Genesis

For a few months I’ve tossed the idea of writing a restaurant review blog. Being a new transplant to the city, I’ve been running around trying out every restaurant I can, usually with my fiance. An honestly? Im usually dissapointed but, just as often, surprsingly impressed.

But first.

My background has over twelve years as a restaurant chef and manager. I’ve dealt with the late nights, Mother’s Day buffet fiascos, alcoholic servers, aggressive employees, and line cooks so high on meth they would dissapear for days at a time. I’ve had employees tell me im a fucking clown that doesn’t know how to cook. Others have told me I’ve taught them more than I ever set out for. People have cried when I left my position for one reason or another.Rapid promotions came quick in my career and just as fast came the bullshit. General managers who sexually harassed both males and females alike. Restaurant owners who cared more about their name on the building than the quality of the food. The religious nuts who told me that laying on hands and faith healing could fix anything. (Well except their business, apparently.) Anyone who has worked either front or back of the house understands that working in restaurants is a thankless, exhausting job. The hours are inconsistant and swing week to week. The entry pay is lousy. The salary for Executive Chefs who finally make it is rarely proportional to the 60+ hours they put in and the constant steam of shit they need to paddle through. The “angry chef” stereotype is there for a reason. Stand for sixteen hours a day in over 100 degree heat and deal with everyones issues for a few weeks straight. You would be grumpy too. Thats why I got out.

But thats just part of it. The other side shows a comraderie that rivals the military. Psychologically we humans develop bonds through strife. Any line cooksworking a New Years Dinner know what I’m talking about. When the team bonds together and moves as a unit, flowing from ticket to ticket and perfectly executing orders, something magically happens. Demi glace splashes turn into war paint. Burns and cuts go unnoticed until the end of service even if they will end up in infection. The literal heat of the moment ignites a fire inside us. And at the end, over the cheap shift beers and shots of well whisky, we become closer than ever. Want to see racial harmony? Work in a kitchen in a major city. We become unified. I still miss that part of the job.

So what now? I’d go into my current career more but I’m keeping this page anonoymous for a few reasons. The first is the usual food critic/blogger reason. If I go into a restaurant and get recognized, there will be bias. I don’t want the Chef’s special treatment. My plate should be the consistant product they pride themselves in day to day. And secondly….well who I am isn’t important. The food and the stories behind it are. It’s going to be crude and hopefully a little humourous, but the one thing it will always be is honest.