Our blood runs deeper than a family geneaology
We come from different races, languages, and expierances
But we all come from the same sadistic family
We find love in what we do
We push ourselves to learn more, do more, and produce more
We break barriers that "others" set before us
We're the ones that skipped high school classes to smoke and get tattoos
We're the ones that showed up late, half asleep, and cheated on tests
We're the ones that had no clue what we wanted out of life
We fell victim to drugs
We "hustled" we sold, we stole, we "lived life"
We didn't even know what life meant
You keep your 9-5, you balance the books for some asshole
You push the pencils and scribble on paper
You put on a suit and tie every morning as you kiss your wife good-bye
As for me?
I'll button up my chef coat, tie my apron, and fold my rags
I'll shove my hand into a 450 degree over numerous times a night
I'll grab something straight out of a fryer and place it on a plate
In the end? I love what I do
You?
I pay you to do the things I don't have time to
In the end of it all? I love my job, and you?
You just have an income
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
A Letter to the World
Let's face it, I'm a cook for a living. I see more than you do, do more than you do, and find some sick almost fetish love for playing with open flame, sharp objects, and dead animals. I see an entire leg of lamb to break down, and my rocks get off. I want to make this perfectly clear though, I'm not standing here, stooping, bending, leaning, reaching over hot flame, into an oven, or exclaiming profanities while hot oil splashes on my hands for your pleasure. I'm not a waitress/waiter/server/busser/bartender. I'm a cook. I make them their money, they make the business money, and I made what made you your tips. Who do I have to thank? My dishwasher usually night prep guy.
I deal with the hot, dead, shit, I make something out of at times, absolutley "nothing" in your eyes. Do I do it to please you? Do you even notice my O.C.D. shining through when I get pissed off something falls out of place? No. You see the food, you love it, it smells great...you're happy. Am I? No, for I am a borderline perfectionist. I read you as a person like I read the tickets. You order a salmon filet well done? I automatically assume you want EVERYTHING on the side, you're covered in cat hair, and are probably going to write a shitty review of the restaraunt. You order a salmon mid-rare? You have hopes, dreams, and ambitions and know how to eat your food. If it comes out a little underdone? You won't complain, but oh holy shit if it comes out mid-well chances are you'll bitch and whine and offer to teach me how to cook a piece of fish.
Truth is, food is not all shaped the same. Sorry. It's just how it is. I do my best to find the best filet I have to cook to the temp you want, but sometimes things happen faster than you expect. Don't even get me started on well done steaks and people bitching it's taking too long and how "the entire table has gotten their food...where's mine?" Well, you did order a well done filet. I'm pretty sure the cook told the server, hell, even before the cook told the server he/she said "it's going to take a good 20 minutes".
Everyone is so caught up in this "celebrity chef" bull shit. Don't get me wrong, I do think Batalli is a great chef just like I think Paula Dean is...but everyone sees such shows as "Hell's Kitchen", "Chopped", and "Top Chef", and think what we do is easy. Tell you what, how about I give you a basket of mangos, leeks, and halibut...what are you to do now? You have NO idea how to put them together. Now, honestly do they really go together? Probably not, but I'm sure if I put thought into I could find a way.
I'm just merely stating that the pissed off waitrons who bitch and whine about their job, the cat haired old ladies, the so called "food snobs" because they happen to eat beluga roe when they were 7 and their pallette far under developed, the well-done steak ketchup on the side, the well done "can you make a steak sauce?", the "can the kitchen make a cocktail sauce for my butter poached shrimp", the "I want my seared tuna well done", the burger well done going "it's dry", the "I want my steak rare...oh no, it's too bloody, I guess I really didn't know how I wanted it done..."....you all can blow me. OH! And you want to bitch at the waitress saying the food/service sucked? If you can't afford to go out, than don't do it.
The waitrons do a service to the cooks of serving the food, the cooks make the food as it's ordered, we make them money (usually a lot more than we make) and why, you ask? It's the direct definition of passion. Any asshole can cook a steak, but to really love, and try to understand what made that steak so great, the cut, where it came from, how it came in, how it was cooked, what it was cooked in...that's my job. I don't think you could stand back here and feel what I feel. I feel heat, exhaustion, and an undying passion to become something far better than what I am now.
I deal with the hot, dead, shit, I make something out of at times, absolutley "nothing" in your eyes. Do I do it to please you? Do you even notice my O.C.D. shining through when I get pissed off something falls out of place? No. You see the food, you love it, it smells great...you're happy. Am I? No, for I am a borderline perfectionist. I read you as a person like I read the tickets. You order a salmon filet well done? I automatically assume you want EVERYTHING on the side, you're covered in cat hair, and are probably going to write a shitty review of the restaraunt. You order a salmon mid-rare? You have hopes, dreams, and ambitions and know how to eat your food. If it comes out a little underdone? You won't complain, but oh holy shit if it comes out mid-well chances are you'll bitch and whine and offer to teach me how to cook a piece of fish.
Truth is, food is not all shaped the same. Sorry. It's just how it is. I do my best to find the best filet I have to cook to the temp you want, but sometimes things happen faster than you expect. Don't even get me started on well done steaks and people bitching it's taking too long and how "the entire table has gotten their food...where's mine?" Well, you did order a well done filet. I'm pretty sure the cook told the server, hell, even before the cook told the server he/she said "it's going to take a good 20 minutes".
Everyone is so caught up in this "celebrity chef" bull shit. Don't get me wrong, I do think Batalli is a great chef just like I think Paula Dean is...but everyone sees such shows as "Hell's Kitchen", "Chopped", and "Top Chef", and think what we do is easy. Tell you what, how about I give you a basket of mangos, leeks, and halibut...what are you to do now? You have NO idea how to put them together. Now, honestly do they really go together? Probably not, but I'm sure if I put thought into I could find a way.
I'm just merely stating that the pissed off waitrons who bitch and whine about their job, the cat haired old ladies, the so called "food snobs" because they happen to eat beluga roe when they were 7 and their pallette far under developed, the well-done steak ketchup on the side, the well done "can you make a steak sauce?", the "can the kitchen make a cocktail sauce for my butter poached shrimp", the "I want my seared tuna well done", the burger well done going "it's dry", the "I want my steak rare...oh no, it's too bloody, I guess I really didn't know how I wanted it done..."....you all can blow me. OH! And you want to bitch at the waitress saying the food/service sucked? If you can't afford to go out, than don't do it.
The waitrons do a service to the cooks of serving the food, the cooks make the food as it's ordered, we make them money (usually a lot more than we make) and why, you ask? It's the direct definition of passion. Any asshole can cook a steak, but to really love, and try to understand what made that steak so great, the cut, where it came from, how it came in, how it was cooked, what it was cooked in...that's my job. I don't think you could stand back here and feel what I feel. I feel heat, exhaustion, and an undying passion to become something far better than what I am now.
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