It's been an exhausting but awesome first week on the job, and even though it's only been four days for me, I'm already feeling it. Foodwise, I've mainly had a hand in salads, vegetable prep, some stir frying, and deep frying. These are the typical basic tasks that you've got to get right before anyone's going to let you get closer to anything that's more important if things go wrong with it!
Fortunately this week, there has been a cocktail party for 400 or so shiny people and their partners, as part of the Air Force Birthday celebrations. Much like my days of being a waiter, it's good to do function work every now and then for something a little different, but I'm glad I'm not in the kind of job where function work is the norm. A whole team of about ten AC/Ws banded together to make what seemed to be millions of hot and cold hors d'ouvres to be served over two hours in a hangar on the far side of the base from where we normally work.
After the better part of two days spent prepping for the event on Thursday, we were crammed into a ute and driven to the hangar where the magic was going to happen. We got a brief tour of the cafeteria area where we were going to plate up our masterpieces, and I got my first look at a diesel powered fridge. The most impressive part was checking out the hangar setup itself... three Hornets were parked facing into the open hangar, with the sunset of a mild Autumn day creating the perfect backdrop to the central bar area, and surrounding white-clothed tables.
As people began arriving in Service Dress 1A, I couldn't help but stare. I haven't seen this particular getup often enough to get bored of it, and much to my surprise I found out that I'm also entitled to the blue woolen tunic with shiny buttons as much as all these officers were! The whole scene looked like something out of Top Gun, minus the eighties haircuts. We couldn't gape at the hangar setup for too long though, because we had to launch into plating up our finger food feast!
The night was a good chance to see what happens at both sides, because I got to garnish and set up plates of hors d'ouvres as well as jump back in the kitchen and help get food packed up into the van for transit. Function work reminds me of the simple appeal of logistical endeavours, and the satisfaction that comes from seeing a job done efficiently as well as successfully.
Just when I thought that doing Unit PT and then an extra PT class on Wednesday was bad enough, having only four or so hours to get any sleep before starting the early shift at 0500 on Friday became my true source of pain. Perhaps the two were sort of combined in a way, seeing as my arms were quite useless from the only resistance exercise I've done in a couple of months, and my body hadn't slept enough to recover from what I had done to it the day before.
Early shifts are going to be a way of life for me for a while, the rest of the month at least. I think I might get a tiny sleep in the week I'm on sweets, but then again with my inhibitions regarding patisserie work I'll probably be fretting enough to make up for whatever extra rest I could possibly get! The good thing about starting at 0500 is that the working day is over by 1400, sometimes earlier. I actually used to love doing agency work that started early in the morning, because you still have part of the business hours in the day to get your own admin type things done. I also feel like getting up at 0900 on the weekends is a sleep in, then I still have multiple retail hours left in the day to get some consuming done. Fantastic.
One of the cooks took me out yesterday to check out one of the bigger shopping centres in the area. I guess the main problem with not having very much (my boxes arrived from Cerberus on Thursday, but I was in no mood for unpacking on such a beautiful, sunny day) is that you don't really know where to start when it comes to buying things. I also had that weird feeling of being on parole, like I got the first time I stepped off base after four weeks of recruit training. It's weird mixing with civilians and doing ordinary things like window shopping with the general public, when you've spent most of the week in either a kitchen or a beige room.
It seems that the next few months of my life are going to parallel when I first moved out of home, and every minor purchase becomes an upgrade to my room. The same cook that emancipated me also lent me his old 30cm tv, and just like a true prisoner of beige, I was incredibly grateful and surprised at the offer, considering I've gone almost ten months without owning a television, and compared to a clock radio, it had upgraded my Saturday night entertainment considerably.
Never mind the fact that what I did last night was unpack the majority of my worldly goods whilst watching Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone on tv. Now, instead of being trapped by commercial radio, I'm going to be a victim of commercial television. I'm not sure if that means I'm moving up in the world, but I definitely feel better for having a second electrical good in my room.
