More from the Ritz

Chef said, "This ticket is confusing! Please tell the server I'd like a word!" which is a rough translation of, "What the F? This ticket is F'ed up! Get me the F'er who wrote it!"
I was running from the room service kitchen, which makes our breakfasts, and missing the restaurant's main kitchen, which is open to the dining room and not conducive to Chef vernacular.
The order in question was for "Egg Benedict SUB BACON FOR SAMOLN."
Our number two cook was working with one of the main kitchen's leads, who was on his first day, so even though he had the chops to burn through the line, he was fighting an unfamiliar menu and woefully underprepared mise en place. Patience was no longer a significant commodity.
"Easy, Chef," I said. "He's South African, and in their vernacular, the subject and object are switched. He means to say that bacon is substituted out, salmon is in. The verb is flipped relative to American English."
Blink, blink, blink. Shake. "GET ME THE FUCKING WAITER!"
Sometimes I miss being in a college town.

After ten days of operation, our serving capacity has increased 300%. Dinner has been a steady accumulation and margin-pushing venture. Lunch went from more staff than diners to 160 covers over the course of yesterday. Evidently, it was ugly, with three cooks and three servers. No mention of putting the top capacity staff on evening shifts and leaving for breakfast and lunch those who are perfectly content to stand around polishing silverware and chatting through a service.
I'd be embarrassed were I to wait on myself: I'd be bullshitting through a third of the core ingredients: what sort of flour is in the burger bun? In what wine are the shortribs braised? What's the difference between the braising fluid and demiglace? Where does the goat cheese come from? Would the herbal profile of that (the baby gem lettuce with roasted beets, goat cheese, and a winter citrus vinaigrette) better compliment the truffle-onion jus of the seabass or the escabeche on the rotisserie chicken? What's the house olive oil? From what dairy is the creme fraiche sourced?
Not that I really care, not that it would greatly alter y choice, but if I was trying to decide between, say, the burger with fries and house-pickled fixins and the French dip with onion rings and jus, here's what I would want to know:
What's the size (8 vs 6 oz)
What's the bun (Old World Mills sesame bun and molasses baguette)
Tell me about the fries vs onion rings (fries are house pressed russets, onions are [bsing] cippolini in a light breading and hot fry)
The toppings (applewood smoked bacon with gruyere and caramelized onion with gruyere)
The sources (beef comes from the Five Dot Ranch, which raises grass-fed and hormone-free beef outside of Susanville, and the veg, like the meats, come from the balance of highest quality and greatest locality, hence Maine diver scallops, salsify from Holland, and beef from just up the road, but there isn't as much draw for name-brand farms that grow arugula during the California winter).
In this case, the molasses baguette would sell me, but were it a sesame baguette I would go for the ingredients I'd like to support--if the russets come from twin falls and the caramelized onion comes from Walla Walla, it's the dip all the way.
And if I'm paying for a Ritz Carlton dining experience, I want that information.

Anyway, I like that I don't have to face myself on the floor, I like that I get to drop off food, point out the highlights, and bolt. I like that I don't have to talk myself out of the constant intimidation of not absolutely owning the menu.
And then I take a pizza to a table, "the pizza du jour with pancetta Americana, endive, basil, and five cheeses" (and I can list them), and the person looks sick.
"I ordered the pizza with mozzarella and cheddar."
"The mushroom soup with ruby port reduction and croquette."
"He told me I could have chicken noodle soup!"
"So?" is not an acceptable answer. Nor is, "Well, here's what we got."
And day after day, it happens with the same servers. Always the same. And as soon as one customer gets unhappy, the server melts down. Always the same. And then in steps a manager who excels at verbally creating a panicked "crisis" [clusterfuck] almost as adroitly as he creates stupidly confused "crises" through his actions--rather than just schmoozing, he gets proactive and mis-labels seats and tables.
Nothin like walking all over the floor wondering, "where to?" after a table says, "we didn't order that...."
I'm sure they're learning something, but sometimes I wonder what.
Whatever.
Evening service has direction and momentum and runs like a muscle car in need of a tune up.
Lunch and breakfast run like a muscle car that's been sitting in a field and has a rabbit nest in the hood.
But how fascinating to be part of the team responsible for establishing the preliminary practices and procedures. How great to play a part in polishing the restaurant into a showpiece.