things to do. Most head downstairs and prepare coffee for themselves. We leisurely sip our coffee, water the couple of tables that are occupied, arrange the silver perfectly on each table. And then--BOOM.
All of a sudden we're so busy with our tables, we don't know which end is up.
