Making Lunch for the Daycare
Today was the big day, the big show. But, yesterday was an emotional day. The Husband texted me at work to tell me that the daycare recommended another two weeks of integration. I was frustrated but thought "well, okay." but then, later on, it came to light that even after the two additional weeks of integration (also known as trying to trick the Kid into entering a classroom) they could still refuse to accept him. This punched me in the gut and I spent the rest of the afternoon in a tailspin. Then there was another thing the Husband told me but I will save that for another time (or share it on my Facebook page because I am an open book). Tomorrow morning I am having a meeting with the woman at the daycare to discuss what will happen next and sadly I think we will have to pull the plug and go back to our old daycare. Times like this make me wish I had a million euros and I could start my own daycare. Population: 1, my kid. But that is not the case so I continue on with a heavy heart.
So the big day, the big show; my turn to cook lunch for the daycare. In the past, when we were not oozing desperation, I would have never signed on to cooking lunch for a daycare. But alas, we were not being choosy and the place was seemingly great. (We will know after tomorrow what our future is like there). Every month a parent is expected to cook lunch for about 20 people and that involves planning a meal and ordering the required ingredients a couple of weeks in advance. I like to plan, but man! Originally I was all for the tacos but I was informed that it is a meat free place. Le sigh. So I decided that quesadillas were a good idea.
I ordered cheese, (300 grams, is that enough, who knows!) and green pepper and tomatoes and a bean mix (it was called something Tex Mex and I thought why not?) and I said I would bring in tortillas. I won't lie, I was nervous. I'm not nervous when I cook for a crowd at home because a) I like to get my friends all liquored up before they try my food and ergo, everything tastes amahzing and b) I like to get my friends all liquored up... and you know the rest. Unfortunately, this isn't possible with kids. So that made me a little noivous and in general, kids make me a little noivous. I had said to the daycare last week that I would be able to show up at 12 to start cooking and that seemed fine but then the Husband noted that the other day a mother showed up at 11. So he checked with the woman at the daycare and she said I should try and come as early as possible... perhaps I should quit my job too and wear hemp. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Anywho.... I got on the u-bahn and made it across town in 25 minutes (bless you Vienna public transportation) and walked in, all ready to Iron Chef these kids. But, alas, they were at the playground.
In fact, this is the procedure. The mother or father or family friend shows up at 11, cooks for two hours (in my case, one hour), alone, in a place with many windows and educational toys and then serves the children lunch. I had 50 minutes to get used to a foreign stove and cookware and make enough quesadillas for 14 children and 4 adults and to unload the dishwasher (standard procedure) and to set the table using the "map" and to cross check which child was present that day. Plus to put out glasses and carafes of water and I kicked myself for not planning centerpieces (posies would have been nice). I made 10 quesadillas (by the way, the bean dip wasn't there so I used hummous) and made sure to add as much butter as possible because butter makes everything awesome.
Then, just before 1, the soldiers entered. Smug that I had completed my task, I set the platters of quesadillas on the tables. One girl walked up and asked "What is that?" and I answered "Quesadillas!". She gave me a withering stare (props) and I mumbled "Mexican Pizzas!" She still wasn't impressed and I fought the urge to scream "What are you, Gordon Ramsay, sit down!".
Another girl walked in and asked me what I had around my neck. I noticed I was still wearing my security badge and answered "It's for work." to which she responded "Where do you work?" and then I started to explain and she gave me a "Bitch, please" look (props).
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The kids sat down, the Kid did not. I whispered to the Husband to take rat bites out of the Kid's quesadilla so that it would look like the Kid enjoyed my meal. I watched the other kids with fear. I finally know what it is like to be on a terrible cooking reality show. At one point a boy walked up to me and asked "Is there dessert?" I wanted to yell "Da hell do you think this is, the Intercontinental?" but I did not. I resisted. I remained zen. Once the food was eaten (and yes, all was eaten because, you know, butter), I was expected to wipe down the tables and use a broom and put away everything and to clean up and did I mention do everything? The Husband and I putzted and at one point I whispered to him "We are paying to miss work and clean... " There is irony in that but I don't know how to explain it, because, damn you Alanis!
