Filed under: Local Food Commentary | Tags: brunch, Centro, cholesterol, craving eggwhite, des moines, Quincy Jones
I would like to take a moment to pass on a marginally amusing story of cooking and a brush with a VIMF (Very Important Man Folk) dot dot dot
Once upon a time there was a boy who cooked at a local downtown DSM brunch hot spot. (record needle scratch) Ok, so I used to cook brunch at this “central” place. We drew a good amount of politicians and celebrities (especially around caucus time), but on this particular Sunday it was quite unexpected to be visited by a person of such stature.
It was a hot, sweaty, heated Sunday morning with tempers on the line flaring and the printer spitting out tickets in a seemingly mocking rate. I was having an issue with breaking egg yolks. I assure you this was quite out of the ordinary. Frustration ran high, every cook and sous chef for themselves kind of atmosphere. I think you get the point. During the heat of what we like to call a “rush” (not to be confused with a “frush”), the printer craps out the ultimate special order:
“eggwhite and sausage omelette sandwich with cheddar on ciabatta roll”
I, as you may have guessed, was the “egg man” (but now I more resemble the walrus) and this egg man wasn’t in the mood for any eggwhite omelette action right at that moment. So I ask
“who ordered the asshole sandwich?”
There was no answer to that question just yet…
So I make the finest tasting, most visually appealing eggwhite and sausage sandwich (i forgot to mention that the asshole sandwich is not on the regular,or ANY menu) my happy little hands could muster. Said sandwich was carefully placed into a to go container and sent out.
Seconds later one of the floor managers came back to my station and posed what could have been chalked up as the $5 question of the day.
“Hey Sam, do you know who Quincy Jones is?”
“Who doesn’t!” I spit back, shooting my most heinous stare of non-plusitude through the back of his seemingly empty skull.
I then proceed to let him in on the big secret called “Quincy Jones,” you know…um. Only the greatest producer of all time. The manager tells me the Esteemed Mr. Jones is sitting in the bar area. Stumbling through the back kitchen and around to the front of the restaurant I see the King Of Pop Producers being mugged by admirers and decide too hang back and not be another “that guy.” Other guests were all over him asking for autographs and hugs…he was wearing a “Cosby Sweater” (which was probably a gift from Bill himself), and appeared to be as kind and humble as could be.
It was at this point in my observations when I noticed the half-eaten eggwhit e-sausage omelette sandwich with cheddar cheese on ciabatta in a to go container resting by Mr. Jones’ left Cosby-clad elbow.
Yes, it was the “asshole sandwich” only it wasn’t ordered by one, but MADE by one.
I learned a valuable lesson that day. No, not that.
2 Comments so far
Leave a comment