I might just be a glutton for punishment. The same can be said for anyone who chooses to spend 10-plus years behind the line. It is hot, labor intensive, the hours are long, and the pay is terrible. Too many times have I seen the bright-eyed, starry dreamer fresh out of culinary school walk into their first real kitchen ready to be the next Thomas Keller, and within the week (usually somewhere between the second and third case of cleaning ramps), in sets the harsh reality. “What in the hell did I get myself into!?”
Every young cook has that moment. It is the gap between your last terrible service and when you wake up the following morning where you decide if you are going back in. It is that choice that will ultimately decide if you have what it takes. If not, then perhaps you are destined for a career in catering. If yes, then it is time to test your mettle.
You walk in the back door again, and for the first time in a month, the prep cooks acknowledge you. You get on the line, and the well-seasoned sauté cook actually knows your name. The sous chef still calls you a mixed bag of expletives but this time with purpose. You realize that working diligently and organized has somehow become second nature. Muscle memory takes over, and your hands can find stuff before your eyes can. Your legs get used to standing for long hours, and the blisters on your cutting hand formed a tough callus. It is happening: a metamorphosis of sorts, and you are no longer on the outside looking in but part of the machine. Before you know it, dinner service is over, and that same screaming sous chef is taking you out for a drink. Now, you are on your way.
The kitchen attracts certain individuals. We swear too much, drink often, and never have time to eat. You are out too late and sleep too little. The only friends you have are your colleagues, and you never see your family. Holidays are just another busy night, and you usually celebrate your birthday with a dessert from the pastry chef. It is a terrible lifestyle that Bourdain tries to describe. Even as I try to put into words what I experienced growing in my career, I find myself reaching for a descriptor that isn’t there. You have no choice but to fall in love with it.
When I talk of my career, I cannot help but get romantic. The lifestyle, the people, the food. Every scar on my arm is a story. The cooks with whom I work are my family. The food we create nurtures your soul and fosters the good times of which memories are made. In turn, it is that sense of creation that each cook looks to express and searches for with almost addiction-like tendencies: the smile that creeps across a guest’s face when the collard greens bring them back to a place they only visited as a child. It keeps me going, it keeps our team going, and it keeps our chefs going. We carry that drive with us each day. The culture has evolved. The cases of ramps that arrive in the spring are still a pain to get through. I am no longer getting screamed at but am the one doing the screaming. And with that transition, we carry a responsibility to keep the passion burning in each young chef. The long, caffeine-filled days that turn into sleepless nights when we think up something new and exciting to bring you with each changing season. The plate, a blank canvas if you will, spurs our desire to create something that you will ultimately enjoy. Welcome to our world.
