No Loud Music

A comment from Peter at https://ppazucha.wordpress.com/ dropped my jaw. He lives in Wisconsin, read an article by a local food critic attributing one third of all COVID outbreaks to restaurants. He thought of me, knowing hospitality pays my bills in Vancouver B.C. Peter kindly reached out with heart warming concern. I doubt he knew that 1/3 of outbreaks linked to restaurants would blow my mind.

No wonder the U.S./Canada border remains closed. In all of Canada 9,170 COVID deaths are attributed to 136,141 confirmed infections. British Columbia has 6,162 infections, 211 deaths. Across the border in Washington State 82,645 cases account for 2.080 deaths. ( All figures accurate today )

Offhand I can’t think of a single outbreak linked to Canadian restaurants. Almost all outbreaks in Canada were traced to senior care facilities or food processing plants. Certainly not food service, emphatically not restaurants. If a third of U.S. infections stem from restaurant visits, what does that say about America’s mindset?

In British Columbia bars and restaurants were closed from late March to end of May. Re-opening guidelines were strict – 50% capacity, 6 metres between tables, maximum 6 guests per table, mandatory masks for staff, mandatory contact tracing info collected from all patrons. To create higher capacity, restaurants are allowed to block off street parking, fence in additional outdoor seating. Meticulous regard for legislation, the only thing standing between economic survival and bankruptcy. Trust me, local businesses know what’s at stake. By no stretch of imagination are restaurants in Canada contributing to COVID infection.

All good until daily infection rates started to climb. (From single digits to 100 or so a day) Despite no correlation between restaurants and rising daily infections, restaurants, bars and banquet halls took it on the chin. This week nightclubs and banquet halls were ordered to close effective immediately. Liquor sales must cease at 10 pm, alcohol can only be served with food, all bars and restaurants have to close by 11 pm. In addition, music can’t be louder than “conversation level” – loud music forces people closer to talk, facilitates shouting which spreads respiratory droplets.

Silly as it sounds, absurd or ridiculous as it seems, Canadians will abide by the rules. In my mind that explains the staggering anomaly between U.S./Canada pandemic statistics.

Chinese Take-Out Ponder

Once upon a time I’d jump at suggestion of ordering Chinese take-out. Chinese food of my youth, small town 1960’s take-out was much like Wonder bread or Tang, novel for its homogenized predictability. Special fried rice with baby shrimp and bright green peas, beef and broccoli, lemon chicken, sweet and sour pork smothered in artificial red dye stickiness. Fresh, satisfying indulgence reserved for special occasions.

I grew up, moved away, left Chinese take-out nostalgia behind. Try as I might it never tasted as good again, I could take it or leave it. Given a choice, Chinese take-out wouldn’t evoke enthusiasm. It just wasn’t the same. My first pregnancy came with inexplicable aversion to the smell of Five Spice, sight of BBQ Duck displayed in Chinese market windows. Both produced involuntary gagging. Go figure? If my husband craved Chinese, he ate it for lunch at work.

Three pregnancies and ten years later I caved to Chinese take-out pressure. My family loved it, me not so much. Certainly nothing special about it. Special fried rice contained tiny canned shrimp, dry garlic ribs were nothing but bone and gristle. WTF? Last straw arrived late one stormy night when a co-worker and I happened upon back alley horror. Driving to the office after a catering gig we took a short cut up an alley close to the shop. It was pouring rain, a screen door flapped in the wind, six pigeons with clipped wings scattered out the swinging door followed by a frantic cook attempting to corral them. Oh hell no! Remind me not to order from that Chinese restaurant.

Repeated story to another co-worker. You think that’s bad. she replied. Seems her brother works for the gas company. They got a call to attend a mall food court for suspected gas leak. On arrival they investigated service corridor, determined gas odor came from back room of Chinese restaurant. Gained access, discovered employees blow torching hair off dead rats. Double, oh hell no! That was five years ago.

A few days ago my husband really wanted Chinese take-out. Far from thrilled, I took one for the team. Suffice to say it didn’t go well. Five items for $84, are you kidding me? Greasy fried rice with 4 shrimp and 7 peas, sweet and sour pork sans pork under generous clumps of fried batter, soggy lemon chicken coated in thick layers of raw at the centre dough. Nothing to do but laugh, vow not to go there again.

