We Apologize For The Death of ...

Guest Post #8

We finish off Guest Blogger Month with this from Hungry Hungry Hipster. She's not really a hipster... just an offbeat introvert with an appetite. Read her take on an untimely death...

"From all of us here at [undisclosed site]",

Dear Mother of the Groom of the family that did not finance the wedding,

We apologize for the death of our event coordinator's father the day before the reception. We realize this has been an inconvenience for you. Please feel confident that our staff will do our best to execute the timeline and details created, designed, and agreed upon by the bride's side of the family to your standards.

Just as you have requested, we have everyone whose name you arbitrarily remembered on staff called in until [undetermined time] to aimlessly supervise the supervisors. This is a big day for you and your son, and we hope to give him the wedding celebration every little boy's mother dreams of.

Sincerely,
Random Server #4

PS. We are grateful for the couples' decision to have unlimited butlered wine, 5-hour open bar, and the martini luge. God Bless their foresight. "

Thanks Hipster for your unique take on the expectations of an average wedding and for taking part of Guest Blogger Month. Please visit Hipster's site and support the people that support this blog.

Divorce is Bad, Snotty Coworkers Getting Pwned is Good

Guest Blogger # 7

Today's post is from Purple Girl. Did you ever sing "Happy Divorce Day to You"? She did. Read about it here.


My first restaurant job was at a family owned place in a small town. It's the kind of town where everyone knows everyone, and regular customers were the rule rather than the exception. One of those regulars was a gruff-looking older man who always came in in his ranchwear--jeans, boots, cowboy hat, grizzled five o'clock shadow.

He looked like somebody who'd be cranky and very particular about things, but he was very easy-going and generous. Usually he came in by himself, but one night he brought in his daughter and her husband. They sat in our bar area, where my friend B was working.

It was a typical night there; I was serving in the dining room, along with this money-grubbing, gold-digging trashy witch. A girl I didn't get along with was hosting; a younger girl who had a mad crush on the busser was our salad/dessert bitch. The busser was a guy my age, and I think we'd all spent a good portion of the night sucking helium out of balloons and acting stupid (except Golddigger). What can I say, the joint wasn't usually jumpin'.

B came out of the bar and waved us all to the kitchen, saying she needed our help. She told us that her gruff customer's daughter was getting divorced, but not because she and her husband were splitting up. Apparently, she was moving overseas for work for a year or so, and if they were married they'd have to pay some exorbitant tax amount because of their jobs and her living in another country (I don't know all the details, but it was something like that). So they had filed divorce paperwork that day .... and were understandably bummed out about it. Even though they were staying together, it still wasn't pleasant.

B's customer had asked her to do something to cheer his daughter up. Her idea was to take a whole Boston cream pie, decorate it with ridiculous amounts of whipped cream and cherries and chocolate sauce, stick some candles on it .... and then sing "Happy Divorce Day To You"! Me and my helium-sucking friends all thought it was hilarious and were totally on board.

Golddigger stuck her overly tanned nose in the air and said she just didn't think it was appropriate, and that we were making fun of the institution of marriage or something else utterly ridiculous coming from her. She and her big fake boobs stomped away and wanted nothing to do with it.

The rest of us lit up the candles and filed out to the bar area, laughing and clapping, where we proceeded to sing very loudly, and very poorly. There may have been a helium-induced chipmunk voice in the chorus. The couple were laughing, the father was grinning, and our terrible performance got a round of applause. It was one of the few times I've actually enjoined the singing bullcrap.

The table lingered for a while; B started cleaning her bar; us youngsters went back to goofing off waiting for tables to come in; Golddigger kept sniffing about how inappropriate we were for singing to those guests, and was loud enough about it that they probably heard her. She continued being offended right up until the customers left, and B came up to us with a shocked look on her face. She held out the credit card slip, and we saw that on a $60 dinner, her customer had tipped two hundred dollars!

B thought he'd made a mistake, of course, but he insisted. He told her to keep $100 for herself, and give $25 each to all us kids who had helped her sing.

We were all stoked at the prospect of an extra $25 in our pockets for something as silly as singing--at nineteen that's a lot of money! But the icing on the cake? The chagrin on Golddigger's face.

Thanks Purple Girl for your great story about taking care of a customer and at the same time pissing-off your co-worker. Another great addition to Guest Blogger Month. Please visit her blog, The Only Slightly Cranky Waitress and support the people that support this blog.

