Part 32. Wings Of A Dove

Eccles cakes, beautiful days and Zoom

That Bud is a trooper, could you stick a Like at then end of this, he deserves it.

Welcome back lovely people, and those of you who are not so lovely. This weeks story is also about lovely things. Hang on, hopefully you read last weeks post, the one with The Michelin Man and Patricia Patchouli?

OK, let’s go!

We were now living in a house in a village just outside of York called Wheldrake. Nothing too fancy, our mortgage money didn't go as far in York as it did in Stockton on Tees.

We were surrounded by boxes which needed unpacking, the only thing which was in it’s correct place was the kettle. But so what. This meant that we now had an extra hours sleep in the morning, and the drive home at 11:30pm was now fifteen minutes instead of an hour. It felt like a luxury holiday.

So right now, the world was a beautiful place.

We arrived at the restaurant door early one regular day, let’s say it was Thursday. We turned off the alarm and got to our stations, Donna at the front of the restaurant and me in the kitchen. Ready to start our daily tasks.

We always had the kitchen door open while we did food prep, it was nice to be able to communicate, to listen to the restaurant music, and to be able to see what a glorious sunny day it was. Swinegate* was a lovely little street, cobblestones and quirky shops.

Lozza arrived and changed into her chefs whites while I checked the food deliveries.

“Oh my God,” I shouted, “Someone phone the police, the delivery is correct.”

Donna arrived to the kitchen, “What, so there’s nothing missing, or wrong?”

“Nope, absolutely everything is here. And they haven't done anything daft like sent ten kilo of pineapples instead of ten kilo of potatoes.”

“Wow,” Donna was surprised, and impressed.

Lozza was impressed also, “Something must be wrong.”

So that was a nice start to the day. And that continued, the prep list was fairly easy, Donna wasn’t getting pestering phone calls from reps offering orange juicing machines for sale. They always insisted that we needed one, we were a vegetarian restaurant after all.

And the sun continued to shine.

Lozza started the tomato and smoked paprika sauce. She chopped onions and garlic, then put them on a low heat with a little oil. I explained that we did that to not only soften them, but frying them gives a much better flavour than just letting them boil in the tomato juice. As they cooked she started to chop tomatoes, quickly.

I grated some White Stilton for the spaghetti dish, we liked using this forgotten cheese, why be the same as everyone else. Then I quickly toasted some flaked almonds, careful, they burn easily.

Lozza had her sauce well under way now, bubbling nicely. “Shall I do soup now or sweet potatoes?”

“Bang the spuds in Lozza then let’s do an easy soup.”

Lozza knew this would be tomato soup, it was basically, chopped tomatoes, milk, cream and a good whack of tomato purée.

Lunchtime food was much less formal than the evening menu, so we could make little tweaks, such as changing the soup and giving a different bread option.

I boxed off the toasted almonds then swapped over to desserts, Eccles cakes first. The fruit mix had been made the day before so it was just a case of stuffing it into some puff pastry then belting them a bit. Give them a quick glaze, then off they went into the oven.

Zoom by Fat Larry’s Band was playing through the restaurant speakers. Before our Keanu left he made us a compilation CD and I asked for the Zoom track to be added.

Nobody else liked it though, but I would sing along loudly, just to annoy everyone.

Lozza finished off the smoked paprika sauce with a little salt and adjusted the paprika amount. The baked sweet potatoes were already cooked. We chose them for the menu because at the time, some people still viewed them as a bit different, plus, they cooked quicker than regular spuds.

Saving on energy you see, well before it was trendy to do so.

The Eccles cakes were just about done also, two minutes more, don’t forget. These were served with cinnamon ice cream, we bought this in, no time to make it, plus, it was very good.

Lozza whisked up a batter for the lemon semolina cake, lined a tin with greaseproof, then whacked it in the oven. While it cooked she made a lemon syrup to use as a soak. Sugar, lemon juice and then the zest, boil, simmer, then pass through a sieve. Done!

What a great day. “Are you ok out there Donna?”

“Yea, Rosie will be in soon.”

And sure enough, Blackhead arrived a few minutes later. She chatted for a few minutes with Donna and then, as she always did, came to the kitchen door to say hello.

“Hi guys, ok?” she asked.

Lozza replied, “Yea, hiya Rosie.”

“Rosie, you’ll never guess what, the F.B.I. were looking for you earlier.”

“Morning Andrew.”

Then the kitchen door was closed, the front door signed turned to open, and within seconds the first lunchtime diners arrived.

They arrived and they ordered. Donna and Blackhead passed back and forth to the kitchen to deliver the little slips of paper with the orders scribbled on them. Lozza and I read them, and then prepared and plated them up.