Chinese take-out can live in childhood memories. Grown up Notes is done.

Staff Infection

As quarantine restrictions ease across North America, restaurant owners leapt on reopening despite regional restrictions on capacity and seating distance. On May 19th British Columbia allowed restaurants to open at 50% capacity. Enthusiastic public response filled patios to the brim, patrons wait in long lines hoping for a seat at normality’s table. Overnight, a palpable transformation played out across the city. Akin to getting out of jail, an inch of freedom gave way to miles of opportunity. I can so I will took root.

Yesterday, youngest son returned to work at a trendy Yaletown eatery.  Normal need not apply, patrons are splurging on bottle service, tipping with wild abandon and filling available seats until closing bell. His observations aren’t unique, permission to sit at restaurant tables amounts to viral imperative for familiar social surroundings.

Rejoice, sit with friends, drink draft beer, take comfort in health regulations requiring service staff to wear face masks. So great, right? Not so fast. What about the rights of service staff? Patrons don’t have to wear face masks, they’re not touching plates, glasses or cutlery of others. They don’t languish in a steamy dish pit, sweltering behind mandatory face masks as scalding steam covers them in particulate moisture. No big deal, what’s a handful of service staff compared to optics of economic revitalization?

Actually it’s a very big deal and frankly I’m appalled.

 

Zoonotic Ponder

Zoonotic ( zoonoses ) refers to infectious disease transmitted from animals to humans. Hard fact – over 60% of infectious disease contracted by humans are zoonotic, 75 % of new emerging diseases have zoonotic origins. From mosquito, rodent, bat, flea, beaver,  to water contaminated courtesy cow dung, nature doesn’t blink at inflicting humanity with respiratory or gastrointestinal disease. Zoonotic encompasses viral, bacterial, fungal and parasitic human infection.

https://www.healthline.com/health/zoonosis#list-of-diseases

Chances are COVID-19 is zoonotic, so why all the conspiracy jibber-jabber? The SARS outbreak of 2002-2004 is widely accepted as zoonotic transmission from cave dwelling horseshoe bats in Yunnan Province, China to humans via intermediary civet cat hosts. Prior to the COVID-19 outbreak (and if you believe China is actually cracking down on farmed wildlife destined for sale as meat ) exotic wildlife for human consumption never raised a brow in China. Have conspiracy theorists forgotten viral videos of Chinese foodies chomping the head off bats in high end restaurants, or annihilating live baby mice in a bowl of broth? By what stretch of imagination did conspiracy ignore zoonotic covid-19 infection in favour of some nefarious bio-weapon laboratory goof?

I’m tired of conspiracy theorists pointing hysterical fingers at everything from Bill Gates to secretive new world orders, biological warfare or targeted population purge. I get it, people are upset, they’re in denial, searching for something to blame. Anything is possible, but until evidence proves otherwise – COVID-19 is zoonotic.  Everyone needs to chill.

 

 

Kraft To The Rescue

Business is far from usual at the Kraft Heinz Co. plant in Montreal. In response to COVID-19 panic buying, Kraft Dinner production lines are running 24/7 producing 400 KD boxes a minute.  Plant manager Danielle Nguyen didn’t need images of empty grocery shelves to amp up production, sales figures double the monthly average ignited a KD production frenzy. Her cheesy macaroni to consumer imperative is outlined in contingency plans dubbed A, B, C and D.

Plan A – keep two KD production lines running 24/7 in three shifts. Plan B – train replacement teams. Ready staff working on less essential product lines like Philadelphia Cream Cheese to step in if regular KD production staff fall ill. Plan C – train mechanics to hit the line if those staff tap out, managers and supervisors if mechanics can’t make it to work. Plan D – worst case scenario, Nguyen will run the line.

Kraft Dinner isn’t the only product with essential service contingency plans A – D.  KD welcomes indispensable product inductees canned beans, Cheese Whiz, peanut butter and barbeque sauce. BBQ sauce? Cheese Whiz? Kraft to the rescue.

