The Ghost Of Hell’s Kitchen
In case you miss it
This is for you bartenders, chefs, or servers who are not just on quarantine but also jonesing like an addict for a good ass-kicking, leg twitching, face plant in a brunch-to close-double shift kinda way.
If you’re quarantining but never worked in hospitality, do yourself a favor and please move on. You’ll probably be offended. This is not a WeWork shared urban enclave. We can’t work from home on zoom. There are no ping pong tables.
We lost our shitshow and we miss it.
We are die-hard masochists. We joyfully go to work to be fucked in one way or another. Sometimes with lube; most times without. And we like it.
So as it stands now, we currently have the DTs and there’s no youtube workout video or cross-stitch that can replace sprinting around for 12 hours on an empty belly, full bladder, and an apron full of dreams.
So, for now, let’s take a walk down memory lane. Get your skinny server legs straight back to the kitchen where you can breathe. Open the door to the fridge. Stand there. Imagine it’s the walk-in and you’ve come for a ramekin of horseradish to go with the three sides of ranch, BBQ, and mustard for Carole Baskin’s shrimp cocktail and house chard.
