Saturday June 25, 2016
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Never, ever, have I ever heard of anything like this. Never. If you by any chance saw any part of it, please post what you know.
Fox has a program called “Kitchen Nightmares." Maybe you have seen it. For obvious reasons, I haven't.
According to Arizona Central, last Friday, program host, British chef Gordon Ramsay, and his crew were filming in Amy’s Baking Company in Scottsdale, owned by Salomon and Amy Bouzaglo. During the usually hour long show, which was cut short, AZC says, the cameras caught "the Bouzaglos yelling expletives at customers, taking tips left for servers, and refusing to take any criticism from the host."
They add, "It was the first time Ramsay has quit a restaurant before implementing new business practices. He said that for the first time in nearly 100 episodes, he had finally met 'two owners who I could not help, and it wasn’t because I didn’t want to, it was because they are incapable of listening.'”
Then someone posted this on the restaurant's Facebook page. “We do not feel the need to make any excuses for our behavior on tonight’s show. However we would like to make the following statement: We do not, nor have we ever stolen or taken any of our servers, waitresses, or waiters tips at Amy’s Baking Company.”
AZC says, "The response was immediate. In seven minutes, there were 265 comments, mostly variations on calling the owners crazy. Twenty minutes later, there were 1,000 comments."
And things only got worse when "Reddit users uncovered Amy’s sordid past, which The Republic has verified."
"Her name is Amanda, not Amy, and she was convicted of a felony. In 2003, she pleaded guilty to the misuse of a Social Security number after she tried to apply for a $15,000 bank loan. Back then, her last name was Bossingham — she married Samy Bouzaglo in January 2004. Amy surrendered for her time in federal prison in late 2008 and was released in October 2009."
I won't go any farther into all this except to say that the couple claims their site was hacked, they said none of the things they are supposed to have said, and they are going to sue.
AZC asks, "What were the Bouzaglos expecting when they signed up for the show?"
They add, “'Chef Ramsay is coming to tell the people how the food is good here,'” Samy says in the beginning of the show, taped in December. (That statement was immediately followed by a clip of him throwing a customer out of the restaurant.)"
Never seen anything like it. Have you?
Tom, the short answer to your question: Yes, yes I have seen something like it, and right here in our tiny little burg of Payson.
I have not seen the show you refer to, however, it is all over the news and social media, so I am aware of the story. It is appalling and shocking that people think it is ok to behave thusly.
As I have previously stated, I moved here from Southern California to take care of my parents. I gave up 2 jobs that I had held concurrently for more than 14 years. I had a profession, as well as a nice little nest egg. I had worked more or less 6-7 days a week for most of the 14 years, as well as attending college at night 3-4 nights a week. Not only did I have a profession, I had a degree, and extensive experience in my field. I quickly learned, however, that, at that point in time, finding employment in Payson was all about WHO you knew, not WHAT you knew. (Small town, you know??)
I took a couple of months to myself, to get settled in and acclimated. I then decided to seek employment as I had no desire to continue depleting my savings for living expenses. I started on the job search and quickly grew disappointed. I would go for an interview, appropriately dressed, in a suit or discreet skirt and blouse, hair and make-up minimally applied and discreet. Properly prepared with a copy of my resume, writing implement in hand, references available, on time, not chewing gum or smoking a cigarette, and application completed. In other words, merely behaving as was expected in Southern California; meeting the staus quo. On one interview, I entered the building through a cloud of cigarette smoke that had been expelled from the lungs of a slovenly, unkempt, gum chewing, tank top and filthy jeans (no underclothes) wearing creature. As we entered, she asked if I had a pen, as she waved a wrinkled, un-completed, dirty application in her hand. At that point in time, the interviewer came out, greeted the creature by name and with a smile, invited her back to her office and told me, thank you for your application, we'll call you. She never did.