Why consumers don’t need to worry about a lack of food at grocery stores for now

Quote Of The Day

For the past eight years the last holiday party of the year falls a few days before Christmas with the same corporate client. We deck the halls for eighty employees at head office of this grocery/drug store chain with anticipation of their appreciation and our eminent release from party season. We provide prime rib, baked ham, turkey dinner with all the fixings. They provide a truck load of cheese/meat deli platters, dozens of sushi platters, 30 boxes of mandarin oranges, a plethora of cakes, desserts and non-alcoholic beverages. The understanding being we deliver leftover bounty to a homeless mission or soup kitchen.

So far so good, head office employees eat themselves into blissful comas, we start packing everything for the mission. Without fail a handful of vultures start to circle. Well mannered scroungers receive polite reminders leftovers are destined for charitable donation, sneaky scavengers are shamed when we point them out to corporate management. Professional temperance prevents me from shouting “What’s wrong with you! ” Truly a mind boggling spectacle to witness human nature at its worst, glutinous employees gorging on free lunch then plotting to deny the homeless.

This afternoon oblivious ignorance reached a new low. Female employee enters room, doesn’t make eye contact or say a word, starts rummaging through stacks of platters set aside for the mission. “Can I help you?” She turns to face me holding a large platter of sushi, uttering “I have a party tonight, going to take this with me”. I doubt she’ll ever know what happened next solidified her place in my ledger of shame, that her shallow insensitivity spawned Quote Of The Day ponders.

“All leftovers are going to Union Gospel Mission” I said.

“Homeless people don’t eat sushi” she replied, and marched out of the room.

WTF!!

Huh

Never assume a client appreciation cocktail reception hosted by a wealthy cosmetic dentist is going to be dull. Swanky venue, meticulous client, ice sculpture, money no object floral arrangements and enough food to feed an army. What could possibly go wrong? We’re on our game, everything on time and in place, staff graciously passing breathtaking canapes, copious platters of stationed cheese, antipasto and charcuterie artfully woven along the spine of a central table.

Wait a minute, what’s wrong with you people? See that tiny plate on the table, small plate means small bite. No one invited you to dinner, why are you behaving like this is your last meal? Congratulations on a new set of teeth, but I’m begging you, show some self respect. Forty minutes into a three hour reception, we’re out of food – oh crap! Time to inform client, ease concerns and dispatch a chef to secure reinforcements. Momentary lapses in unabashed consumption ripple through the crowd. One of my servers reports guests ate all the garnish on his platter. WTF!

Thirty minutes later two behemoth platters of deli meat and cheese hit the table, my chef sets a timer – gone in 22 minutes. Now client wants more dessert, politely drawing the line I decline and head back to the kitchen. Along the way a guest asks for a moment of my time.”What’s your favorite colour?” she asks, clearly surprised when I answer “green”. “Oh my, don’t know if I have green” she mumbles while digging in her purse. Now she’s holding one of my hands in hers, pressing a cellophane wrapped cross in the other and declaring “close enough”.

What’s happening, please let go of my hand! A missionary you say, made this cross yourself, sent 100,000 crosses to Haiti after the earthquake?  Please let go of my hand! Propriety kept me from calling bat shit on 100,000 Haitian crosses, I heard myself say “that was a kind gesture”. Thanking her for the gift relaxed her hand long enough to remove mine from her clutches.

Never let it be said that mine is a predictable profession.

Pondering Foie Gras

Recently work asked me to layer dry spiced cherry, pistachio, foie gras and a single fava bean flower on toasted brioche crisps.”Do you know where Foie Gras comes from?” blithered a rotund woman between exuberant returns to the appetizer platter.”Try it” she cooed to her friends. “Melts in your mouth. very expensive, did I tell you they force feed geese” punctuated goose liver bliss. Despite or because of her now brashly annoying commentary, foie gras appetizers languished in gastronomic oblivion long after guests were seated at the dinner table.

Alone in the kitchen, “fair enough” preceded popping a foie gras appie in my mouth. Pretty sure my toes curled in delight, absolutely certain I didn’t wait for the goose liver swaddling my tongue to dissipate before consuming another bite of perfection. Flickers of ethical doubt were no match for mystical properties of foie gras.

At home, foie gras research started with a history lesson (who knew the practice of force feeding ducks and geese to produce fat laden liver dates back to ancient Egypt ), meandered through pages alternating praise and condemnation, came to a screeching halt at a site promising definitive vegan foie gras replication.

This image from https://fullofplants.com/the-best-vegan-foie-gras/ is said to show finished product with optional “grease coating” made from refined coconut oil and turmeric powder.