Short Story About a French Chambermaid

Guest Post #6

Ever wonder how & when they change those sheets in a hotel? Read this story from Muriell...

As an au pair girl in 1977 for a french family that ran a hotel-restaurant, I was occasionally drafted to help prep hotel rooms. Changing the beds involved removing the bottom sheet, and installing the existing top sheet as the bottom sheet and wrapping it around the oreiller (French tubular pillow) before adding a clean sheet as the new top sheet.

This establishment was near an autoroute and there was some afternoon business due to extracurricular affairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Extracurricular affairs" - is that another word for ...

Thanks Muriel for your story about what happens to those bed sheets (yuk!) and taking part of Guest Blogger Month. Please visit her site, Sustainable CalPERS, and support the people that support this blog.

You Just Don't Get It!

Guest Blogger Post #5

Written by Server Not Slave. Read his take on the restaurant industry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The restaurant industry is a family like no other.

There isn't another kind of industry where people bond the way they do working together in a restaurant. It can be almost instantaneous the way someone is accepted into the "family" we have in a restaurant. Well, as long as that person isn't a fuck-up.

The dynamic that is created by the different "houses" inside our domain is very much like a family. It's common to find that the competent workers to be accepted and included in everyone's life almost instantaneous. In my seven years of experience, I've noticed it's rather interesting to see how quickly waiters, bussers, bartenders, and cooks can bond with each other, and no-one is excluded.

Think about your job and the co-workers you have. Does everyone in your accounting firm hang out together on off days? Can you gather 30 people at the corner bar by telling one guy in sales where you'll be drinking? Could you trust your bank manager to bail you out of jail because you got pulled over for a DUI? Those of us who have been in the industry for a while understand this as the norm and love our family and extended family of "cousins" all around the country. That's why it hurts when you think ill of our brothers and sisters.

There are many misconceptions about who we are and who we are not. It's true that a good percentage of the workforce in a restaurant are college-aged students. But it's not necessarily true that those people are in college. It's true that there is drug abuse going on in the industry, but it's not necessarily true that everyone who works in a restaurant is on some sort of drug. It's true that restaurants employ ex-convicts, addicts, beatniks, low-lifes, and people who are going nowhere in life. But it's also true that the restaurant provides a safe haven; a place where each of these people feel the need to be somewhere, and know that they won't be judged. At least by the people they work with.

You don't really understand what a restaurant is. Sure, the front is a place for you to come and dine as you work your Nine-to-Five job. But, to us the restaurant is a home. Perhaps some sort of sick foster care home, but a home nonetheless. Some may need as a springboard to help get them through college, where others might need it as a fresh start after a hard road. There are even those who just can't imagine leaving the life of the restaurant. But in the end it's there for us as we need it.

You learn a lot about life working in a restaurant. But, if you haven't been "in the weeds" for decades, you're still a family member and we love you.

Thanks Server for taking part of Guest Blogger Month. Please visit Server Not Slave's site and support the people that support this blog.

The 50th Anniversary & the Wrinkled Nightgown

A man and wife were celebrating their 50-year anniversary, so the man bought his wife a $250 see-through nightgown.

Later that night she was getting ready for bed and realized the nightgown was still in the box downstairs.

Walking naked through the house, she passed her husband who said, "My word, for $250 they could've at least ironed it!"

The Gracious Mother of the Bride

Jennifer's wedding day was fast approaching. Nothing could dampen her excitement -- not even her parent's nasty divorce.

Her mother had found the PERFECT dress to wear and would be the best-dressed mother-of-the-bride ever!

A week later, Jennifer was horrified to learn that her father's new young wife had bought the exact same dress as her mother! Jennifer asked her father's new young wife to exchange it, but she refused.

"Absolutely not, I look like a million bucks in this dress, and I'm wearing it," she replied.

Jennifer told her mother who graciously said, "Never mind sweetheart. I'll get another dress. After all, it's your special day."

A few days later, they went shopping and did find another gorgeous dress. When they stopped for lunch, Jennifer asked her mother, "Aren't you going to return the other dress? You really don't have another occasion where you could wear it." Her mother just smiled and replied, "of course I do, dear."

"I'm wearing it to the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding."




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So You Want To Be Served First , Eh…

Guest Post #4

Don't you hate it when a pushy guest thinks he should be served first? Just drives you nuts, right? Well, read a story from Waiter Extraordinaire about how he handled this situation...

