There Is No Spoon

(I work in the bistro side of a kitchen that caters for both a small everyday bistro and large-scale functions. Frequently, the bistro is dead quiet, so my coworkers and myself will busy ourselves helping the chefs prepare function food. On this particular day, the chef has a pot of salted caramel sauce on the stove. I and three coworkers have gathered around, and are making various moaning noises as the chef stirs it.)

Me: “Oh, god. Oh wow.”

Coworker #1: “Oh, my.”

Coworker #2: “Hnnnggg…”

Coworker #3: “PLEASE just inject it straight into my veins!”

(The chef, who is quite used to our hovering and moaning over various delicious foods, laughs and takes the pot off the stove to pour it into a storage container. My coworkers and I, saddened by the loss of the delicious sauce, disperse. I move into the wash-up area to start clearing some dishes.)

Chef: *brings the pot in, gives me a stern but playful look, then leaves*

(I turn to pull the next load out of the dishwasher, which turns out to be – cutlery. I eye off one of the spoons, then look at the pot, then back to the spoons.)

Chef: *walks in a few seconds later with another pot* “[My Name]! Seriously?!”

Me: *with my third spoonful of salted caramel sauce halfway to my mouth* “THERE WERE SPOONS! What was I supposed to do?!”