sunday supper for staff before service. gumbo from my grandmother's pot logic. taste everything. family meal is how southern kitchens say you matter. tickets can wait ten minutes. hunger can't. service ended and the line cook scraped the plancha while music from the dish pit played too loud. my feet buzzed with the vibration of twelve hours standing. tips were decent. body expensive. i ate staff meal sitting on a milk crate and felt rich for five minutes. prep list was longer than the bench and we made it fit because restaurants are spatial puzzles. my knife needed sharpening and i promised tomorrow for the fourth tomorrow in a row. the walk-in door seal squeaked like a complaint. family meal smelled better than half the tickets and that is not an insult. it is tradition.
Sunday Supper Service Feeds the Line First
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Sunday Supper Service Feeds the Line First
Sunday supper for staff before service. Gumbo from my grandmother's pot logic: taste everything, adjust, trust the roux.
Family meal is how Southern kitchens say you matter. Tickets can wait ten minutes. Hunger cannot.
Nashville service industry runs on speed. I still insist on the circle around the pot. You cannot cook soul food with hollow people.
The dining room gets the performance. The line gets the truth.
I do not need a moral. I need an honest next step. Sometimes that is rest. Sometimes it is showing up again before you feel ready.
The story continues in the body after the words stop. Shoulders lower, or they do not. Tomorrow arrives with its own list. I am still here, which is not nothing.
I do not need a moral. I need an honest next step. Sometimes that is rest. Sometimes it is showing up again before you feel ready.
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