There has been much debate over time about just how stressful the waiter occupation is but I am here to tell you that it isn't that stressful at all. You just have to be able to think on your feet and make a quick decision.

I am going to explain a situation that happened to me which might have been quite stressful when it occurred but then describe how I went about making it turn into a successful outcome.

The situation took place way back in 1986 when I worked on a huge cruise ship that had two dining rooms that sat 500 people each sitting twice a night. When you do the math that’s 2000 passengers.

I was a sommelier / beverage waiter who was responsible for about 50-60 people in my section. The idea was as soon as the doors opened at 6PM get the wine and drink orders done as quickly as you could then get ready for the 8PM sitting. Naturally with that amount of people and just one or two service bartenders whoever came in first usually got their drinks first.

Well on one particular cruise I was going along fine when the wine service manager came up to me and asked me to take over a table in the section beside me as the sommelier was having some difficulty dealing with this guest. I said yes I would but what exactly was the problem. He replied back that this table wanted their drinks served first of all the others in the dining room!

You could understand why the previous server was having so much difficulty fulfilling this difficult request. This guest was among 500 whom all wanted their drinks the same time. So I went over to the table and introduced myself as their new sommelier / beverage server, then asked them if it was their wish to be served first in the whole dining room each night. They answered affirmatively and then much to their astonishment asked them what they would like to have the following night to drink. At first they laughed then I replied back that if they wanted to be served first I would need to know what they wanted before they came in.

It wasn't much but I put it in my memory and the following night at 5:55PM just before service went to the bartender and ordered the drinks and placed them on their table. When they sauntered in at 6:20 to eat they saw their beer bottle was beginning to condensate and the ice was melting in the Shirley Temple.

I took the initiative to ask what had taken them so long then when they saw their drinks they started to get a bit riled up. When they wanted to know why their drinks were already there, I reminded them they wanted to be served first and they were, even if they were not there to drink them right away. An embarrassed laugh followed and after they told me to forget about having to serve them first.

I got a $10 tip out of the deal for the week but at least the problem was solved. By the way, after I told others what happened, a few drink servers started lining up at the bar at 5:55PM as well.

Thanks Waiter for your great story about impatient guests and again taking part of Guest Blogger Month. Please visit Waiter Extraordinaire's site and support the people that support this blog.

Next Post: The Gracious Mother of the Bride

A Day in The Life of a Young Chef

Guest Post # 3

Here's an inside look behind all the glitter of a restaurant and see the chef's view for once. Thanks Chef's Kitchen Rant.

You wake up tired from the night before, your body hurts in places not known to man. As you stretch you rub the skin off a burn on your arm, your senses react instantly with pain shooting to your head, memories of how you got burnt still linger. The morning chores of getting yourself ready are over quickly, out the door you rush, your uniform in hand.

The journey to work can be your only time to yourself, music plays over your MP3, Ipod, or Sony Walkman for those of us with some age. It is a time when you reflect on the day gone and what is awaiting for you in the kitchen. Do you fear the bollocking from the head chef or your CDP, maybe the 1000 plated function is looming and you know that someone will be cutting fruit all day. Whatever it is, it's on your mind.

The place you work in bears down on you the closer you get, a feeling of pride reins over you, honoured to work in such an establishment. The rich and wealthy stay and dine. The cleaners are putting finishing touches to all that gleams, the place looks like a palace. The staff entrance is out of sight around the back, often combined with the goods entrance, the waste area. You are greeted by the smell of stale food, dirty bins and a mix of bleach and disinfectant. It is a smell that you'll find in any back of house establishment.

In the corridors of this place it's like a labyrinth. Places you will never see, authorised personal only signs hang at door entrances. You change into your uniform, smart and clean you are. A quick check in the mirror and out into the corridors you make your way to the kitchen.

Other chefs are hard at it pushing through the last of the breakfast orders, the smell of bacon and kippers fill the servery. Past the room service area and into the main kitchen you arrive. Greeted with a few hello's and the customary hand shakes it's then down to business. The jobs are delegated by the CDP and away you go. Your tasks are performed in a professional manner, with a few jokes and idol chatter from around the kitchen. The sounds of pots and pans being washed ring out with the constant groan from the dish washing machine as it grinds away at the dirty kitchen equipment from the night shift and breakfast.

The newest commis is sent for coffee for the section and a moments breather is taken, as we gather together. Then back at it. The CDP's have their daily meeting with the Sous Chefs and all is concentrated on the production of prep. Lunch service is approaching and the service area is set for battle. The machine and you. The first docket pumps through and you get it on as quick as you can, you know that if you don't you will be in the shit sooner or later.

