Part of changing jobs is learning. Learning about new preparations of squash. New grapes that make wines you’ve never heard of. New managers and new chefs that challenge your definition of stern or sweet or both at the same time. You learn table numbers and how they count seat numbers (the old adage of seat “one” being closest to kitchen is often replaced by even older ideas that it is the first to the left and changed again by “this is how we do it”). New cuts of steak and how to use the wasted ends of vegetables to make something compelling and crave-able.
Beyond testable materials often quizzed in pre-shift, you also learn about your new soon-to-be-friends and sometimes even more about yourself. The longest standing server’s territorial nature, or how the most recent food runner hire is destined to be the GM in time. You learn people’s family meal habits, and post drinks-of-choice. You learn habits.
Working in Brooklyn some years ago, I learned a bunch about all of that in set up, around the prep table, in line-up, in the middle of a third turn at 9:30pm dominated by walk-ins, in cleaning up after, in testing and tasting new dishes. But by far what I’ll take away most from that restaurants is the secret to getting fresh chicken nuggets at 2am after a daiquiri or three (and a shot of tequila because the bartender didn’t want to drink alone but demanded drinks from themselves all night).
Most times, when you order chicken nuggets from McDonald’s, you’ll get earlier-fried nuggets that have been kept under a heat lamp. When it’s 2am, and you cover them in enough honey mustard or bbq sauce, it’s probably fine to have warm nuggets. But not for my dear ex-coworker. He is a connoisseur of all things delicious, including Barolos from his birth year and 2am meals.
After we had properly debriefed the night, how it was insane how someone actually waiting 4 hours for a table or when that kid lit their napkin full ablaze, my coworker had to make one stop before their uber whisked them into the night: McDonald’s. I can’t say I’ve had chicken nuggets since my sixth grade car rides with my dad between my mom’s house and his, so whenever he asked if he should get me any, I always politely refused. No matter, about five minutes later he always popped out with a massive bag of nuggets. And herein lies my most cherished lesson from my time there:
“Babe, why do you always get so many”
“Josh, the trick is, to get fresh nuggets, you have to order 60 or more. Only then will you hear them call back “DROP THE NUGGETS”, and that’s when you know they’re fresh,”