Everyone's been quite helpful and approachable so far, even though it's only been a matter of days in the workplace. I've been lucky to come here I think, because I've run into other Students of Merit and Duxes combined, and a couple of people that are my age have been good to talk to about whatever it is that twentysomethings talk about, which other demographics just don't get!
It's also great to get to know cooks that actually care about food, that have an interest in furthering their culinary skills and knowledge, and are also willing to teach me a few things. I guess the main problem with trying to learn stuff at TAFE was that everyone was at such different levels of skill and knowledge, and not everyone cared about the finer points of food culture, and with such a limited time to get through whatever we had to do, there wasn't as much of an opportunity to mine the Chefs there for knowledge.
My room feels much better now that I've filled the wardrobe and a whole bunch of drawers with stuff, I've got my own linen on the bed again, my books are all up on shelves, and a handful of photos and postcards have been pinned up on the noticeboard. It's only little things, when I think about it, but even when I come to the mess for meals and keep saying hi to people that are neighbours in the block, it all goes towards making this place feel a little more like home.
Sunday, April 6
Tuesday, April 1
yet another beginning
Three Hornets in formation ripped their way above me; the sound of tearing the sky in half like a rough draft that needs to be started all over again. Just when I thought it was awesome enough coming within 30m of a whole row of them on the flightline!
I was taking the scenic route to see the Unit Security Officer, yet another signature that's needed for my Inwards Clearance procedure. This is basically what everyone needs to do when they post in to a new location - much of it is just running around chasing admin stuff like handing in medical and dental records, checking up on deficiencies at the clothing store, finding out where various places are on base which I personally may never visit again, but may prove useful to the next Airman coming through.
Yesterday was my first faux working day on base, which was whiled away with various tours of the separate messes, running into more people than I thought I even previously knew, and wandering around looking for signatures in a sort fo crazed scavenger hunt, wearing terribly uncomfortable shoes. I suppose that's one bad thing about living somewhere that it's been consistently 25 degrees and sunny each day so far - it's not particularly conducive to trekking around base in service dress.
Defence Community Organisation handed me somewhat ominous takeaway goods - a plastic tray containing hand wash, two rolls of toilet paper, a box of tissues, a couple pens, and a writing pad. Do they know me, or do they know me? I also scored some not-so-useful maps of Newcastle and a whole bunch of tourist brochures for things in and around the area. I don't really have the heart to suggest to them that what people really need when posting in is a guide on how to live here, not how to live it up out there.
The latest mixture of good and bad news (I'd call it a bombshell, but perhaps it's just a blessing in disguise and I'm being overly dramatic, considering actual test bombing happens not far from here!) is that apparently Defence wants us to not live on base by June 13 of this year! Considering I thought that we had to live here for a minimum number of months before even applying to live on base, and that it would take even further paperwork to get rental assistance to support such a manouvre, this is quite the turnaround. Apparently we can get full rental assistance to live off base, because the accommodation is meant to be of a level five standard for us live-in permanents, and the current standard is approximately two-and-a-half. Or something like that.
So I had a little poke around some real estate ads, and I can set myself up with a nice little one or two bedroom unit or flat for the miraculous price of less than $100 a week after rent assistance. What a deal! I know of people that have moved into two and three bedroom houses, all with the help of il governmento. Meanwhile, people here on a short term basis are pretty much stuck with the crummy blocks until they get upgraded, but there is supposedly a Defence-wide strategy to move people off base in order to make the on-base accommodation a bit more liveable. I'm down with that.
Except for the fact that I thought I could sponge off some taxpayers and save up some money for that pesky small business operation I thought I'd launch after leaving le militoire. Instead of throwing my hard-earned at a car, some whitegoods, default furniture, and good lord... utilities. As much as would love the chance to have a government-sponsored dwelling of my own, I just don't see the point in winning a new house if I have nothing to put in it... and it'd only be the beginning of a whole range of costs that I haven't factored into this move. Heck, I thought it'd only take me a handful of pay fortnights to sort me out with a car and/or a computer... now I'm wondering how much of a loan I could possibly take out to get a washing machine and a bed!
