Well, to go on with the story, I need just a few minutes to do a digression and tell you a second chapter of “the story of my life”. I apologize.
I spent last year in Australia, my number one dreams destination, a place that changed me a whole lot and made me grow in many ways, crying first and laughing then; the first place I lived in alone and for a long period, and where I left part of my heart.
I went to Oz.. because I had no idea of what I wanted to study after my graduation – especially if I wanted to – and most of all because I wanted to try something new, make a different experience, view other places, meet new people. And hug a koala, of course. But that’s predictable, that’s everyone’s dream.
Right now you’re probably wondering what the hell has to do all of this with food, and well, you’re right. Nothing for the moment, but I’m getting there.
So once there, I realized that what they say about Australia is actually true, traveling is that much expensive as I’d heard, so if I wanted to start exploring I had to work first. And work then it was! I was lucky, it was pretty easy for me to find a job (with many thanks to a friend of mine who helped me out).
I got a good job, really well paid, in a restaurant located in Surry Hills, a nice and wealthy area of Sydney – which meant a lot of tips, too. It was absolutely great: I worked as a waitress on a casual basis, so I had the time to enjoy my new life and new friendships at the beach when I had time off, and still get really good money. It was nothing particularly challenging but still, it could be intense sometimes. It also got me to know some great people and helped me practice my Aussie slang (not my English, because that’s not English. Defo.).
And well, here we are. Let’s talk about food finally. And here things get serious.
Basically, my task at the restaurant was to greet the customers, take their orders, bring out food to the tables and clean up the mess of dishes they left behind when leaving. The sad thing is, most of the times, the “mess of dishes” was more a “mess of meals/food”: few bites of bread, a handful of fries, pieces of meat or fish, half pizzas and even entire plates of pasta or rice, that ended up in the kitchen bins. All together with glass, paper, and plastic btw, but that’s another story.
Times when I cleaned the tables and nothing was left on the plates were rare, I could count them on one hand at the end of the shift. And at the end of the day, what had been wasted (in quantity) could have been served again for breakfast, lunch, and dinner to a family of four for two days, at least.
“The kids didn’t like it” or “It was delicious but way too much! I cannot eat such a huge portion!” were the typical answers I received. But then, 4 out of 5 asked me for the dessert list, because you know, you’re never too full to try a piece of pavlova or creme bruleè. “But just one bite, I’m on a diet!”. So yes, another plate was sent back to the kitchen almost untouched. And this made me feel bad. Also because I couldn’t do anything, but ask people to use a doggy-bag and take it home. With very little successful results.