A couple of days later, I was at a local restaurant having lunch with my parents. The waitress (the owners daughter) overheard me telling my parents about my latest interview. She offered me a job on the spot. As I was rapidly getting bored and equally rapidly eating away at my savings, I accepted, not knowing what I was in for. This local restaurant owner paid $2.25 per hour as he said that the tips brought the pay up to minimum wage. The problem was they had a communal tip can and the only other waitress, (again, THE OWNER'S DAUGHTER) had no hesitation about dipping into the can and pulling out several bills whenever she had to leave the restaurant, which was usually at least 2 times per day. She was also the one who counted out the tip can at the end of the day and told her Dad how much was in there. My one fourth share of the tips were then added to my paycheck at the end of the week. One fourth was explained to me because "one for me, one for the other waitress, one for the kitchen/bus help and one for the restaurant." I was also espected to work a split shift (with no differential) because the owner did not want to have to pay my measly $2.25 per hour for the 2 slow hours between lunch and dinner. The other waitress, again, the owner's daughter, was surly, angry, rude to the customers, hateful to me, and horrible to the kitchen/bus help. The customers put up with her, (but often requested that I wait on them) as the food was really good. I finally left when she physically assaulted me after telling me that she had been in an all girl Mexican gang in Phoenix. She asserted that they really were not all that bad as they "only fought with chains and knives, not guns". As I had gone out the back of the restaurant to inform her Dad that I was done, she went out to the parking lot and kicked the side door of my Jeep in. I left the restaurant, went straight to the Police Department and filed a restraining order. I never received my final paycheck or tips. When the Police Department investigated, they closed the file with a finding of it being a dispute between women because of "women's health issues". In other words, it was "that time of the month" and so her behavior was acceptable and not criminal.
My god, what has the world come to? Guess the police only care about protecting the interest of the rich. "Women's Health Issues," really interesting. I guess when women are right, they have "issues."
Thats when I would have filed something against the police dept. and the owner for my pay.
That was very sexist and should have been reported farther up.
I wonder how men excuse "thier time of the month" which usually lasts about 24 days.
Funny. She would have lost taking this any further, and it would have been a waste time. The system isn't there for the little people, it's there to protect the rich from the little people.
If I ever heard a horror story, that was it. I don't know how you did it.
As for that police report, I agree with Pat. That kicking in the door of your jeep should have earned her jail time, and the person who closed that report should have been fired--and perhaps more.
We all love small towns, but there are times when they aren't what they should be. Right now in Pine/Strawberry we are in one of those times.
I would have filed papers for my pay, but it would have ended up being less than $100. Not worth the aggravation.
As for the police report. No names will be mentioned, as most of them are still in town and working in the same capacity. However, I will remind you that I was quite new to Payson, and a dreaded "Californian" to boot; and the husband of the woman who hit me, as well as damaged my car, is/was a Payson Firefighter. Not good odds!! I was told at a later time, by one of the officers involved in the investigation that they believed me, because "everybody in town knows what a psycho/nutjob the woman is", but, when they spoke with the owner, he would not speak against his daughter. Although I learned later that what he told the officers was that his daughter was "having female trouble", but the language disparity either didn't translate well or the officers chose to misunderstand as a means of preserving the peace with/for one of their own.
That incident was not the first; and I put up with it, because I am a firm believer in abiding by ones commitments. However, some of the things that I was subjected to were appalling. One time I broke a couple of plates because I killed a cockroach by hitting it (I guess) a little too hard. I was informed that "all restaurants have cockroaches and you don't have to kill them, just brush them onto the floor". I never ate at that restaurant again! I also had knowledge that the (illegal) kitchen/bus help were actually living in the restaurant. They had sleeping bags in the back store room, where their belongings were stored. They bathed/cleaned up in the restaurant's bathroom sink. I would come in in the morning to evidence that they had closed the blinds the night before and sat in the dining room to watch tv, after the place closed. There was also an incident where a customer asked me out, quite publicly (I was not married yet). He was quite good looking and (seemed) nice, however, he was also quite married. I thanked him for the invitation, but said that I didn't date married men. Well, the other waitress put on a full court press, she thought he was "hot" and suggested that I go out with him and sleep with him so that I could tell her about it. I enumerated the problems with her suggestion. I don't date married men. I certainly don't sleep with married men. As a matter of fact, I don't sleep with men to whom I am not married. And lastly, I certainly do not have sex so that someone else can have vicarious thrills. She did not appreciate my comments and made my life miserable for weeks. She would shout and curse at me across the restaurant and over the heads of customers.
