"New Year's Eve has always struck me as the most treacherous of nights. Not because of the drink, or the fireworks, or the pressure of staying awake past midnight (although that alone should qualify as an endurance sport). Like Valentine's Day and your birthday, what makes New Year's Eve perilous is the collective insistence that this night has to deliver: the best meal, the best party, the best version of ourselves."
"Except, of course, everyone wanted the tarte tatin. What followed was a caramel-slicked nightmare. We were making individual tarte tatins to order; the kitchen turned into a quagmire of apple peel and sugar, with bubbling pans of molten sugar, apples wedges threatening to leap out, and warm, buttery pastry sliding around like a mischievous toddler on an ice rink. Caramel burns, panicking chefs, hot trays hitting the pass with a slap."
"Another year, we convinced ourselves to go high concept with a surprise menu: mysterious, ambitious, theatrical. We loved the idea so much that we forgot to do the sensible thing: plan, prep and test it properly. The kitchen degenerated so quickly that it felt as if we were trapped inside a live-action cautionary tale, except this time the customers were not happy at all."
New Year's Eve creates intense pressure for exceptional experiences, which raises expectations that often lead to disappointment. In restaurant service, assuming predictable guest choices caused a backup dessert to become unexpectedly popular, producing chaotic, caramel-slicked cooking conditions, burns, and panicked staff despite satisfied customers. In another instance, pursuing an ambitious surprise menu without adequate planning, prep, or testing led to rapid kitchen degeneration, unhappy diners, and frontline staff distress. The combination of high expectations, inadequate preparation, and complex execution turns celebratory nights into operational and emotional hazards.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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