After 2 hours of Hell's Kitchen: The Daycare, I had to head back to work which was met with disapproval, because of course. Clean floors trump job. What's the moral of the story? Who the hell knows. But after tomorrow, I will know more and know that on Saturday I will be celebrating my bday with amazing people and getting hammered on white wine spritzers because no matter what, I have done my best these past 4 weeks and that is all that matters. Pass me a drink, I'm done.
So the big day, the big show; my turn to cook lunch for the daycare. In the past, when we were not oozing desperation, I would have never signed on to cooking lunch for a daycare. But alas, we were not being choosy and the place was seemingly great. (We will know after tomorrow what our future is like there). Every month a parent is expected to cook lunch for about 20 people and that involves planning a meal and ordering the required ingredients a couple of weeks in advance. I like to plan, but man! Originally I was all for the tacos but I was informed that it is a meat free place. Le sigh. So I decided that quesadillas were a good idea.
I ordered cheese, (300 grams, is that enough, who knows!) and green pepper and tomatoes and a bean mix (it was called something Tex Mex and I thought why not?) and I said I would bring in tortillas. I won't lie, I was nervous. I'm not nervous when I cook for a crowd at home because a) I like to get my friends all liquored up before they try my food and ergo, everything tastes amahzing and b) I like to get my friends all liquored up... and you know the rest. Unfortunately, this isn't possible with kids. So that made me a little noivous and in general, kids make me a little noivous. I had said to the daycare last week that I would be able to show up at 12 to start cooking and that seemed fine but then the Husband noted that the other day a mother showed up at 11. So he checked with the woman at the daycare and she said I should try and come as early as possible... perhaps I should quit my job too and wear hemp. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Anywho.... I got on the u-bahn and made it across town in 25 minutes (bless you Vienna public transportation) and walked in, all ready to Iron Chef these kids. But, alas, they were at the playground.
In fact, this is the procedure. The mother or father or family friend shows up at 11, cooks for two hours (in my case, one hour), alone, in a place with many windows and educational toys and then serves the children lunch. I had 50 minutes to get used to a foreign stove and cookware and make enough quesadillas for 14 children and 4 adults and to unload the dishwasher (standard procedure) and to set the table using the "map" and to cross check which child was present that day. Plus to put out glasses and carafes of water and I kicked myself for not planning centerpieces (posies would have been nice). I made 10 quesadillas (by the way, the bean dip wasn't there so I used hummous) and made sure to add as much butter as possible because butter makes everything awesome.
Then, just before 1, the soldiers entered. Smug that I had completed my task, I set the platters of quesadillas on the tables. One girl walked up and asked "What is that?" and I answered "Quesadillas!". She gave me a withering stare (props) and I mumbled "Mexican Pizzas!" She still wasn't impressed and I fought the urge to scream "What are you, Gordon Ramsay, sit down!".
Another girl walked in and asked me what I had around my neck. I noticed I was still wearing my security badge and answered "It's for work." to which she responded "Where do you work?" and then I started to explain and she gave me a "Bitch, please" look (props).
The kids sat down, the Kid did not. I whispered to the Husband to take rat bites out of the Kid's quesadilla so that it would look like the Kid enjoyed my meal. I watched the other kids with fear. I finally know what it is like to be on a terrible cooking reality show. At one point a boy walked up to me and asked "Is there dessert?" I wanted to yell "Da hell do you think this is, the Intercontinental?" but I did not. I resisted. I remained zen. Once the food was eaten (and yes, all was eaten because, you know, butter), I was expected to wipe down the tables and use a broom and put away everything and to clean up and did I mention do everything? The Husband and I putzted and at one point I whispered to him "We are paying to miss work and clean... " There is irony in that but I don't know how to explain it, because, damn you Alanis!
After 2 hours of Hell's Kitchen: The Daycare, I had to head back to work which was met with disapproval, because of course. Clean floors trump job. What's the moral of the story? Who the hell knows. But after tomorrow, I will know more and know that on Saturday I will be celebrating my bday with amazing people and getting hammered on white wine spritzers because no matter what, I have done my best these past 4 weeks and that is all that matters. Pass me a drink, I'm done.
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