So you see, this whole thing with the "Kitchen Nightmares" show is no surprise to me. I think that most people would be appalled by what goes on in the back rooms and kitchens of restaurants.
Not in my kitchen. And thats a fact. You can ask some of my ex employees. One screw up and they were gone.
If you want to know what kind of restaurant you are eating in check out the restroom first.
That is no joke. If the restroom is not really clean where the public goes, think what the kitchen must be like.
I never threw anyone out of the restaurant but I did tell one very quietly to never come back.
We had all you could eat ribs on Sat. night. One night a waitress told me that one lady had reorderd 4 times, and was saving the bones for her dog. I walked over to her table and she had a plastic bag full of untouched ribs. I picked up the bag and told her no leftovers were to leave the restaurant on Sat. nights and do not come back.
No, I did not charge her and her husband for thier dinner.
Good for you, Pat!!!
I completely agree with your comment about the bathrooms. I always figured that if they didn't care enough to keep the public rooms clean, what does their non-public kitchen look like?
Wow, Kim, I know exactly where and who you are talking about. The Firefighter husband turned on my light bulb. The wife and I were eating at the restaurant you refer to some years ago. The strange Hispanic wife waited on us and took our order. She brought it out from the kitchen, and set the steaming food down in front of us. My wife looked at hers and it was not what she had ordered. She did not want refried beans but whole beans. The psycho wife waitress grabbed up the plate and began yelling at my wife saying she was a liar! She then very obviously pretended to quickly turn around and spilled the entire plate of hot food on my wife. We know on purpose. I will not go into how I resolved the situation to our satisfaction before we left. The then "Volunteer" Payson Firefighter was present. About a month later I had occasion to speak with a young adult waitress who had been working there. She had a fresh black eye. She advised she had been struck by the psycho daughter of the owner while at work and quit immediately as a result. She did not wish to pursue it further.
I would have owned the restaurant before the incindent of the black eye was finished.
I know you all think I have a bad attitude, but I gained it over the years of being a quiet little mouse until I was about 55 Then realized I didn't have to take the crap other people tried to pull on me, my family or friends. OR TOWN (:
Pat, I know exactly what you are saying. I grew up with a speech defect and therefore was made fun of all my life. So, combine being less than 5 feet tall, quite bosomy, and throw in a speech defect for good measure...can you say bimbo?? I was ignored, dismissed, and patronized. I've never really been one to take a lot of nonsense from people, but when I hit 30, I came to the same realization that you did. Now my husband likens me to a rottweiler!!
My only explanation for what happened at the restaurant is that I felt as though I had made a commitment to the owner. However, once I realized that regardless of anything that she might do, he would not protect me, I was done. When she tried to punch me in the face, I was quick enough to duck and she only caught me with a glancing blow to my shoulder, which given our relatively disparate sizes, was still enough to knock me off my feet.
I absolutely love Rottweiler's, and pit vipers too!