Room service orders, restaurant orders, together they arrive in their hoards, you ask for some help, the CDP sends over his number one commis, together you steady the ship. Your food is collect by the service, the Sous chef yells for some forgotten item and you run like the clappers to rectify the situation before he has the chance to pounce on you like a wolf, you know if he gets a hold it will be the end for your day. You battle on for a solid hour and you can feel the adrenalin pumping. The sound of the machine slows and gradually the orders decrease. The last plates that you send you make sure they are top class, the sous will be checking for sure just to try and pull one on you, don't let him get me you mutter under your breath. Lunch service comes to an end and you clean down, you eat a sandwich or something while you can and get straight back to it.

The main body of the section have been preparing the food for the function that evening. They have had some lunch and are back in the action. You check over the service prep for the evening menu and make a list of items that need your attention. It is imperative that nothing is missing, you know if it is you'll be in for a tough time. Depending on how your prep is will determine if you manage to get yourself a break. More often than not you will be able to gab about an hour, on good days maybe two, but today's not your lucky one and you only get a hour. You leave your section clean and tidy, and make your way to get changed.

Daylight shines down on your face and you absorb some UV rays. The little break you get is over before you can blink, basically just enough time to stretch your legs and breath in some fresh air. After a quick visit to the park or a coffee in a local cafe it's back to the dungeon, I forgot to add, most kitchens have little or no windows, they are usually built in the basement, or ground level without natural light.

Into the kitchen you stroll, after your break, it is still full on. The prep is continuing, a few fresh chefs have started their shifts. Back at your section you are getting ready for the night service. Some of the morning crew leave for the day, and the kitchen takes on a different atmosphere. That might sound strange, but there is a distinct difference between lunch and dinner. Lunch is hectic as most dinners have limited time to spend in the restaurant. Dinner is the opposite.

The prep that you left yourself with, you have now got to get it done. Suddenly an extra order for some sandwiches come on. You are given the task of producing them. So now your in the shit. Not only do you need to finish your prep but now have to make the extra sandwiches. You work as fast as you can, but realise that you wont be ready for service. You hope that all goes well and you don't get caught with your pants down. The sandwiches go out on time and all is well.

You set up with an average prep. The service begins and like lunch the machine spills out the first orders, all is going well, you think that everything is great and you have managed to get through with the minimum of prep, just as the enemy spits out more orders, and then some more, the restaurant is now filling to capacity, obviously the famous walk-in revolution is on and your getting caught. The prep is running very low and your in the shit, the main team are now well into the function service and you find yourself deep in orders. One of the other commis chefs comes to help, yet together you can't pull yourselves out. The Sous chef gets wind of your drama and wonders how long before you drown. He knows how long, he's been there and done that. You pray that you can get out of it but too late the Sous has to step in. He steadies the sinking ship and together you come good.

The service is over and you start to clean down. The prep list is extra long now and you know that you have to do some before you go home. The worst is yet to come you are about to get drilled by the Sous Chef for not being prepared. He lets you have it 'big time' you squirm in your own excrement and wish that you could just climb back into bed and don't come out, but you can't escape. He lets you go, only to give you some more when your not expecting it. You feel demoralised and you still have a shed load of work to do. The team return from the function, clean down and get to go home. If you are lucky one of the young commis, a friend will stay and help you. The CDP gives you his dose of bollocking and lets you get on with it. He leaves with a goodnight and fix your shit or FRO demand.

You spend another hour setting yourself ready for the lunch service and some extra prep for dinner. By the time you get to go home your buggered. A massive 14 hour day. The worse thing about it was, you made some serious mistakes, you can't even go home feeling that you did something great in those 14 hours. You are tired and depressed. Never again will you take a break thinking that you have just enough prep or that it will not be busy or that you'll have time during service to do some prep. Remember Murphy is out to get you and he will.

You get back to your pad, have a shower and crack a beer. Time to calm down and relax before you grab a few hours sleep, then it's back up again and lets do it all over, only this time you will do better you tell yourself.

Thanks Chef for taking part of Guest Blogger Month. Please visit Chef's Kitchen Rant's site and support the people that support this blog.

Next Post: So You Want To Be Served First Eh...

My Trip To COSTCO

Hope you enjoy this joke a friend sent to me.