What the hell vegan recipe man, why foie gras? How many vegans seek deliverance from foie gras fantasies? Dream of satisfying foie gras voids thrust upon them by lifestyle choices? The answer was right in front of me – foie gras recipe man wrote –

“I’m not going to go into details, you know how foie gras is made, the ducks are force-fed with a metal tube that is inserted into their mouths and then killed. If you have never seen how the ducks are treated, make a quick search on Google images, I guarantee you will feel disgusted or might even shed a tear. It really pisses me off that some people have no problem inflicting such treatment to animals. I did eat foie gras in the past, and I really liked it but I was not aware (or maybe didn’t want to know) of what was really going on.” “Making foie gras vegan is quite a challenge, the real one has a silky and soft texture with a buttery and subtle taste. This vegan foie gras has that rich and creamy texture that melts in your mouth just like real foie gras. This recipe is the result of over 10 trials, testing with tofu, flavorings, herbs, agar-agar, mushrooms, chestnuts, and many other ingredients until achieving what I believe is the most accurate vegan foie gras.”

I get it – irony of lifestyle exuberance was lost on vegan foie gras recipe man. His self declared admission of tireless vegan experimentation to recreate foie gras majesty, plucked at my heart strings. Foie gras is a powerful master, an indiscriminate culinary demon capable of compelling fervent lifestyle opponents to fixate on replicating its glory.

Hot Dog Water

It’s street festival season in Vancouver. Yesterday, 17 blocks of Main Street welcomed thousands to annual Car Free Day celebrations. Hundreds of vendors marked twelve feet of curbside real estate with colourful tents. Block after block of inexpensive dresses made in India, food trucks, jewellery, yoga classes, political action groups, straw hats and local crafts. Lavender Kombucha in one hand, bacon raspberry chipotle jam sandwich in the other ( don’t judge me 🙂 ), an eager young man in a hot dog costume drew my eyes to the “Hot Dog Water” tent.

Hot Dog Water CEO Douglas Bevans, mustered his inner Gwyneth Paltrow to proclaim –

“We’ve created a recipe, having a lot of people put a lot of effort into research and a lot of people with backgrounds in science really creating the best version of Hot Dog Water that we could,” “So the protein of the Hot Dog Water helps your body uptake the water content, and the sodium and all the things you’d need post-workout.”

Scores of festival goers lined up for free samples of chilled hot dog water. Move over Gatorade, there’s a new boss in town. Hot dog water is the future of weight loss, vitality and brain function. Still skeptical? Rest assured proof is in the cost – one bottle of hot dog water sells for $37.99,  two for the Father’s Day special of $75.

Bevans won’t say how much hot dog water he sold, but cheerfully points to a statement clearly displayed at the booth –

“Hot Dog Water in its absurdity hopes to encourage critical thinking related to product marketing and the significant role it can play in our purchasing choices.”

From Global News –

Bevans, a tour operator by trade, is also an artist, and said the Hot Dog Water concept was actually dreamed up as a commentary on what he called the “snake oil salesmen” of health marketing.

“It’s really sort of a commentary on product marketing, and especially sort of health-quackery product marketing,” he said.

“From the responses, I think people will actually go away and reconsider some of these other $80 bottles of water that will come out that are ‘raw’ or ‘smart waters,’ or anything that doesn’t have any substantial scientific backing but just a lot of pretty impressive marketing.”

Vancouver festivalgoers invited to enjoy a cool glass of… hot dog water?

Kudos to you Douglas Bevans – well played.

 

18 Minutes

Today my world wears a badge embossed with “18 minutes”, a private honour reserved for individuals who share my profession. 18 minutes is the stuff of legend, an accomplishment of mythic proportion meaningless to all but a team of elite lunatics brave enough to prove it can be done.

So why does 18 minutes have me beaming with pride? Last night with two teams of five servers we served 180 guests the main course of a plated dinner in 18 minutes. I’m talking flawless execution, no screw-ups or dead plates returned to the kitchen for “they ordered beef not salmon”. It was 18 minutes of perfection, feathers in the cap of our existence, testament to the power of professional satisfaction. If there were a catering Olympics, my team would be standing on a podium collecting a gold medal. 18 minutes is why I get out of bed in the morning.