I'm trying to not get too far ahead of myself. I haven't even got my stuff delivered from Cerberus yet. It's been my first day of work today, and I feel like I'm starting school again. All these names to remember, I feel clueless about the equipment and any recipes for bulk cookery, not to mention that everyone seems to have a different way of doing things that I previously thought were straightforward. I'm still going through a bit of the induction and admin process, and will supposedly get some time off on Thursday to sort out my removal, but there's also a big cocktail party in one of the hangars that day. Way to jump in the deep end, really.
I'm feeling nervous but good. I think I'm really going to dig it here. I've run into a handful of people I know already, and had a good chat to catch up on gossip with someone from my recruit course last year. It seems like an age since I was at Edinburgh, and surely enough all manner of things have happened to people while I was busy doing not very much at Cerberus. It's all happening, finally. I may just be fresh meat, but at last I feel like a proper RAAFie.
I was taking the scenic route to see the Unit Security Officer, yet another signature that's needed for my Inwards Clearance procedure. This is basically what everyone needs to do when they post in to a new location - much of it is just running around chasing admin stuff like handing in medical and dental records, checking up on deficiencies at the clothing store, finding out where various places are on base which I personally may never visit again, but may prove useful to the next Airman coming through.
Yesterday was my first faux working day on base, which was whiled away with various tours of the separate messes, running into more people than I thought I even previously knew, and wandering around looking for signatures in a sort fo crazed scavenger hunt, wearing terribly uncomfortable shoes. I suppose that's one bad thing about living somewhere that it's been consistently 25 degrees and sunny each day so far - it's not particularly conducive to trekking around base in service dress.
Defence Community Organisation handed me somewhat ominous takeaway goods - a plastic tray containing hand wash, two rolls of toilet paper, a box of tissues, a couple pens, and a writing pad. Do they know me, or do they know me? I also scored some not-so-useful maps of Newcastle and a whole bunch of tourist brochures for things in and around the area. I don't really have the heart to suggest to them that what people really need when posting in is a guide on how to live here, not how to live it up out there.
The latest mixture of good and bad news (I'd call it a bombshell, but perhaps it's just a blessing in disguise and I'm being overly dramatic, considering actual test bombing happens not far from here!) is that apparently Defence wants us to not live on base by June 13 of this year! Considering I thought that we had to live here for a minimum number of months before even applying to live on base, and that it would take even further paperwork to get rental assistance to support such a manouvre, this is quite the turnaround. Apparently we can get full rental assistance to live off base, because the accommodation is meant to be of a level five standard for us live-in permanents, and the current standard is approximately two-and-a-half. Or something like that.
So I had a little poke around some real estate ads, and I can set myself up with a nice little one or two bedroom unit or flat for the miraculous price of less than $100 a week after rent assistance. What a deal! I know of people that have moved into two and three bedroom houses, all with the help of il governmento. Meanwhile, people here on a short term basis are pretty much stuck with the crummy blocks until they get upgraded, but there is supposedly a Defence-wide strategy to move people off base in order to make the on-base accommodation a bit more liveable. I'm down with that.
Except for the fact that I thought I could sponge off some taxpayers and save up some money for that pesky small business operation I thought I'd launch after leaving le militoire. Instead of throwing my hard-earned at a car, some whitegoods, default furniture, and good lord... utilities. As much as would love the chance to have a government-sponsored dwelling of my own, I just don't see the point in winning a new house if I have nothing to put in it... and it'd only be the beginning of a whole range of costs that I haven't factored into this move. Heck, I thought it'd only take me a handful of pay fortnights to sort me out with a car and/or a computer... now I'm wondering how much of a loan I could possibly take out to get a washing machine and a bed!
