Holiday or endurance trial?
Posted: Sun Aug 11, 2019 10:07 am
Why do I do it to myself?
As some of you know, I do a week every year as chef for a big group (20-30) of friends (mostly extended family of my best mate from school). I know some might suggest 6-8 hours a day in a kitchen is a funny holiday, but I can't stand beaches/pools/generally sitting idle, so its what I enjoy (mostly ).
For the past 4 years we've been at this awesome chateau in France, but new holiday rental legislation there has put the kibosh on that so this year, we shifted venue to a ranch in rural Spain. I got back late last night and I'm fucking broken.
7 days of 35-40C heat and no air-con (for those who haven't met me, I'm the colour of uncooked cod don't cope with heat terribly well). You can imagine what it's like in an unventilated kitchen with all the burners/ovens etc going at full chat. Even at night, I don't think the temperature dropped below high 20s.
Then there's the mosquitoes.
I think word got out across the mozzy community of northern Spain that fresh meat was in town, and they ALL turned up for the party. At 48 hours in, I stopped counting at 114 bites. And these were some special toxic motherfuckers. Comparatively, mine weren't too bad - garden pea sized. Other folks had ones like ping-pong balls. And the little bastards seemed totally wise to any attempts to stop them - they dodged the blue lights, were immune to the sprays and seemed to treat repellent like a lure.
So, the consequence of volcanic heat, intolerable itching and paranoia over where the next bite is coming from meant sleep was totally impossible. I think I *just* made it into double figures of hours for the whole week (and some of those were snatched hours in the hire car with the air-con on). It doesn't do wonders for the mental heath, and industrial-level alcohol abuse to try and help the situation was largely counter-productive.
You can imagine the collective impact on group interaction and the general dynamic - if the more literary among you think "House of Bernarda Alba", you're not far off.
And then there was the cooking itself (and I know I can only hope for sympathy from other cooks on this one). To say the kitchen was unfit for purpose would be understatement in the extreme. Virtually no utensils, a selection of knifes that might as well have been spatulas for all the cutting they were capable of, and the most bizarre collection of unsuitably sized pots and dishes you could imagine. The oven would burn anything in the top or bottom third. The electric (grrr) hob had three rings, all of which were woefully underspecced for even domestic pots. I had a giant gas-powered paella-pan burner, which was effective, but needed constant attention not to turn the whole place into a raging inferno. The main fridge couldn't cope with the heat, meaning constant juggling and frequent runs for ice from the outside freezer (braving the mosquito gauntlet run). The one tiny window could only offer psychological improvement to the heatstoke-inducing temperatures and came with the penalty of plagues of flies. I won't even get into the frustration of lack of availability of even basic ingredients (although, I'll at least admit that the tomatoes were very very good).
To cap it all off, I arrived home to find my own house and two of my rental flats had been flooded with sewage during last weeks storms, meaning a night-time marathon with the wellies and marigolds after 12 hours of enduring the very special combination of Ryanair and Scotrail. Proper cleanup/repair work starts tomorrow.
Same week next year?
As some of you know, I do a week every year as chef for a big group (20-30) of friends (mostly extended family of my best mate from school). I know some might suggest 6-8 hours a day in a kitchen is a funny holiday, but I can't stand beaches/pools/generally sitting idle, so its what I enjoy (mostly ).
For the past 4 years we've been at this awesome chateau in France, but new holiday rental legislation there has put the kibosh on that so this year, we shifted venue to a ranch in rural Spain. I got back late last night and I'm fucking broken.
7 days of 35-40C heat and no air-con (for those who haven't met me, I'm the colour of uncooked cod don't cope with heat terribly well). You can imagine what it's like in an unventilated kitchen with all the burners/ovens etc going at full chat. Even at night, I don't think the temperature dropped below high 20s.
Then there's the mosquitoes.
I think word got out across the mozzy community of northern Spain that fresh meat was in town, and they ALL turned up for the party. At 48 hours in, I stopped counting at 114 bites. And these were some special toxic motherfuckers. Comparatively, mine weren't too bad - garden pea sized. Other folks had ones like ping-pong balls. And the little bastards seemed totally wise to any attempts to stop them - they dodged the blue lights, were immune to the sprays and seemed to treat repellent like a lure.
So, the consequence of volcanic heat, intolerable itching and paranoia over where the next bite is coming from meant sleep was totally impossible. I think I *just* made it into double figures of hours for the whole week (and some of those were snatched hours in the hire car with the air-con on). It doesn't do wonders for the mental heath, and industrial-level alcohol abuse to try and help the situation was largely counter-productive.
You can imagine the collective impact on group interaction and the general dynamic - if the more literary among you think "House of Bernarda Alba", you're not far off.
And then there was the cooking itself (and I know I can only hope for sympathy from other cooks on this one). To say the kitchen was unfit for purpose would be understatement in the extreme. Virtually no utensils, a selection of knifes that might as well have been spatulas for all the cutting they were capable of, and the most bizarre collection of unsuitably sized pots and dishes you could imagine. The oven would burn anything in the top or bottom third. The electric (grrr) hob had three rings, all of which were woefully underspecced for even domestic pots. I had a giant gas-powered paella-pan burner, which was effective, but needed constant attention not to turn the whole place into a raging inferno. The main fridge couldn't cope with the heat, meaning constant juggling and frequent runs for ice from the outside freezer (braving the mosquito gauntlet run). The one tiny window could only offer psychological improvement to the heatstoke-inducing temperatures and came with the penalty of plagues of flies. I won't even get into the frustration of lack of availability of even basic ingredients (although, I'll at least admit that the tomatoes were very very good).
To cap it all off, I arrived home to find my own house and two of my rental flats had been flooded with sewage during last weeks storms, meaning a night-time marathon with the wellies and marigolds after 12 hours of enduring the very special combination of Ryanair and Scotrail. Proper cleanup/repair work starts tomorrow.
Same week next year?