Sometimes I wonder if I should have become a chef at all. Sure I like it, but I also like to dance and believe me when I say I can't dance. At all. Just because I like something doesn't mean I should attempt to do it for a living. But I've made my bed, and this week, someone short-sheeted it. Every dumb mistake I could make, I've made.
I tried to roast veggies for sandwiches, didn't set the oven timer and walked off. Needless to say, when I remembered them, they were carbonized shadows of their former selves.
I ordered chicken legs for lunch and they brought me drumsticks. Not the same thing at all. So I sent them back and I had to scramble to find something to feed the first group of kids. Granted this one was not entirely my fault, but a smart chef would have ordered the chicken for the day before. Sometimes I do that, but had no room in the cooler to store it.
You know, I bet I could become a plumber...
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