Chef Life

Cooking. It can be fun. It can be hell. Like any job it’s really what you make of it. It’s not like what you see on Food Network. It’s not glamorous. People generally look down on you. Most know that it isn’t a good paying job. Hell, I’ve been doing it for 13 years and my wage has only went up five dollars since I first started on this sweaty, greasy, rage-filled, thankless road.

The road where the people that carry what you made with your hands, get more money than you at the end of the day. We’re all peasants in the service industry though. Waiters and waitresses have to put on a fake smile and put up with the general public, who are generally stupid. Some are pretentious assholes that expect a handjob when they walk in the door, on a red carpet.

In this day and age, I feel like people rely too heavily on restaurants and don’t know how nice it is to cook a nice meal at home and eat it in front of the TV with no pants on. Or how rewarding it is to prepare a feast for friends or family and have them "mmmmm" all night about how delicious everything was. When I was a kid I maybe saw the inside of a restaurant twice a year. Then I see people bringing a bunch of snot-nosed brats that don’t know how to behave in public into a casual fine dining restaurant and give them free reign of the place. There’s that, and there’s the fact they order their hellspawn a twenty dollar meal when they know damn-well half of it will end up in the garbage. Leave the kids at home or keep them on a leash.

Anyways...

Kitchens are hot. They are loud. You have to think fast. Temptation walks past you constantly in the form of a beautiful waitress that may or may not be nice to you, and just because she is, she might not want to blow you. One restaurant I worked in, first managing job actually, I slept with five of the girls I worked with. I remember all their names and there are no hard feelings between any of us. Well...except Brandi...I kind of didn’t know I slept with her till a week later. Alcohol is a funny thing. I’ve slept with someone I worked with in every restaurant job I’ve had. It’s kind of necessary. Has to be done. Just keep it drama free okay bucko?!

The food. Sure the food is important. But really all you’re doing is putting someone else’s vision on a plate and then they sell it to someone you never see enjoy it. What’s the point? Cooking is a job you don’t need a degree for. You don’t need a car or a license. You just need to show up and cut things and play with fire sometimes. So you get your first kitchen job. Staff prices on drinks are cheap. You get a free meal and work with beautiful women and get to crack dick jokes with your fellow cooks. It has ups and downs. I’ve worked in about ten different kitchens and they’re all the same really. Equipment breaks down. Most aren’t well equipped enough to do what is needed. Finding a sharp knife can be a daunting task on its own. Chin up, cold beer awaits.

It’s an art. Cooking, plating, and maintaining composure all require some level of skill. Some have it and some don’t. It’s hard to find good staff. Dishwashers never mind cooks. Someday I’m sure the restaurant industry will be automated and most of us will be homeless. Eventually, the novelty will wear off maybe, and people won’t go out to eat anymore. Doubtful, but you never know. Did you know most cooks can’t even afford to take a date to their place of work? I don’t think most cooks even care to eat out. Being in a restaurant becomes a chore.

Groceries. Do I buy them? Yes. I buy meat and freeze most of it so I can thaw it out on my days off. Vegetables? Sometimes in small quantities. If I buy to much produce it will rot in my fridge as I only get to eat food at home maybe twice a week. At the end of the day, you don’t want to eat. You’ve been surrounded by food and the smell of food, the only thing I want to do is lay on my couch, smoke some weed, and watch a movie. Or get drunk. Preferably sitting down due to the plantar fasciitis in my right foot that makes it painful to stand.

In conclusion, remember next time you go to a restaurant, and you’re eating your meal, the person who prepared it for you has hatred. Deep down they hated putting that food on that plate and wished you’d stayed home and cooked for yourself.

The end.