Consider the Kitchen

DISCLAIMER: The restaurant that I mention in this post is one of my favorite places to eat. This is just my imagination of how the restaurant functions; it may or may not be true.

Twice a year, my family and I drive to a certain outlet mall to shop for the discounted prices. I, however, have a different reason to visit the mall. Between the vast swamp of stores lies a small Chinese/Thai restaurant. It's a calm place with smooth lighting and fancy red decorations. The square tables have a small red chair on each side and are covered with a white tablecloth. As soon as I walk in, I can smell the mouth-watering aroma of Chinese and Thai food. This, however, is what it looks like from the outside.

Past the door with a sign that reads "Employees Only" there exists a culinary hell. It's unbearably hot, people are shouting orders, the clanging metal pans are deafening the employees, and the coordination between employees is abysmal. Ting, the new chef, is always sneaking a noodle or a bamboo shoot into his mouth — sometimes even an entire piece of chicken. The other employees are no better: each one is clumsy and drops a dish at least once a week. The kitchen is also rarely cleaned since Ting has a habit of sneaking more food if it's easier to find.

Thankfully, the customers have no clue about the mess because the “Employees Only” door masks most of the kitchen’s cacophony. In the end, it is the craziness of the kitchen that results in the scrumptious, unique food at the tables. Although I hear loud voices near the door sometimes, I have never seen what actually happens back there because, in the words of David Wallace, it is "just selfishly convenient" not to.