I'm trying to not get too far ahead of myself. I haven't even got my stuff delivered from Cerberus yet. It's been my first day of work today, and I feel like I'm starting school again. All these names to remember, I feel clueless about the equipment and any recipes for bulk cookery, not to mention that everyone seems to have a different way of doing things that I previously thought were straightforward. I'm still going through a bit of the induction and admin process, and will supposedly get some time off on Thursday to sort out my removal, but there's also a big cocktail party in one of the hangars that day. Way to jump in the deep end, really.
I'm feeling nervous but good. I think I'm really going to dig it here. I've run into a handful of people I know already, and had a good chat to catch up on gossip with someone from my recruit course last year. It seems like an age since I was at Edinburgh, and surely enough all manner of things have happened to people while I was busy doing not very much at Cerberus. It's all happening, finally. I may just be fresh meat, but at last I feel like a proper RAAFie.
Saturday, March 29
notes from a hornet's nest
Arrived in once piece last night, even after my dubious shut-eyed experience with Aeropelican. I didn't even know such an airline existed, and I was barely prepared for the reality of flying on small aircraft. I was just attempting to explain the wonders of air travel to a coursemate earlier on in the day, who'd never flown anywhere before. I found it quite difficult to explain the joys of taking off and landing in a giant miracle of modern man's invention. Thankfully he didn't witness the partial terror of mine at thinking of various light plane disasters as we chugged down the runway in a seemingly altogether too tiny thing with propellers. Propellers! It didn't feel like 2008 at all.
Got some help from base security lugging my 25.5kg bodybag upstairs, and ran into a couple of medics in the hallway, who seemed to be having a bit of a quiet drink of a Friday night. After graduating as Dux that morning, saying some rushed goodbyes back at base, going on an epic bus trip from Cerberus to the airport and making it through the check-in line, then saying more goodbyes in Melbourne before flying to Sydney, miraculously figuring out how to get from Sydney to Newcastle, running into one of the intermediate cooks I'd met in Latchford a week ago who was the Student of Merit for his course, then scamming a lift on the Newcastle Airport shuttle service to the front gate of RAAF Williamtown, I was exhausted. Yet I still stuck around, leaning in a medic's doorway, listening to some tales of war as a child in the Sudanese infantry. This guy intends to write a book on his experiences, and I have a feeling it'd put any of my words to shame!
After a decent stint of sleep, I got up this morning and decided to get a cab into town so I could explore. I had an offer of a drive into and around town, but I figured I should at least try and see some things for myself before I take someone else's tour. In the small space of a week I've partially regretted giving up the benefits of an automobile, albeit temporarily. With NSW taxi tariffs being what they are, and the main part of town not as easily accessible as I thought it might be, exploring my new 'hood could be a lot more expensive than I expected. I'm already guessing that hiring a car for the day would be cheaper than cabs to and from Stockton, where I've caught the ferry across to the city today.
The vibe of this place is pretty good so far. I've spent most of the day wandering around and stopping at anything that looks remotely interesting. Kicked off with a not-too-shabby coffee and wrap at Newcastle Bakehouse (without thinking I should try some of their bread, as I imagine they don't bake the stuff that wraps are made of!), stopped by the old police building which houses a museum and a gallery, trotted up to the Newcastle region gallery and city library, and popped into a handful of cool little shops in and around Darby Street. I'm happy that I've found a place to splurge on secondhand books, as well as bling for my room, and some local designer clothes to help rebuild my wardrobe.
Not sure whether it's a good or a bad sign that I'm living in the seventies, or so it seems. What is with the RAAF and asbestos? Sure, it lends a somewhat potentially-hazardous charm to one's accommodation, but underneath the nostalgia factor lies the slimmest of possibilities that some day, someone, somewhere, will decide to upgrade the living standards for singlies on base. Hate to be a whinger, but. Yeah. No amount of redecoration can take away the dormant dangers that await in my ceiling. Whee!
