The Experience

Being asked to share my experience with working in a kitchen, I thought it was something that was impossible to answer in words. When I was thinking about how to describe it, I realized that there wasn't a singular response to this question, or at least not one that can describe what it's really like. To me, asking me this question is almost the same as asking me to describe my life experience. I can't, because it's everything. I can't describe the emotions that I feel all of the time, or all of my dreams and aspirations. At some point you give up trying to articulate these things and accept that they aren't just parts of a whole; they are you. I think that would be the best way to describe what working in a kitchen is like: it's everything, all of the time.

I started working in a kitchen when I was 16 years old. I had only been to the restaurant as a customer, but from that I gathered that this was a restaurant where I wouldn't have to worry about the food. Growing up in my great grandmother's house, I remember watching Kitchen Nightmares along with the numerous food network shows that would run every afternoon. I saw the way that these people spoke about food, and the care that they would show when cooking. So I'd think about this small restaurant that I was about to start working in, and I'd go back and reference these professionals that I watched growing up. In my mind there was a difference between the kind of restaurant shown on television, and the kind of restaurant that I found myself working in. In some ways, I was right. I could see vividly the shine of stainless steel pans on top of spotless gas burners. Tile floor that was so clean it looked like they'd take a toothbrush to the grout every night after service. Then I'd look at where I was standing: a singular rusty flattop, dirty oil clinging to every surface you could see. The floors were slick, and the walls missing paint from an attempt to clean. It was a kitchen so unlike the ones I'd seen, and I expected that the attitude behind the food would reflect this difference. Again, I wasn't wrong, but I came to realize something that most people don't. Even though the food was frozen and subpar, I remember how it felt the first time someone complained. I remember the feeling of disappointment that I think is a feeling unique to working in a kitchen. No matter the type of restaurant you work in, you soon see that cooking for someone else is something that feels intensely personal. It's impossible for a cook to not view the food that he makes as a reflection of himself, so when someone doesn't like your food, it means they don't like you. The humiliation that this brings can be debilitating, but the relief that you can get from a good service is an emotion that is equally as powerful.

After a particularly bad moment, shift, or week, it's easy to ask someone why they would continue to work in this field. I think that, for most people, the emotions that you feel throughout a shift, whether good or bad, are so intense that it become almost like a drug. Your personal life can become so monotonous that you look forward to being humiliated, because you just crave to care about something. But overall, I can only speak for myself, it all goes back to how interwoven your food becomes with you. I keep showing up because I want to make better food. I keep showing up because I want to be a better person.