Spaghetti was dropped into the simmering water, beetroot was dressed with olive oil and Borlotti beans were fried. Baked sweet potatoes were sliced open and topped with homemade coleslaw, a pile of locally grown leaves were placed by the side and a pinch of cracked black pepper landed on top.

Donna and Rosie ferried the plates to diners, then reported back with a few nice compliments.

I’m sure someone even said how great it was that Zoom by Fat Larry’s Band was on the playlist.

We served a few desserts, not too many. Polish a plate, add half a teaspoon of icing sugar to one side, then the still warm Eccles cake. Next, place the ball of cinnamon ice cream on top of the icing sugar so it didn't slide around.

And when the diners left, we opened the kitchen door so that we could all chat as we finished preparing for the evening service. Lozza and I started the more complex prep for the evening menu. Rosie and Donna reset tables, washed glasses, polished cutlery and chilled more wine for the evening service.

Heading into a service knowing that everything is super super organised is a beautiful feeling.

We kept the wash up area tidy so it wasn’t too much of a shock for Bud when he arrived later. There wasn't a lot to do, lunch was just steady and there wasn't quite a full house on the evening.

Lozza made the white sauce for the double baked soufflés, then folded in the grated cheese, yolks and whipped whites. She added the mix to the silicone moulds ready for baking. These would be served with the poached duck egg, smoked potato croquette and pineapple pickle. Remember, this was Vanilla Black’s take on the retro dish of gammon and pineapple.

I boiled up some raspberry vinegar with sugar and let it simmer on it’s own until it became a syrup. Next I made the carrot and orange cream for the bubbles and squeak cakes, easy on the orange, it’s not a dessert.

What a rather pleasant day it was. And this is the important point about working in a kitchen. If you like working with food, if you like working with basic ingredients and turning them into something which looks and tastes great. If you like being surrounded by the sounds of sizzling, blending and bubbling, then where else would you rather be working.

And that was enough prep, we could even have a longer break today. Donna and Blackhead came to the kitchen for some food and Lozza and I grabbed a plate of whatever.

We turned the ovens and stove off, turned off the extraction, then the kitchen lights, and took ourselves to the rear part of the restaurant to eat together.

Then we sat and watched the shoppers pass by, they couldn't see us because of the location of our table, but we could see them.

Then there was a tap at the back door, it was Tricky Vicky, remember, she worked at an office two doors down.

“Hiya, just come to see if you’re all aright.”

We all informed Tricky that it was a lovely day and we had a good lunch service and that we were having an extended break.

“Ohh lucky you eh. Right, I’m getting back to the office, see you tonight.”

And when it was finally time to get back to work, that thing happened, you know when you’ve been sat for so long that you don’t want to get up.

“Another five minutes,” someone said.

We normally went back to the kitchen at five, but we sat for another ten minutes. The restaurant was fully set up, so no rush eh.

But then it happened, Lozza and I made a slow walk back to the kitchen, all six steps.

The lights were flicked on, we turned the oven on low to warm up and fired up the extraction.

Hey, hang on! Why isn’t the extraction doing it’s whirring noise!

“Hey Lozza, that’s weird. You can hear the motor trying to do something, but nothing is actually happening.”

“Yea that’s weird. What’s wrong with it?”

Obviously Lozza thought I was a ventilation engineer. “It’s probably the centrifugal element.”

“Eh? What’s that?”

“Dunno, I just made it up. I have no idea.”

I turned it on and off a few times, but nothing, apart from the sound of a motor trying to do something. I looked outside at the pipey thing, nothing to see there.

“Right, I’ll call that maintenance company, the one down that back road near Mill Street.”

And guess what, it closed at 5pm. No answer.

“There’s nobody there, we’ll have to wait until the morning.”

So we cracked on, it couldn't be that bad could it. Luckily we cooked on electric, there was no gas in the building, but the kitchen soon heated up.

By the time Bud arrived at 6pm it was pretty warm. “Hi guys, it’s warm.”

“Yea Bud, the extraction is knackered and the maintenance guy didn’t answer his phone.”

“I hate him.”

If you think this is mildly interesting and that we deserve a coffee, you can drop three quid to us via this button.

So Bud hated him, I hated the extraction itself, Donna, Tricky and Blackhead hated coming in the kitchen, and Lozza…..she wasn't too bothered.

And as the night steamed on, it became hotter, the heat couldn't go anywhere you see, so it just built up.

