Long gone are the days of my time spent on the line, that magical area beyond the pass full of heat, flame and profanity. Where raw ingredients get turned into beautiful and edible food with the application of heat, flavour and love...or as often is the case, begrudging acquiescence. Men and women alike in a tortured tango dancing around each other trying to bring together all the components of a dish at the same time, lest the dish be ruined because Steve over there forgot his beurre blanc sauce...great job ass hole!!!
Working the line, as I may have said previously, is a young persons game. Long hours on your feet, the physical abuse your body takes as you bend over into the low boy fridge, reach around each other for food, pans and so on, the constant back and forth as your hands become extensions of your nervous system...reacting more than thinking about your next move. The life takes it's toll. I do however miss it sometimes, there is a camaraderie to being immersed in that life. Truly, a well oiled crew working a busy night is a beautiful thing to behold. The constant barrage of double entendres slipped between time checks and questions of how many beef all day do I have, the sizzle as a piece of meat hits the hot pan, the constant shaking of pans over the cast iron grates and the shuffling of smelly feet. We tend to have quite well muscled calves by the way, if that's your thing.
The kitchens I have been a part of all seem to flow in the same manner, the same things are said and the same things are bitched about. That commonalty makes it quite easy to flow from one kitchen to another...it is a small community after all so we have all probably walked in the same place at one point or another. First there is music...a beat up radio stolen from a hotel room or "borrowed" from the last sous chef that happened to walk out one night in a fit of frustration. Antenna covered in foil or connected to a coat hanger somehow and you just know that the Cd player or tape deck are inoperable...and the whole thing has been thoroughly coated in kitchen grease and flying debris. These days we have iPods or Pads or Pids or whatever the thing is called so you can play your vaunted kitchen mix. When I was younger and I managed to wrestle control of the radio I would put it on whatever rock station played classic rock...I'm old school. These days I have to listen to, at varying times, country music, rap and hip hop as well as pop music....kill me now my ears are bleeding. Music is the life blood of the kitchen along with coffee...it's mandatory, it is what separates us from you office dwellers. Well, one of the things. Easy access to booze and food, a patois that would make a trucker blush, no real rules other than don't be an ass hole and hold up your end of the line and a slightly warped way of looking at the world...see, not so different after all.
And we have the dogs of war themselves, the mish mash motley crew that prepares your food every night for meager wages and little gratitude. We have such diversity of both character and nationality within the confines of that line that I sometimes wonder if maybe this truly represents the multicultural life that we, as Canadians, espouse. Running the gamut from disturbed but hard working sous chefs to hiding from something 3rd cooks, brilliant but lazy first cooks to under appreciated work horse chef de parties. To look at some of them you would think that the door to intelligence was locked when they were lining up for god given attributes, but you would be wrong to make assumptions. Sure, we have our fair share of mental midgets but we also have some very deeply intelligent people that can wax poetic about many, many topics and speak passionately with logic and vigour about others. And for some reason, too many conspiracy theory nuts...just saying. We have OCD poster kids, slobs and sloths, recovering addicts and in situ junkie wannabes along side mercenary cooks, artistes and lifers that just wanna get their time in. Usually it's not who you think cooking your food in a restaurant and certainly not in a hotel...having worked our way through the machine, we sit back and worry about food cost and labour cost, playing hall monitor and absentee mom for all. This business is about people...as legendary Elwood Blues would have said "you, me, them everybody, everybody." You the customer, me, all the cooks, chefs and workers in the biz...everybody. We may sell you a tenderloin topped with a lovely decadent Stilton crust but we're in the people business....and as always, business is war. Cooking the line is war.
Where there is war there is carnage. There be blood, some expected and some not. Not one of us has avoided the "shit" moment when we went too deep with the boning knife on that expensive tenderloin and nicked a minor artery. I've seen guys take the tops of fingers off from knives and meat slicers. I once lopped off part of my thumb in the middle of getting ready for a wedding....off to the hospital to get stitched up and raced back for service with throbbing digits. It's what we do....despite how much we hate you we still do everything in our power to serve you. Our own well being be damned. Case in point...back in college we were prepping for the nights service in the college dining room when a fire alarm went off. We promptly ignored it as chef hadn't come back to tell us anything, so in the absence of contrary orders...we kept working. At some point a security guard told us to get out, we promptly ignored him and possibly threw carrot chunks at him as he left the kitchen. A short while later he came back to remind us to get out...same response. A few minutes later he barged in and said there was a bomb threat and we had to go...fine, bombs trump our prep. We never went back to class after the all clear a few hours later...we dragged our instructor to a classmates apartment next to the college and got loaded. Good times.
This may give you some more insight into my world and my brain....and I'm sorry in advance. Actually I'm not...what ever. If you want an even more in depth picture that will surely scare you...read Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential, a pretty accurate snap shot of the business. He details debauchery in all its forms and shines a light on the people that slip in and out of my world. He did a great job of writing about my experience without knowing me...I'm sure I wasn't the only one.
But really all the stories and moments are part of that tapestry that has grown around my life...I couldn't imagine not being in the trenches to some extent. If I find myself with an opportunity to live in Greece or Italy or Spain, preferably over a bakery or a tapas bar, I'd work part time for spare cash just so I could keep a toe stuck in that room beyond the swinging doors. In there is comfort and many stories to explore.
Ciao
D
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