I'm hoping that in a couple months' time, or at least by the point when friends or relatives may see my accommodation willingly, it will look a little less like a military bachelor hovel. Everyone needs a project.
Got some help from base security lugging my 25.5kg bodybag upstairs, and ran into a couple of medics in the hallway, who seemed to be having a bit of a quiet drink of a Friday night. After graduating as Dux that morning, saying some rushed goodbyes back at base, going on an epic bus trip from Cerberus to the airport and making it through the check-in line, then saying more goodbyes in Melbourne before flying to Sydney, miraculously figuring out how to get from Sydney to Newcastle, running into one of the intermediate cooks I'd met in Latchford a week ago who was the Student of Merit for his course, then scamming a lift on the Newcastle Airport shuttle service to the front gate of RAAF Williamtown, I was exhausted. Yet I still stuck around, leaning in a medic's doorway, listening to some tales of war as a child in the Sudanese infantry. This guy intends to write a book on his experiences, and I have a feeling it'd put any of my words to shame!
After a decent stint of sleep, I got up this morning and decided to get a cab into town so I could explore. I had an offer of a drive into and around town, but I figured I should at least try and see some things for myself before I take someone else's tour. In the small space of a week I've partially regretted giving up the benefits of an automobile, albeit temporarily. With NSW taxi tariffs being what they are, and the main part of town not as easily accessible as I thought it might be, exploring my new 'hood could be a lot more expensive than I expected. I'm already guessing that hiring a car for the day would be cheaper than cabs to and from Stockton, where I've caught the ferry across to the city today.
The vibe of this place is pretty good so far. I've spent most of the day wandering around and stopping at anything that looks remotely interesting. Kicked off with a not-too-shabby coffee and wrap at Newcastle Bakehouse (without thinking I should try some of their bread, as I imagine they don't bake the stuff that wraps are made of!), stopped by the old police building which houses a museum and a gallery, trotted up to the Newcastle region gallery and city library, and popped into a handful of cool little shops in and around Darby Street. I'm happy that I've found a place to splurge on secondhand books, as well as bling for my room, and some local designer clothes to help rebuild my wardrobe.
Not sure whether it's a good or a bad sign that I'm living in the seventies, or so it seems. What is with the RAAF and asbestos? Sure, it lends a somewhat potentially-hazardous charm to one's accommodation, but underneath the nostalgia factor lies the slimmest of possibilities that some day, someone, somewhere, will decide to upgrade the living standards for singlies on base. Hate to be a whinger, but. Yeah. No amount of redecoration can take away the dormant dangers that await in my ceiling. Whee!
I'm hoping that in a couple months' time, or at least by the point when friends or relatives may see my accommodation willingly, it will look a little less like a military bachelor hovel. Everyone needs a project.
Thursday, March 27
yay, boxes!
I've always liked moving house. The prospect of new beginnings usually far outweighs the feeling of leaving things behind. Perhaps it's just because being in transit appeals to the nomad in me, or that most of the moves in my life have been for the better. Even though it's taken about six months to feel like I created some kind of sanctuary for myself at Cerberus, I'm not too sad to be moving to more permanent premises at Williamtown.
I'm surprised at how much stuff I have, considering when we had to scrawl out an inventory, there were people with huge and detailed lists compared to mine. I had a feeling that there might be too many boxes in my moving kit, that perhaps someone somewhere had grossly overestimated the amount of property one could squash into a double cabin here. Sure enough though, I crammed all of my things bar a few items of clothing, toiletries, and essential uniform, into six boxes. Including my trunk and ironing board, somehow I managed to keep the number of transportable items to below ten.