Yesterday I was at my local COSTCO buying a large bag of Purina dog chow for my loyal pet, Biscuit, the Wonder Dog and was in the checkout line when woman behind me asked if I had a dog.

What did she think I had,an elephant? So since I'm retired and have little to do, on impulse I told her that no, I didn't have a dog, I was starting the Purina Diet again. I added that I probably shouldn't, 'cause I ended up in the hospital last time, but that I'd lost 50 pounds before I awakened in an intensive care ward with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IVs in both arms.

I told her that it was essentially a perfect diet and that the way that it works is to load your pants pockets with Purina nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry. The food is nutritionally complete so it works well and I was going to try it again. (I have to mention here that practically everyone in line was now enthralled with my story.)

Horrified, she asked if I ended up in intensive care because the dog food poisoned me. I told her no, I stepped off a curb to sniff an Irish Setter's ass and a car hit us both.

I thought the guy behind her was going to have a heart attack he was laughing so hard.

Costco won't let me shop there anymore.

Better watch what you ask retired people. They have all the time in the world to think of crazy things to say.

When The Flowers Dry

Guest Post #2

Your server is here, the unsung hero. Enjoy this heartfelt story from Schmuckraker

The table is covered with plates, dishes, glasses. The leftovers of food that few could eat.

The server looks at the game for what it is. Clean it as fast as it can be cleaned, as professional as it can be done.

The tension in the room is thick.,. The music plays in the distance a song of melancholy dinner blues. It's another wedding. Another class reunion. Another birthday party.

The room is suddenly spinning...

The smells of perfumes and colognes, the odors of beer and prime rib and shrimp abound in the restaurant...

Most people don't see the affect a server has on life. Most diners disregard the impact a waiter or waitress has on the overall spirit of the evening out. Most customers await their food and forget the feelings of the often nameless server. The person that writes "thank you" in happy letters on the check.

A server's impact can be either severe or wonderful. A friendly server can make a dinner party's emotion pick up like new snowfall under a moonlit sky. A server of lesser skills can be an inferno that never stops burning until the dinner is over.

A wedding can be ruined by spilled gravy or coffee. The faked spirits of a class reunion can be killed with an angry bartender.

A server is so often invisible. There's a face but no name. There's a claim of a soul even when the customer's ignorance is bliss. It's easy to forget the feelings of the server. The $2.83 an hour worker is there to bring out your food, but there's so much more.

Your steak temperature won't be right unless the server gets it right. The salad dressing won't be correct unless the server writes the right one. The overall experience will be poor unless the server goes out of his or her way to get to know what the table wants.

A table doesn't always want the server to bend down and take the order. You must know the audience. A good server knows the persons that want privacy. In contract, a good server knows the tables that need humor to break up the monotony of a disastrous dinner party.

A good server knows when to recommend food and knows when to watch for the false teeth and tell customers professionally to avoid the pork chops.

And a good server is there, through thick and thin, sweat and often blood when clumsily cutting lemons. A good server is there to make sure the dinner goes well. Though he or she doesn't eat it's a pleasure to understand a table's overall experience was one they want to have again.

A good dinner is made better so often with a smile .. And a good server makes sure dessert is dressed to perfection to top off the night.

And when the funeral party's coffee gets cold, or when the birthday cake's candles are out.. the server is there. When the class reunion's 'memorial candles' blow out, the server is there.. Ready to clean.

And when the wedding flowers are dried and the groom is clearly intoxicated and the bride frustrated.. when the centerpieces are gone.. the server is there. The hero of the day.. so often the unsung hero.

When the night is done and the server chooses a few Coors Lights and french fries, the customer is home--not cleaning tables or putting away dishes that dishwashers can't get put away on their own.

The server is there.

The unsung hero. Without the server your dining experience would be forever altered...The hero of the day, nameless.

But it's just as well. Because in the end, for the server, all the parties blend together in an aura of dirty dishes, broken glasses, and customers' faces.

And when the customer's bed is filled with snores and dreams, the server cleans the last bit of food off the floor and goes home.

Ready to start the day all over again in mere hours...while you sleep

Thanks Schmuckraker for your great story about the under-appreciated server and for taking part of Guest Blogger Month. Please visit Schmuckraker's blog, There's Soup on My Fly and support the people that support this blog.

French Travelers Are The World's Worst

Survey results blast tourists for speaking little English, and being tight-fisted.

From: Reuters
PARIS - French tourists are the worst in the world, coming across as bad at foreign languages, tight-fisted and arrogant, according to a survey of 4,500 hotel owners across the world.

