This is me 36 weeks pregnant, scrubbing out an old science desk to prepare for the arrival of our daughter. Only we didn’t know she was a daughter then. We referred to her as peanut.
But I don’t really know what happened in this photo. I remember looking like Demi Moore did while I was pregnant, so there must have been a gremlin in the camera.
This is the science desk in its new home, Hartsyard. It will be the server’s station up the back of the dining room.
Each drawer will be labelled with a table number and inside will hold all the preset cutlery and whatnot required for each table. Servers will pull out the appropriate drawer, carry to the table, set, then return and stock again ready for the next seating.
In theory. Everything is still very much in theory.
There she is encased by shelving, slotting in just perfectly. Behind her is the pass, the science desk providing a walkway specifically from there out to the dining room, an uninterrupted path for the plates from kitchen to table.
Check lists are getting smaller but more frantic as the days go on, and the opening date hinges on a rather significant feature of the dining room…chairs.
Stand by for updates on that one, but let me know if you’d consider it rude if we asked you to bring your own.
Lighting continues to be the bane of my existence, and has convinced me most thoroughly that candles need to be re-embraced.
I think I can manage that.
Gregory and I are contemplating having a date night sometime this week as we know the next time we see each other will be Christmas.
Opening is fast approaching, and to me, it’s just like theatre. At some point, you’ve just got to do your tech run, stumble through a dress rehearsal and lift the curtain even if the costumes aren’t finished for the closing number.
But although everyone’s got the script, and we all learned the same music, whether or not we can tap dance in time remains to be seen…because unlike theatre, a restaurant can’t hide behind smoke and mirrors.