A jazz musician can improvise based on his knowledge of music. He understands how things go together. For a chef, once you have that basis, that's when cuisine is truly exciting. ~ Charlie Trotter
Chefsday
The Blog
The rantings of a recovering depressive chef who's just trying to fight a fair and honest fight
Depression, anxiety, alcohol/drug misuse, and poor working conditions take their toll on people in our industry. I’m still struggling with more than one of those and know that it’s still a problem in professional kitchens. Things have improved in some places, but upstate NY is about 10 years behind many restaurant trends. There are always shitty owners and screaming hard-nosed chefs. Mix in long hours, hot kitchens, access to drugs and booze, and a generally reckless and off-beat lifestyle and you’ve got a recipe for failure or worse. I’ve personally known too many chefs who have died of overdose and suicide.
Snippets About Stuff
A new Greek study asserts that eating one to three eggs a week can reduce the risk of cardiovascular disease by more than half. Can we make up our minds about eggs? Better yet, stop listening to the experts and do what your body and common sense tells you.
I saw an ad that reported the salary for a chef’s position that pays up to $65000 per year based on experience. Why based on experience? I’ve worked with people who have been cooking for 20 years and are not particularly great. I’ve worked with people in their first few years and are very good at what they do. How about up to $65,000 based on ability?
I recently saw a reel that showed a kitchen crew cleaning at the end of service. With 15 minutes left until closing an order comes in and the looks on their faces is one of terror, disgust, and anger. The bulk of the comments from line cooks around the country agreed that it’s a shitty thing to do to a restaurant. Many said they should not accept orders that close to closing. Well, with that being the case, closing time loses all meaning.
Don’t clean the grill at 9:30 if you close at 10. A good kitchen can do many things in the last half hour of service to make the actual closing easier without shutting down the kitchen.
The same people who ask for more hours are usually the same ones who are in a hurry to get out of work at the end of the night. “Can I get more hours?” actually means “can I get more hours when it’s convenient for me?”
Rihanna performed for 13 minutes while 20 weeks pregnant and everyone went nuts. What a feat!
Cathy Huang ran the Boston Marathon in 2021 in 3 hours and 42 minutes at 32 weeks pregnant.
What was a platter is now a board. The same crap, different surface.
Boneless wings. What happened to truth in menu?
Something for everyone in a restaurant’s description means a lot of mediocre stuff.
When you do not tip, the server still pays the tax on the expected tips.
Giraffe fights are far more entertaining than chicken fights. Why is there no wagering on Giraffes?
Tipped employees are responsible for taxes on tips whether they receive them or not. When you stiff a server because your steak was overcooked, you’re punishing the person whose fault it isn’t twice. Be objective.
Yes, I know many don’t like the tipping system and there are always cries of “pay a living wage,” but that’s our system at the current time, so don’t be an asshole within that system.
The IRS anticipates your tip amount based on sales figures, so tipping in cash does little good. Sure, the numbers can be fudged a bit, but not much.
Instagram reels are all copycat shit. Same basic “skits,” songs, and messages over and over. The two most annoying are the Long Island type house frau sitting in her minivan with a right wing conspiracy theories. Same script, same thin, annoying voiced women with their roots dyed black. I think it may be the same minivan too.
They do sometimes appear in their large, “kitchens for white ladies who don’t cook.” You know the ones with 6 burner French ranges, custom hoods, and empty counters? Oh, and a coffee bar with a variety of k-cups and flavored creamers
Behavior
Norms provide us with an expected idea of how to behave, function and provide order. I didn’t always fit in to the expected set of rules placed on me by school and work. When I was a kid schools were rigid, and there was no room for individuality. At work I always had my own ideas on what a place could be, but many restaurants are run by people who have little vision and are afraid to make a bold statement.
I was told (many times) in elementary school that my behavior would be on my permanent record. Well, I'd like to read my permanent record now.
I did not behave; I was bored and unchallenged.
I once peed in the principals chair. That was against the rules.