They finish in last place in the survey carried out for internet travel agency Expedia by polling company TNS Infratest, which said French holidaymakers don't speak local languages and are seen as impolite.

"It's mainly the fact that they speak little or no English when they're abroad, and they don't speak much of the local language," Expedia Marketing Director Timothee de Roux told radio station France Info.

"The French don't go abroad very much. We're lucky enough to have a country which is magnificent in terms of its landscape and culture," he said, adding that 90 percent of French people did their traveling at home.

"So when they're on holiday they can be a bit stressed, they're not used to things, and this can lead them to be demanding in a way which could be seen as a certain arrogance."

French tourists are also accused of generally spending less than other nationalities when abroad. De Roux said the French, not accustomed to leaving large tips at home where a service charge is automatically levied on restaurant bills, can seem "tight-fisted" compared with other nationalities.

The Japanese ranked top of the Best Tourist survey, with the British and the Germans judged the best of the Europeans.

But French tourists received some consolation for their poor performance, finishing third after the Italians and British for dress sense while on holiday.

Related Stories:

• A Hotel Made Of Ice and Snow
• What's On Those Hotel Bedspreads?
• World's First Zero Star Hotel
  

Shrimp Gut Sandwich

Guest Blogger Month Returns!
Post #1

Here's a great post from one of the first friends I made since starting my blog. He's a ex-chef with a never-ending vault of stories to tell. Hope you like this one.

Written by Bullet Holes in the Mailbox
I haven’t written about any kitchen fun lately, and with the new emphasis I have on my diet and health, I thought I’d share a little known recipe handed down to me by one of my first chefs.

It’s called the Shrimp-Gut Sandwich.

When cleaning raw shrimp it is necessary (and polite) to remove the ‘sand vein” from the shrimp. What that amounts to is taking out the small digestive tract of the shrimp. Only the size of a toothpick, they are usually filed with what amounts to partially digested plankton.

Shrimp Shit. That’s all it is…prawn poop.

The amount of time it spends in the shrimp is probably less than the time it takes for a human to chew and swallow a shrimp, but in more polite company, the sand vein is considered to be quite rude.

Of course, in the kitchen there is not a whole lot of polite company in proximity, so the following recipe has been developed for the sand vein.

The first ingredient you need is a new guy, some youngster that is hungry for knowledge and eager to be a chef. Add to that 100 pounds of shrimp to clean and you have the perfect environment for making shrimp gut sandwiches (SGS). You show him how to remove the vein and set up a little crystal bowl for him to save them in. You help and assist him in peeling and cleaning the shrimp, all the while explaining the different variations of SGS’s.

Some folks like ’em on a bun, some on wheat toast. Some folks want theirs with mayonnaise and other prefer remoulade sauce, or maybe some raw horseradish. Some like the bacon SGS, some grilled cheese SGS and others with the standard lettuce tomato and pickle. That’s how I like mine and with a thick chocolate shake to go with.

All you have to do is put the raw shrimp guts on any sandwich and you are ready for a real delight! When the lad has collected enough shrimp guts to make two sandwiches, you get his order, how he likes it made and you prepare it along with one for yourself.

And this is the key….

When you make his sandwich you slather it with all those shrimp guts. But when you make yours, you only put guts on half….the half that he will be able to see. The half that you are going to take a bite out of…and this is important…has no shrimp guts on it at all!

You’ve talked it up for an hour; “These sandwiches, in some cultures, are considered a delicacy!” (what isn’t?) “Many people include them in religious ceremonies as a pathway to enlightenment and a source of visions!” (near death experiences). “It is medically proven to increase virility!” (results vary).

Now you both have your sandwiches and chocolate shakes and you find out a lot about the new guy real fast. Most of them can’t believe you just took a bite out of your shrimp gut sandwich…others are curious and somewhat amazed that people can eat shrimp shit, but there is no way they are going to try…they may even be envious that their mental taste buds are not yet refined enough, and worried that they are too “close-minded” to be a Real Chef.

Then there are the few that you have to stop them from taking a big bite of shrimp shit. There was even one guy that I was too slow to stop. Son-of-a-Gun dove right in.

He told me later: “Wasn’t as bad as one might think”.

Thanks Bulletholes for your great story about prawn poop and again taking part of Guest Blogger Month. Please visit Bulletholes in the Mailbox's site and support the people that support this blog.