There's nothing like packing your worldly goods into boxes to make you wonder how much you really have in life, and how much you actually need. It amazes me how much superfluous junk I have somehow managed to acquire over such a short space as six months. It's also quite a relief to only have a few boxes to contend with at the other end; I was tempted to just move my uniforms and take the clothes I was wearing, and start all over again, but there were too many books and photos I'd be leaving behind, and I wasn't sure of my odds of buying a wardrobe of civvies again, bit by bit.
Strangely enough, on the very day my room looks like a tornado has sucked all my belongings away, I got pulled aside by the Squadron Leader at the School of Catering about a TPR. TPR == Trainee Progress Report, which can either be a good or a bad thing, sort of like a digg online. They have something to do with outstanding things, but the trick is knowing whether you're sticking out because of a positive or a negative action. It turns out that there was a Lieutenant Commander who noticed on three occasions during rounds (or perhaps other inspections?) that my cabin was of an excellent standard and I should be commended for it. If only she could see it now!
I'm surprised at how much stuff I have, considering when we had to scrawl out an inventory, there were people with huge and detailed lists compared to mine. I had a feeling that there might be too many boxes in my moving kit, that perhaps someone somewhere had grossly overestimated the amount of property one could squash into a double cabin here. Sure enough though, I crammed all of my things bar a few items of clothing, toiletries, and essential uniform, into six boxes. Including my trunk and ironing board, somehow I managed to keep the number of transportable items to below ten.
There's nothing like packing your worldly goods into boxes to make you wonder how much you really have in life, and how much you actually need. It amazes me how much superfluous junk I have somehow managed to acquire over such a short space as six months. It's also quite a relief to only have a few boxes to contend with at the other end; I was tempted to just move my uniforms and take the clothes I was wearing, and start all over again, but there were too many books and photos I'd be leaving behind, and I wasn't sure of my odds of buying a wardrobe of civvies again, bit by bit.
Strangely enough, on the very day my room looks like a tornado has sucked all my belongings away, I got pulled aside by the Squadron Leader at the School of Catering about a TPR. TPR == Trainee Progress Report, which can either be a good or a bad thing, sort of like a digg online. They have something to do with outstanding things, but the trick is knowing whether you're sticking out because of a positive or a negative action. It turns out that there was a Lieutenant Commander who noticed on three occasions during rounds (or perhaps other inspections?) that my cabin was of an excellent standard and I should be commended for it. If only she could see it now!
Saturday, March 1
enough to feed an army?
Last week was what I thought was meant to be one of the true tests of bulk cookery skills - feeding the troops for ADF lunch. Depending on the Chef of the Day, and whatever's kicking around the coolroom or section fridges, there is typically a lunch selection on offer that includes at least one vegetarian option, two omnivorous options, a salad, and some kind of fruit in either platter or salad format.
With a team of three, it's usually a case of divide and conquer, with things made even easier by handballing salads to larder and most people taking into consideration simple yet effective recipes when forming their Chef of the Day menu. On most days, as long as the ordering was all done correctly and the trolleys were sufficiently supplied, we managed to tear through the dishes we had to do, and then some.
Some days we could badger patisserie for some scrolls, rolls, and extra breads, or even something completely different for dessert. I don't know who it was that thought to pull out some jelly as a novelty, but it stretched as far as going three different colours, adding whipped cream and fruit with hundreds and thousands, and baking a sponge and adding custard to make a ghetto trifle. Who knew that hooves could taste this good?
There's something quite satisfying about putting gastronorm after gastronorm tray of food out for service. I used to be awed by the mere sight of bulk sized ingredients, but now I am even more impressed by seeing what all those trolleys full of ingredients can become when combined in the right manner. The two hours or so that ADF lunches have to be prepped in just fly by, but in that good way. The menu changes every day, so there's not much leeway for improvements on efficency and effectiveness in terms of particular recipes, but I like it.
Sure, by the end of working a week in a section of the restaurant, you pretty much know your two or three dishes like the back of your hand, and unless your section is particularly pumped, it's almost boring by comparison to have to produce the same thing day in, day out. Keep in mind this is only four days, and there are no doubt restaurants whose menus change seasonally, or seldom if never!