Don, I am quite certain that you know exactly the restaurant and the family of whom I speak. I do remember you and your wife coming in. The incident that you mention was typical for her, and I've no doubt whatsoever that she spilled the food on your wife intentionally. Yes, the husband was a volunteer firefighter for a while. Eventually going on to be hired full time. I had yet another incident with that family a few years later. My father had a triple bypass and a mitral valve replacement at Scottsdale Shea hospital. He was in hospital for 9 days and upon release, I was going to drive my parents up the hill to come home to Payson. Their car needed gas, so I stopped at the station there on Shea, just before Beeline. As I was pumping the gas, my husband pointed out that the firefighter/husband was pumping gas in his personal vehicle, which had IAFF stickers on the back window. He was also wearing a PAYSON FIRE shirt, which was clearly marked. I had enough to worry about and so ignored him. Once we got on the highway headed north, this firefighter cut me off with less than inches to spare, once in front of me, he decided to play "games" with me. He would trap me behind him and next to another vehicle and then slow down to a crawl. When I would attempt to go around, he would then speed up. My poor father was getting very upset. I opted to pull over and stop for a few minutes to give my poor Dad a few minutes to calm down. Once back on the road, lo and behold, this firefighter had also pulled over and waited for me to catch up. He then started the same nonsense. Once again, I pulled over and stopped. Cell phone service was very spotty on the highway at that time and so I could not contact anyone. That happened 3 times before he finally went on. I thought that I was going to have to bring my poor Dad to Payson hospital when we got into town, he was so upset. Once I got my Dad home and settled, I went to my own home and calmed down. I then wrote a narrative of what had occured. The next morning, first thing, I called the then Fire Chief. I told him what had happened, going back to the beginning and my altercation with the psycho wife. I informed him that my next call was going to be to state licensing, as this firefighter was also a paramedic, as well as an Engineer. I also called the police department and asked to file a report. I was told that in light of my previous altercation's with these people, they would treat it as a he said/she said incident. Once again, small town police department protecting one of their firefighters.
The Fire Chief did call me back a couple of days later and told me that he had spoken with the firefighter and that he was "quite remorseful", and had been given a couple of days suspension. whether that was true, I've no idea. And why I was not given a formal apology, again, I've no idea. These people (the psycho wife and her firefighter husband) are still in town and it is my understanding that they now own the property and business. I have seen it occasionally open, although not on a regular basis.
Much to my dismay, this whole episode with "Kitchen Nightmares" and Amy's Baking Company, and all of the publicity and brouhaha surrounding it, have resurrected many of those memories. Very unpleasant.
If something ever happens again on a state highway report to DPS, Highway Patrol.
Not the town police.
Even if your cell phone doesn't show service you can still dial 911. With our "spotty" coverage here in this area i thought I would post this. I have had to use my cell phone several times to call in accidents, erratic drivers, drivers driving on the wrong side of the highway and other emergencies.
"I was informed that 'all restaurants have cockroaches and you don't have to kill them, just brush them onto the floor.'"
Roaches are the easiest thing in the world to ger rid of. All you have to do is spread harmless (to humans) boric acid in places where they run. Put it in wall plugs, under baseboards, and just generally any place where they locate. They are very clean animals, and when they get the powder on their legs they clean it off with their mandibles and die of poisoning. One thorough treatment is all you need. The adults will die off, the second generation (still eggs when you spread the powder) will die, and ther may be a few strays who last a little longer. But once spread the powder is permanent unless you someone or other were to get water running in some very unlikely places. It stays unchanged for decades.
If you don't want to bother with it just get Truly Nolan or somebody. Sign a six months contract. That's that!
"I think that most people would be appalled by what goes on in the back rooms and kitchens of restaurants."
They would if they're like that one! Ugh!!
"I picked up the bag and told her no leftovers were to leave the restaurant on Sat. nights and do not come back. No, I did not charge her and her husband for thier dinner."
I'll never understand how people can be like that!
"She then very obviously pretended to quickly turn around and spilled the entire plate of hot food on my wife. We know on purpose. I will not go into how I resolved the situation to our satisfaction before we left."
I think I'd pay to hear the "rest of the story." :-)
"I would have owned the restaurant before the incindent of the black eye was finished."
I'll just bet you would. :-)
"Even if your cell phone doesn't show service you can still dial 911. With our "spotty" coverage here in this area i thought I would post this. I have had to use my cell phone several times to call in accidents, erratic drivers, drivers driving on the wrong side of the highway and other emergencies."
Thanks, Barbara! That's good information! I'll bet everyone is glad to hear it.
The area of 87 between Pine and Payson is a dead spot, and I suspect that there are people who take advantage of that.
I got wondering about all this.
What do you think the effect of all this will be on the restaurant? And whose fault would you say it was?
