Chef Advice. or, when cooks say " ." chefs hear " ."
March 22nd, 2010
An incident happened in the kitchen yesterday. I became so angry I could not speak.
I'm still angry.
I'm angry at the person, but moreover I'm angry at what said person's actions spoke. Spoke of, spoke to.
Because for every word spoken in a kitchen, an action follows, and for every action, a meaning.
Because when cooks *complain, give excuses, present attitude, ask for special favors, {attempt to} triangulate their managers, are lazy, lie, walk in late, work slow, are a mess, do not listen to direction, mope, whine & moan & whinge & pout, do not communicate with their partners, do not help their fellow cooks out of the weeds, think their chefs are their friends, cry, and talk back to their chefs,* they do not step into the good graces of their chefs & fellow cooks.
Unless your chef is a shoemaker, just like you. In which case you're in good company.
But if you want to be a better cook one day. If you don't just want to be a shiny happy tv chef. If you want to learn from the good ones. If you don't want to be fired. If you like your job/kitchen/crew/paycheck/menu.
May I make a suggestion?
Think hard about your actions before taking them.
Think about what we {chefs} hear, when you {cooks} do any of the *above.*
When you say, "_________." = we hear "———–."
"Do I have to ~ ?" = "I'm lazy and I'm looking to you to validate me and my lazy ass." "I don't want to learn anything new or push myself in any way, shape or form." "I like my comfy lazy spot and why would you want me to do something I don't want to." "I wanted to be a cook because I thought it would be fun, not hard."
"I'm going to come in later than you're asking. I'm set-up." = "I don't think about anyone but myself. I'm special." "I am not on a team, I work by myself." "I don't want to do anything but what I have to." "I'm an independent contractor." "I'm psychic and I know how many covers we're going to do between now and when I come in next. You should pay me extra for psychically forecasting our numbers." "I've done way too much mis en place and nothing I serve in my next service will be fresh." "I want to sleep in." "I don't care if disrespect my fellow cooks by trying to get special favors, personally, from the chef."
"There's nothing to do." = "Please fire me." "My eyes have stopped working." "I don't know how to clean or organize." "I was supposed to be a famous chef by now." "I am worthless and if you still have me on payroll after I've uttered this, than you are a bigger fool than I."
Cooks:
your actions are translated into words for us chefs. Just as you base your respect of us on our actions, so do we, you.
If we have nothing to teach you, leave. If treating us, your fellow cooks and yourself with respect is beyond you, please find another profession.
This industry, this career, this craft is borne from loyalty, apprenticeship, a lifetime of education. It's really not for the meek. It's for the humble, the teachable.
What we do, day in and day out, involves a kind of stamina few people understand.
And if you work in a teaching kitchen, a kitchen where the chef works the line, a kitchen where the menu changes seasonally, a kitchen with few or no "extra people," a kitchen bringing in whole animals, a kitchen brought back from the grave, a kitchen where every chef works a station, or four, a kitchen surviving in this horrible economy, like the one I'm currently in, I strongly suggest you show it some respect. Because, I can guarantee it, you won't know what you left behind, until long after you're asked to leave it.
But if you don't really want it.
If being a professional cook is a stop-over to a better career, a lily pad from which to jump to your next thing, something you're doing because you didn't want to go to college; then do not expect me to invest in you.
Discontinue to expect respect. Instead, work on earning it.
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