I used to fight a lot. Again, against the rules.
I was sent to counseling to change my behavior. I’m not sure their approach worked. The school counselor would take me on walks and we would talk about whatever was going on in my life. I recall one particular walk when we went into what appeared to be a small warehouse or something and I was photographed in my underwear. That’s all that happened as far as I can remember, but I wonder to this day if that’s all it was. I suspect their approach caused more problems.
I have only told my wife, and now you this story. Counseling seemed to end abruptly, and I never went again.
In 3rd grade I was asked not to attend catechism (religious indoctrination) anymore. Calling the nun Sister Mary Elephant was the last straw.
Man created God to explain the unknown when man had limited understanding of science so the best way to explain things was God(s).
Organized religion was developed to regulate your behavior and yes, provide order.
The promise of an afterlife was developed to add an end goal, a reward for that good and obedient behavior.
Atheism is a non-prophet organization.
Middle school? No idea. I know I often went without underwear.
Highschool was a blur. I was selected to be in a special new program that took a dozen kids in the district and had them in an advanced studies program that centered around the use of computers and the latest technical advances.
I declined and no one encouraged me or insisted that I enter the program. I chose instead to do the minimum whenever possible.
My behavior didn’t improve, and I was put into a different program in 10th grade. Smart kids who failed to excel. It was 2 periods long and encompassed English and social studies. I didn’t behave well there either. I may have driven Mrs. Foster to early retirement. It didn’t help that I called her Joan.
11th grade was the same thing except for a new teacher, Mr. Ostrander. He had far better control of me. One day he was talking about running a 6-minute mile. Never having run before I spouted out that it seems pretty easy. We made a bet and we went out to the track in my Chuck Taylors and I ran 5:56. I was challenged by a classmate and ran 5:45 a week later.
I was encouraged by my teacher, by the track coach Mr. Griffin (who encouraged me to go to college), and the assistant principal (in charge of discipline) Mr. Robinson (who came to my races, even in college) to go out for cross country in the fall. Being encouraged. Wow.
Siena coach Bob Reilly encouraged me to run cross country there.. While there I found academics almost impossible since I was young, immature, and ill prepared for college. I was asked not to come back after 3 semesters. Coach got me back in.
Follow the rules: Go to college, marry a girl, have kids, a career, retire, and die.
That’s the path most of my teammates were following. I was discouraged from going to culinary school when I said I wanted to leave Siena and become a chef. I was not encouraged, but rather asked if I wanted to “sling hash for the rest of my life.” So I stayed and followed the rules.
At 35 I quit my job and decided to become a chef.
I went through a bunch of jobs. I was not a model employee as I always thought each restaurant could be more than it was and I often failed to follow the rules, recipes, and general way of doing things.
In my first job I was cutting shallots. The chef, who was an asshole, told me in a condescending way I was cutting red onions. I knew I was cutting shallots, so I told him to go fuck himself. You’re not supposed to do that.
At Mona Lisa in Albany the owner would go to the produce supplier and fill his truck with rotten produce that we had to clean up and make useable. It was my first full-time gig, and I knew what we were doing was bad. I declined to follow along. Besides, the “chef,” Johnny was a nasty drunk who abused the servers. I did not fit in there.
Fast forward, just assume I didn’t behave in most places.
I worked at a small restaurant in Saratoga that had camaras to regulate your behavior. For the owner it was like a television show worthy of binge watching.
They also had snitches, certain employees saddled with the task of reporting any and all behavior that was deemed unacceptable by the owner and often embellished by the snitch.
It was the best way to keep order in the absence of competent management.
This was no way to work. You couldn’t trust fellow employees, they didn’t trust you, and you certainly were not trusted by ownership, which in turn made for a disloyal, unhappy, and unmotivated staff.
It had the potential to be a great chef-led place, but the rules were always changing and often silly.
There it is, a very diluted review of my inability to follow rules. My permanent record if you will. I have a lot of great stories and look forward to sharing them in detail with you.