Thursday, 31 January 2013

A whinge about a whinge.

Definition of whinge


[no object] complain persistently and in a peevish or irritating way.

Here's an ironic whinge about people who whinge.


My God my ears are bleeding worse than a sorority of PMSers who have managed to weasel their way into my daily life and have absolutely nothing positive to say about anything.

I do not care if your boyfriend doesn't understand your unicorn obsession. I do not care if your Prada bag strap broke and they can't fix it until Sunday which has totes ruined your whole weekend. I do not care if they cancelled *insert soap opera* for the cricket and I certainly don't care if your bathroom scales screech 'YOU'RE FAT!' every time you take a bite of something that isn't under the category of 'lettuce'.

You want to know something worth whinging about? Here. I'm a god damn pastry chef by trade yet I'm allergic to raw egg. That means I have never eaten raw cookie dough.

We've all got fucking problems.

Quiet day at the office...

Making quails dance.

Providing chefs with hours of entertainment.

Nutbush City Limits!!!

Wah Wah

My Dad is currently fixing my back fence for me.

He has requested that whilst he works, is it possible to listen to something that *quote* "Doesn't sound like a retarded trumpeter caught up in a roller disco derby underneath a construction site."

His way of describing the Wah-Wah podcast I'm currently blaring with the enthusiasm of a loud drunken orgasm.

My response was of course, to blast it a little bit more.

I head to the corner shop to buy more milk and return to find my stereo unplugged and the cable nowhere in sight.

Well played Dad... Well played.

Wednesday, 30 January 2013

Inspirational Quote of the Day

"If you're looking for sympathy it's in the dictionary between shit and syphilis."

Don't hire your mates.

These days, I run the kitchen of a 25 seater wine bar. Tiny place so my boss and I pretty much do the whole thing ourselves with a few add ons.

Add ons such as my new kitchen hand, a mate of mine, great kid who is more efficient and useful than the $6,000 industrial dishwasher I have him operating. Plus he has learnt to dodge the meatballs getting piffed at his head whenever he starts whinging. (An OH&S positive).

But the trouble is… Mates KNOW things.

Now, I do have a boy. He’s pretty delightful. A better looking, gym-junkie-built-like-the-gods, smarter and far nicer version of me. He just doesn’t know it and I’ll murder the person who helps him figure it out.

My mate knows this boy.

So no longer is the case where I ask my boss for an early finish, do I get a “Oh no worries, go home and have a good rest.”

Instead, I get the kitchen hand *your mate* and my boss having a nice discussion about all the potential happenings that will result from me going home early in order to see him in a state that’s not resembling a comatose Snorlax because he has a 6am start.

Having your boss and your kitchen hand giggle about your sex life in front of you…

The worst.


“Get fucked cunt.”

The first thing I ever heard in a commercial kitchen. Certainly not the only time I’ve heard it and undoubtedly not the last. I had been led through the swinging doors by the Sous Chef to bear witness to the distant cousin of Bigfoot (if he had bred with a large St Bernard/boulder), brandishing what looked to be a small samurai sword at an equally grotesque colleague who smiled politely and replied with a wave of his flexible spatula: “Well somebody is a tad grumpy. Was ya Mum a bad root last night?”

I smiled. I shouldn’t have smiled.

“Oi, cheffo, who’s the Little One?”

Well I guess I’ve got my new nickname for life.

The chef leaned over the pass,  looked me in the eye and said: “What are your expectations of what a 1st year apprentice does?”

19 years old. 168cm. 45kg tiny girl. I replied with : “Whatever they’re told.”

BAM. Hired.

3 years on I am both sad and proud to say I am not the same person. Being situated in a small box of an environment, day in, day out, 14 or 15 hours of that day next to the same sweaty Neanderthal, sex driven, speed sniffing, adrenaline junkie, fuck knuckles, who just happened to have a secret passion for sous vide veal, foams and micro herbs, has transformed me.

I was not the best, but I was a hard worker. I loved being there and most importantly, I was entertaining.

Keep the chef amused and maybe, we’ll get through a Friday night service without something cast iron being hurled at my head. That’s where this all started. I think differently, I find the ‘funny’ in things. I am an angry, random, slightly patronising little shit who swears too much, rants too much, but geez I love to entertain, make people laugh, make them smile, make their day. This is my collection of random thoughts, jokes, stories, rants and a look into my daily life as a glorified shit kicker.

This is my story.

The Apprentice.