The Next Morning: AKA Why French Chefs occasionally kill themselves

Sunday Morning: 7am.  Day of the TomatoFest

After all that drama and tedium of last night, I permit myself to sleep in a bit.  While probably not my best work, the bavarians are done.  Just going to go there, unmold the the little bastards and call it a day. I stumble downstairs and happily notice that they are all set.  Yay!!! Time for a shower and coffee.

Upon getting out of the shower, it occurs to me to unmold one and give it a taste.  Also to see how they will come out of the mold.  Since they are plastic, I can't use the blow torch, which is a heck of a lot easier to work with.  I will have to carefully set the mold in hot water and hope that it will all melt just right, enough to free them, but not enough to melt them all together.

ummmm...

OH DEAR GOD! While yes, they do slip effortlessly out of their molds, slipping easily onto the plate, they do it not as a sexy French seductress with a green thumb, but more akin to a teenager who just threw up on herself and doesn't know it.  That thing on the plate is the ugliest thing I have ever made.  I have for sure seen that before after a night of lasagna and drinking.  YUCK!!!

And now for the big realization... I don't have a back up plan.  It is now 9:15.  The event for 200 people at Cedarbrook starts in 2hours and 45 minutes.  Did I mention how nice Cedarbrook is?  How much I respect Roy?  and how a very large number of Big Kid Chefs will be there?  I can not serve this vomit on a plate.  

yeah... not gonna happen

So what do you do? In a normal restaurant, we create a back up plan.  We have other ingredients, other staff to bust out something while maybe not as amazing, still servable.  I have nothing here.  

So options: 

1. Pull a Vatel.  (Historical French Chef, killed himself when the seafood didn't arrive for the King's banquet.  It arrived shortly thereafter).  A bit icky, but desperate to save face.  
2. Call Roy and act sick.  I hate this option.  While the easiest, and technically "no one can fault you if you are sick"... yes they can.  Cooks don't get sick.  It has bitten me in the ass enough times when I actually was VERY sick and still they don't forgive me.  Arghhh.
3. Invent a death in the family... I feel like I am in high school suddenly.  
4. Or tell the truth.  I have been really working hard in 2010 on telling the truth.  As anyone who has read the press lately, my interviews have been disturbingly truthful.  I really don't like the idea of backsliding into bullshit.  So option 4 it is.  This is going to suck and I will not be invited back, that is for damn sure.