I think that the restaurant will be closed and forgotten within 6 months. They may have some activity for the next few weeks, due to the curiosity factor; however, you can't treat people who work for you, or who patronize your business, badly, and expect them to continue to support you and your business.
Wow! I suppose that's true, but it's going to be hard on someone.
You know something? I got wondering about all this. I'll ask you all a question.
If you were running a restaurant would you allow a camera crew in from a program named “Kitchen Nightmares?"
Wouldn't you suspect that they would be looking for the worst instead of the best? Would that not be a good reason to NOT permit them to film?
What can they have been thinking of?
I read about the Scottsdale restaurant. My reaction was -- spoiled people who believe they are above it all and can get away with anything. The stories related here seem to illustrate that there are others of the same ilk. I have the feeling that some also might reside in Pine/Strawberry in addition to those living in Payson.
I once got into a tet-a-tet with a driver of a semi of all things. It was very frightening. I was on the expressway. He passed me and after cutting sharply in front of me made an obscene gesture. He then slowed down, when I went to pass him, he moved over. Since I felt he had a decided weight advantage, I slowed down, he slowed down. I finally got off at the next exit. To this day, I have no idea what was bugging him. Thank heavens for free way exits!
"To this day, I have no idea what was bugging him."
I ran into a clown like that once. I was driving home at about ten o'clock after teaching an evening class. I was relaxed and happy, in no rush, enjoying a beautiful October night in the Valley. I'd had no dealings with any other driver. Couldn't have had. I'd only come a half mile.
Up ahead the light was red. I stopped behind a small ugly looking motorcycle with a milk crate mounted on its back to carry things. Cyclist was a skinny guy who from the shape of his body looked like--maybe--a college kid.
I stopped well behind him. The light changed. The bike proceeded toward the next light. The guy was good at timing, and obviously knew the lights, because just as we came to the next light--in plenty of time to stop if needed--he slowed, started into the intersection and timed it so it just went to yellow, then jammed on his brakes, caused me to do the same to keep from hitting him, and left me in the middle of the intersection as he zoomed off.
Nice trick, Butthead. Took real brains to work it out.
As I said, I was in a good mood. The class had gone very well, it was Friday, and I was looking forward to a great weekend with Lolly. So I did--nothing. I just sauntered off when the light changed.
But then Butthead slowed down so I could catch up and was obviously preparing to do it again. Now that's not a clever thing to do. If I had been someone with a bad attitude he might have genuinely regretted it. People do get killed on the road, you know.
Anyway, instead of play Butthead's little game, I just backed off 50 feet and then jammed the accelerator down. That turbo-charged but very quiet engine passed him like a rocket going from 25 to 40 in the time it took you to read it.
I then stayed at 45 (speed limit 45), but stayed in the outer lane so he couldn't play his little game again, and true to his type he was too chicken to go over the speed limit to get ahead of me.
However Butthead decided he knew another game. He got in back of me, right on my bumper, and began swinging his headlamp left and right so it flashed in my mirrors.
My response. Flipped up the mirror, of course. Could still see, but at low intensity.
Butthead kept it up, but since it didn't bother me who cared?
Well, it turned out that Butthead cared, but I didn't know it for a week or two.
A dog. Little guy. White. Running like mad. Came right in front of me. I cared a great deal more about the dog than about Butthead. In fact, when I saw that dog coming no thought of Butthead being back there doing his thing ever entered my mind.
I braked. Hard! The dog zipped by--just barely--and I looked in my mirrors for Butthead.
He wasn't there. The %$#@! idiot, I thought, must have turned left just before the dog came running out. I drove on with a great sense of relief.
Want to hear the rest of the story?
Rest of story--maybe. Could be just a coincidence.
Three weeks later. Last night of same class. Two women are speaking (I was teaching a class of adult high school and college teachers how to teach with a computer). I was moving around the lab, showing someone how to install a file that let him see what was on any of the student screens in the lab he was going to be running, and the two other teachers right behind me were talking. Listen in.
"Well, I hate that (bleep) kid, and I don't mind telling you I was laughing all the time he told the other two brats the story."