Now we could have opened the kitchen door, but it always felt wrong letting diners see the engine room. You don’t buy an Aston Martin and ask to see the oil sump. You don’t buy a new blender and ask to see the fuse. So the door remained closed, it was starting to look like a cell door through our steamed up eyes.

But hey, when the door did open, you know, when Blackhead came to collect some plates or drop in a chitty, the draught was like a hundred angels breezing through the kitchen.

Tricky Vicky walked in, “Hiya. Oh it’s warm isn’t it. Can I get a lemon for someone’s tea?”

We couldn't hear Vicky, we just stood still as the new, fresh air flowed through our pores. We were rigid like bronze statues, absorbing the cool refreshing draught.

Bud’s head swayed gently from side to side as he let the coolness meander through his locks.

“Yea, take what you want Vicky.”

And we continued to push on, we continued. What else could we do, turf the diners out, tell them it’s chilled food only tonight. There’s this unwritten rule in hospitality, you feel that you don’t want to disappoint, so you battle on.

And battle on we did, just for you lovely diners. It was hot and sticky, it was humid and damp, and running around a hot kitchen was like walking though mud. Tricky Vicki brought iced water for us to drink. “Bring us a bath of it Vicky.”

So when the final diners left for the night, Donna flung open kitchen door.

We were free, free to embrace the chilled, 22c air of the restaurant. And the three of us, me, Lozza and Bud stood for five minutes, and let the icy warm blast cool us down.

So the next morning we contacted the maintenance guy straight away. Luckily, he said he could pop round on his way to his workshop. We liked him instantly.

And when he arrived we were braced for the worst. You see, when something needs repairing, and it’s usually expensive, that could be your weeks profit gone. Now that may seem a bit far fetched, but, depending on the size and takings of a restaurant, net profit, that’s what is left after everything is paid, can be as little as 5%. So a big repair could mean, that as the owners, you worked for nothing that week.

So this geezer popped into the kitchen, turned the dial of the extraction, listened for a few seconds, then went out the back to look at the pipey bit.

I followed him, I liked to see if I could learn anything from the maintenance guys.

Most people let them just get on with it, but as I saw it, if I can learn something simple from them, I can do it myself next time. I could possibly and save cash, and get the job done quicker.

You wouldn't catch Tarquin Harlequin Smyth doing that. Remember him from Part 3, the guy who’s parents buy him a restaurant as a graduation pressie??

Anyway, the maintenance guy turned to me and asked, “Can I cut a hole in the pipe?”

“Well yea, fine by me mate.”

So he took a grinder from his bag, plugged it in, and cut a hole in the pipe, just near the motor bit. There were sparks and bits of metal flying around, I was definitely doing this next time.

When he finished there was a hole about the size of an envelope, “Don’t worry, I’ll put a plate over that after.”

Then he stuck his hand inside the pipe and pulled out……….a little bendy twig.

“Thought so,” he said, as if he sees this everyday.

“I don't understand, what has that go to do with the extraction breaking?”

“They get caught in the fan blades. So the motor tries to spin the fan, but the twig has jammed it.”

“Errrr, OK, but how does a twig get in there in the first place?”

“Pigeons drop them in.”

“Eh? Pigeons? I don’t get it?”

“Yea mate, sometimes they try to build nests at the top of the flue. They’ll drop a twig or two in, realise they can’t build a nest, then move on.”

“So after all that it was just a twig? Because of one pigeon?”

“Yup.”

Then he went inside, turned the extraction dial, and there it was, spinning away beautifully.

The bloke bolted a metal plate over the hole, asked for a few quid, and off he trundled.

Donna broke away from setting tables, “I heard the extraction running, all fixed?”

“Yea, but guess why it was broken?”

“Errr, the motor?”

“No, there was a twig trapped in the fan blades. Because of a pigeon.”

“A pigeon?!”

And for the rest of the day, although we were relieved, we cursed that bloody pigeon.

“Hey Lozza. I hate pigeons.”

“So do I.”

“Hey Bud, do you like pigeons?”

“Pigeons are bastards.”

So the moral of this weeks Post is this. You may be having a perfect day, everything may well be going your way, you might be thinking nice thoughts, you may be staring out of the window at the blue sky and thinking how wonderful life is.

But remember, there’s always a lurking pigeon, poised and ready to throw a twig in the works.

Right, thanks for listening, or reading, you really are the best.

Next week is the foodie one, and we talk about choccy and orange.

Donna and Andrew

*The city of York has a number of streets with the word Gate as a suffix. Goodramgate, Petergate and Whipmawhopmagate.

It comes from a Norse word, ‘Gata’, and it means street.

So for example, a Spurrier was someone who made spurs, so Spurriergate is the street of spur makers.