The uniforms were different from the Suburban’s uniforms. The pants were standard, checkered kitchen pants. The jackets were chef’s jackets, long sleeve, heavy material, double-breasted button down. Bill was also issued a chef’s hat. He would be working in an open hearth restaurant outlet so not only did his head have to be covered, but he had to look good too.
“She likes you,” Jimmy Ganotis said. “She doesn’t do that with everyone. I’ve never seen her do it with anyone else.” He laughed, seemingly finding how Millie acted quite amusing.
“Well,” Bill said, “I’m married.”
“That never stopped anyone,” Jimmy said. “It never stopped anyone and it doesn’t mean anything.”
They went from the laundry to the locker room where Jimmy told Bill to pick any locker he wanted. He showed him where his own locker was and told him if he wanted he could pick one close by that was free.
So within the first half-hour, Bill had memorized his work number, gotten uniforms, picked himself a locker, met Millie, the laundry girl, met Jimmy Ganotis, the mustachioed Greek man who would be his partner, and was now on his way back up to the kitchen floor where Jimmy would begin showing him exactly what his job was.
First they went around the main kitchen. It was a gargantuan place. It had to be a gargantuan place because they had a grand ballroom and the kitchen had to be capable of doing grand ballroom banquets, some of them more than 5000 people. So not only was it gargantuan, but it had many different stations. It also had a huge rotisserie oven capable of cooking many, many prime ribs and roasts, and whatever else you wanted to put into it, all at one time, again such that it could cook a main course for upwards of 5000 people.
Was enough to make your head spin.
Having gone all around the kitchen and looked at all the stations, Jimmy took Bill out one entryway down a long corridor/tunnel toward the restaurant outlet where Bill would be the broiler cook.
The Falstaff Room
Yes, that was its name. Coming through the corridor on the other end, a long corridor, first was a pantry station. In the pantry station was an older woman as rotund and grand as Grandma had been. She had the same shape, the same gray hair, even the same smile only embedded upon a different face.
“This is my aunt Kalista,” Jimmy said. “She doesn’t speak much English, but she can get along, and she really is my aunt.”
“Kalista,” Jimmy said to his aunt, “this is the new broiler cook. His name is Bill.”
“Yasou” Kalista said.
“That means hello,” Jimmy said.
“I teach him,” Kalista said.
Jimmy said something to Kalista in Greek, something long.
Kalista said, “I make you Greek salad later.” She smiled, a big smile. “I hope you like here. Jimmy very lazy.”
Bill said, “I like it already. Nice to meet you.” He put out his hand and he and Kalista shook hands over her counter.
Jimmy led Bill inside the service doors to the restaurant outlet. As they came through the double doors, there on the right was the open hearth kitchen, very simple, very small.
They didn’t stop in the kitchen yet. Jimmy led him through the dining room area to the front doors of the place. He took him outside into the carpeted hotel corridor and showed him above the gold-trimmed double doors the sign that said Falstaff Room.
“Yah,” Jimmy said, leading the way back in. “This is the Falstaff Room.”
“Small,” Bill said.
“Slow,” Jimmy said.
As they went back toward the little open-hearth kitchen they ran into a woman who was dressed in a French maid’s outfit and busy tying her apron. She was coming from where they’d been and were again heading.
“This is the new broiler cook,” Jimmy said.