"I don't like him either. I had him in my class last semester. Thinks he knows a lot more than he does."
"As he described the mess his stupid little bike was in I swear that I almost exploded holding in the laughter. Totalled. He was too close to a pickup when it suddenly braked. I guess he thinks he's some kind of great rider because he said he did a "step-off," whatever that is, but it didn't work because he went straight on his fanny and burned the seat right out of those leather britches he swaggers around in."
"Oh, so that's why he's been walking so funny lately. I wondered what it was."
"And some dog ran right over his face. That's why the scratches."
"Too bad. I thought maybe some girl had slapped him good."
"So no more bike."
"Thank God for that. I am SO tired of seeing him riding that thing around the parking lot like he owns the place."
"You haven't heard the best part yet."
"It gets better?"
"The little butthead got told off by his mother. No more bikes. That was number two, you know. And he's back home. No frat house. They own a Seven-11 and he has to work nights and weekends until he pays off the loan on the bike...."
I didn't hear any more. I was about to explode so I had to move away.
Butthead? Maybe not, but a guy can dream. That jerk sure disappeared awfully fast that night. Not a sign of him in my mirrors. But then we had just gone through an intersection, the road was curving, and my rearview mirror had been flipped to the dim position.....
An article in Sunday's Arizona Republic reports that this couple is being offered opportunities to do a reality show. I think that shows something about what is offered on TV as entertainment. How low can it go? Do you think this couple's main motivation for their behavior was a desire to get their own reality TV show?
I wish they would take all reality shows off TV. Anyone that believes they are reality are nuts.
With all the camera crews, equipment, and tv employees how can they be called reality? I think it is all staged.
Like The Survivors show, with the people eating bugs because there was nothing to eat or no
where to get anything. What were all the TV employees eating?
Reality is when two cooks get into a fight in the kitchen. One with a meat cleaver and the other holding a big pot in front of him to keep from being cut up. Both yelling ugly words. Can't be printed on here. No cameras around.
This happened one morning in a restaraunt in Prescott. I got up from my seat and left.
No I didn't go back and pay for my food.
I am happy to be able to say that I have never seen a reality show. Just think how lucky I am.
"I wish they would take all reality shows off TV."
"Anyone that believes they are reality are nuts."
"I think it is all staged."
What else could they be?
But then, what do I know?
"No I didn't go back and pay for my food."
Here's a true story (and yeah, I know; most things that start out that way, ain't).
I worked in bakery while in high school. Pop Johnson got me the job through his friend Bernie, who was one of the bakers. Night shift job. Lousy job. Paid s--t.
Bernie and French head baker, name forgotten, always argue, which makes lousy job even worse. Head baker had personality of a bad tempered octopus. Thank God I didn't have to work in the main room with them! I made the doughnuts off in my own little room, with my lovely 40 gallon fryer and little hand-cranked doughnut maker.
One night Bernie and Frenchie get into bad argument. Frenchie takes three foot round shallow steel bowl weighing perhaps 40 pounds and heaves it across room, dislocating Bernie's shoulder, and then grabs poor Bernie around shoulders and squeezes causing excruciating pain. Much yelling. Bernice quits. So do I.
By then it is summer and so I go to Ocean Beach and get my old dream job back-for the fourth year running. However, since fight occurred on Thursday, and Friday was payday, I go back a week later for my pay.
To my utter shock Bernie is back at work. To make matters worse grouchy half-owner of bakery gives me my pay but accuses me of having been working at beach before the fight between the two idiots and having planned to leave anyway. I cannot repeat what I said because it would fry my machine, but four customers in bakery at first shocked, then listening carefully, take my side and say they will never set foot in the place again and will spread story around town. To my surprise (and great pleasure) I have people tell me at least a hundred times that they heard story, and it very well may have had effect on bakery.
Consider the justice in that. It was one of life's lessons, which runs this way: The person most likely to get hurt in some kind of flare-up between idiots is the innocent bystander, so when a flare-up occurs stand on the sidelines and cheer them on in hopes that they will kill each other.
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