‘Twas the Night Before Christmas in the Kitchen
By Chef Adam Navidi
November/December 2009
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the back of the house
Pots and Pans were Clanging, “Where’s my f’ing turkey!” squeaked a mouse;
With no one left to prep, clean or give a care, he smoked like a chimney
In hopes that his night cleaners, elfs/cooks would soon be there;
The waitstaff were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of money dancing in their heads;
Every Owner, Manager and Chief that fit the cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,
When out from the dining room there arose such a clatter,
He sprang from the kitchen to see what was the matter.
Away to the host stand he flew like a flash,
Tore open the books and passed some gas.
The cancellations had multiplied like the new-fallen snow
Giving him a new stress and ache from down below,
When, what to wondering eyes should appear,
But a new full reservation sheet, has this always been here?
If he works thru the night and staff is quick,
happy patrons with good momerories are sure to stick.
More slower then beagles his hungover elfs came,
He growled and shouted, and called everyone a new name;
“Now, on Turkey! now, Stuffing! now, Potatoes and Gravy!
On, Cornbread! on Cranberries! on, Donuts and Cheese Blitz’s!
To top off the kitchen and prepsheet hanging on the wall!
Now prep away! prep away! prep away all!”
So up to the house-top the courses they flew,
With the sleigh full of food, and some drinks too.
And then, in a twinkling, like the chick from bewitch, he heard from the back
That Turkey and Stuffing he was sure to lack
As he wiped his hands, and turned around,
More Turkeys and stuffing in the oven where found.
He was dressed in sweat, from his head to his feet,
And his clothes were all tarnished with cranberries and turkey giblet meat
A bundle of shit he had flung on his back,
Probably from one of his elfs who was talking shmack.
His eyes — how wrinkled! his dimples how dreary!
His cheeks as shinny as greasy fryer vats, his nose like a smashed cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the jib on his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a frog face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had everything to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stock pots then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger inside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up thru the kitchen he rose;
He sprang to his position, to his team gave a whistle,
And away the he flew like the down of a artichoke thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, when he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”
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