What could be worse?

Last night there was a lot of change in the kitchen. A new four course menu, and new table assignments. I was assigned garde manger, responsible for the appetizer. The fish is a barramundi in an Americaine sauce, served with mussels and shrimp, and garnished with cocotte potatoes. The meat is chicken grand-mere. Dessert? DELICIOUS dessert! A simple lemon tart.

The appetizer? A poached egg with hollandaise served over a macedoine salad and garnished with tomato “julienne”. The main components of this salad are two of my least favorite things – both egg yolks. Poaching eggs last night, one after the other with no more skill than my first poached egg in Level 1 or 2, I realized that I need to learn to like, or at least like to (and learn to) cook, things I do not like. It took me way too long to poach the eggs… and eggs only poach for 2-3 minutes. It took even longer to figure out whether my hollandaise was the correct texture and correctly seasoned. I presented ten minutes late.

Once again, some downward comparison to make myself feel better…. Well, I did present second (after Julia). Everyone else was even later than me. Some students presented after the fish was served.

So why is this titled, “What could be worse?”

Well, here is how things could have gotten (and did get) worse. Not immediately, but between then and now. I am sitting here, writing this entry, on the 6:05AM Amtrak from New York to Washington. I was scheduled on the 5:30 train. I arrived at Penn Station at 5:15, picked up a cinnamon twist donut and coffee at Zaro’s Bakery *yum* and proceeded to print my ticket. Then I realized that I had some time to refund a ticket from two weeks ago, so I went over to the customer service window where I spent at least five minutes explaining to a woman how the customer service representatives usually refund a ticket (using a credit card as opposed to ID). Not believing me, she called over another customer service representative, who, after another 3 minutes of explaining, confirmed that I was right.

So I finally got my refund, just in time to get to the gate and show the “ticket checker” my ticket. I had the wrong ticket. I asked, “Is there a kiosk nearby where I can just print the ticket?” She said yes, no problem and pointed to a kiosk 20 feet away. I printed my ticket. When I returned she looked SHOCKED that I was trying to get on the 5:30 train!? The train was pulling away from the platform and I felt like I was in one of those terrible heartbreaking movies where my long lost love was on a train departing from Paris and I was moments too late. I saw him sitting in the window of a train departing for some foreign city.

So now, after multiple less than satisfactory interactions to get my ticket rebooked and a short wait that seemed like forever next to (not really, just close enough to enjoy the odor of) a very smelly homeless man in the Amtrak waiting area (note: for paying Amtrak customers only), I am on the 6:05 train to Washington.

Note to self: it can always get worse.