You’ve worked hard! Serving hungry, anticipating customers what they have dreamed of doing for months on end. A table for two, in the café that began a revolution of food. You’ve answered questions and made people smile from ear to ear. “Excuse me, what does Anchoïade mean? What is this item called ‘coppa di testa?’ What wine would settle well with this dish? Should we do a white or red?” Questions galore, extraordinary service is maintained. Day service goes fast, nights linger, with customers ordering extra drinks from the bar. Extra apéritifs, desserts, fruit, and shots of espresso to digest the stomach. When will you get the table flipped for the next reserved guest? Move it!
Sunday, the day off! This day is supposed to be for relaxation. A break for yourself to rest, catch up on life and errands of the sort. But, on this sunday we will forget all of those things. Instead, their is a party to attend. A farm party in the middle of Sonoma County. Everyones attention focused! Drinks all around you, people sharing conversation and smiles. Cooks cooking food from some of the best soil I’ve ever seen, with some of the best love put into every dish. The sun directing itself toward your party, and once again, a day commited to the waitstaff, kitchen staff, office staff and well commited others of the restaurant to make sure they receive a little “thank you,” for all of the hard work and dedication they bring to the restaurant everyday.
It’s noon, the bus is leaving for the farm. Everyone relax, you don’t have to do a thing. Remember this day is a party for you. You deserved it! Beverages loaded under the bus, and patrons fill the seats on top. Bottles open early, and friends start conversation immediately. Right away, I can tell the day is going to be a good one!
What a relief to be out of the fog, in the sun, next to the vines and open fields. Shorts and a t-shirt in this kind of weather, that would never happen an hour south from here.
Upon arrival, we are approached with drinks first. Choices, choices, choices! Would you like the house-brewed ale, a glass of white, Guilhelm rose, Pinot Noir from the hills of france, or a bottle of pellegrino? No need to wonder what I am having. I take my time, sip slowly, liesure myself to the awaited day. H’orderves are spread about picnis tables. Flatbread, fresh veggies, fried chick peas, baba ghanoush, hummus, and romesco. Mmm, romesco sauce! One of my favorite condiments. I could rave about it all day while eating a whole bowl of the stuff. The crunch in it, to the spiciness and sometimes a hint of sweet (depending on who made it and what recipe they used), I am addicted.
Friends on the grill getting dirty and smoky; a little bambi to be served. I think the menu calls for schwarmas, but I believe their is a mix of things going on here. It doesn’t really matter to me, because like I mentioned from the beginning, I am relaxing. Injesting whatever is prepared for the group. I want to enjoy myself, my time and the company.
Times passes pretty fast. It’s finally time to eat! A line forms like the ones at an amusement park; I feel like it’ll take me forever to get a plate. I can’t help but to give a holler to the front of the line, “Lets go people, move faster, I’m hungry! You all make me feel like I am in a soup kitchen right now.”
Some minutes later, I’m sitting on a hay stack, eating. I think I should’ve made a few plates for what I have piled on one:
Lamb sandwich with cilantro, raita, gypsy peppers and harissa.
A salad with albacore tuna, olives, cherry tomatos, roasted onion and herbs.
Roasted jimmy nardello peppers with heirloom tomatoes.
Little gems with green goddess dressing and roasted beets.
I didn’t know it would happen so soon, but I think I have made my way to heaven. The food is great, I feel wonderful, plus the weather adds to my benefit.
After the meal, dessert and fruit is dispersed. People start to round things up early. Bob cannard, our good friend supplying the restaurant with substantial product, gives a speech discussing the future growth for his soil, his farm and his suppliers. Everyone salutes him, his dedication and hard work. Thank you Mr. Cannard, you’ve done and do one hell of a job!
Wrap it up! Lets head home! A hour an a half ride home, we can’t help but to have a keg accompany us between the seats. Jams pump through the speakers, dancing in the aisle, and night skies drawing in.
A day to remember forever, I’m pleased to have such a great job!