I was definitely up for the challenge of not getting a chance to sit on my laurels, thinking that every day was different, so I couldn't think for a moment about feeling too comfortable. It was kind of like how I felt about getting out of patisserie... I had learnt enough about bread to know that every dough is different, even moreso as a novice, and it takes time to become more predictable. In some ways, ADF was actually easier than restaurant service, because despite having less time and greater quantities to pump out during the day, all the chaos was over by about 1145 and the rest of the day is the comedown from the adrenaline, washing dishes still kicking around, and the organisation of dry stores and coolroom after service.
To be honest, I didn't feel particularly organised in the ADF section as I thought I should or could be. However, we still managed to get through with flying colours, all the food looked good, was garnished, and presented for lunch on time each day. It makes me wonder how disorganised previous groups must have been to have run late for three or four dishes by 1100!
I think the only thing cooler than happy customers is happy peers. The one thing about feeding ADF is that there's no holding back when it comes to feedback, whether it be positive or negative. They're an honest if not brutal lot, the military trainee population. Especially when it comes to food, and personal perceptions thereof. I believe that our ADF team did a fantastic job when we were on, and considering that it's probably the section that best reflects what our actual working lives are going to be like, I dug it. A lot!
With a team of three, it's usually a case of divide and conquer, with things made even easier by handballing salads to larder and most people taking into consideration simple yet effective recipes when forming their Chef of the Day menu. On most days, as long as the ordering was all done correctly and the trolleys were sufficiently supplied, we managed to tear through the dishes we had to do, and then some.
Some days we could badger patisserie for some scrolls, rolls, and extra breads, or even something completely different for dessert. I don't know who it was that thought to pull out some jelly as a novelty, but it stretched as far as going three different colours, adding whipped cream and fruit with hundreds and thousands, and baking a sponge and adding custard to make a ghetto trifle. Who knew that hooves could taste this good?
There's something quite satisfying about putting gastronorm after gastronorm tray of food out for service. I used to be awed by the mere sight of bulk sized ingredients, but now I am even more impressed by seeing what all those trolleys full of ingredients can become when combined in the right manner. The two hours or so that ADF lunches have to be prepped in just fly by, but in that good way. The menu changes every day, so there's not much leeway for improvements on efficency and effectiveness in terms of particular recipes, but I like it.
Sure, by the end of working a week in a section of the restaurant, you pretty much know your two or three dishes like the back of your hand, and unless your section is particularly pumped, it's almost boring by comparison to have to produce the same thing day in, day out. Keep in mind this is only four days, and there are no doubt restaurants whose menus change seasonally, or seldom if never!
I was definitely up for the challenge of not getting a chance to sit on my laurels, thinking that every day was different, so I couldn't think for a moment about feeling too comfortable. It was kind of like how I felt about getting out of patisserie... I had learnt enough about bread to know that every dough is different, even moreso as a novice, and it takes time to become more predictable. In some ways, ADF was actually easier than restaurant service, because despite having less time and greater quantities to pump out during the day, all the chaos was over by about 1145 and the rest of the day is the comedown from the adrenaline, washing dishes still kicking around, and the organisation of dry stores and coolroom after service.
To be honest, I didn't feel particularly organised in the ADF section as I thought I should or could be. However, we still managed to get through with flying colours, all the food looked good, was garnished, and presented for lunch on time each day. It makes me wonder how disorganised previous groups must have been to have run late for three or four dishes by 1100!
I think the only thing cooler than happy customers is happy peers. The one thing about feeding ADF is that there's no holding back when it comes to feedback, whether it be positive or negative. They're an honest if not brutal lot, the military trainee population. Especially when it comes to food, and personal perceptions thereof. I believe that our ADF team did a fantastic job when we were on, and considering that it's probably the section that best reflects what our actual working lives are going to be like, I dug it. A lot!
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