How Do I Start Cooking in a Restaurant {without any experience or tradeschool training}?
May 12th, 2010
I go through phases of answering questions from readers, and fellow cooks. People "email me on the side" when their letters are too long for the comment section, or when they want to remain anonymous, or when their question(s) are too many to fit a singular post. Sometimes people approach me personally. I try and make sure someone has read everything I, and you all, have written before answering people's questions. I give advice/guidance freely, when I have time.
In these last months, for some reason, I've fielded dozens upon dozens of inquiries! I don't always have time to dedicate to a long email, but a few days ago, I did, and this, below, is what came out of that.
This letter struck me particularly, and the person has agreed to allow
me to post our correspondence. I try to direct most people's questions
to the comments section, where all of you can benefit from the inquiry
& response, because a lot of the questions are the same.
I only ever use my own experience as a place from which to give advice.
The rest is up to you.
*
Dear Shuna,
I have been following eggbeater for some time now, quietly observing, privately cheering and consistently marveling at your victories in the kitchen and in life. I have read and re-read so many of your entries. And I have read & re-read many of the user comments that follow. I know how many people proclaim you an inspiration, so I fear that my own claim of such may not hold the weight that I wish.
This being said, I am shaken to my core by your words, your observations and your honesty. Or perhaps “ignited” is a better word. Your understanding of passion as torture, of drive, of food and cooking as a true art – one to perfect over a lifetime – resonates deeply with me. Perhaps your words resonate so powerfully because, up until recently, I have focused my passions on another life-long study, visual arts – even attaining a degree in them last winter.
Or perhaps your words ring so holy to me because I find myself at the back door of a restaurant I adore, with no culinary background (aside from my own kitchen) and a gut-wrenching desire to work in a professional kitchen that nearly brings me to tears.
I am 23 years old, a young woman with a college degree in a field I love, but am not “ignited” by. And I am now staring down my future. I have spent the last few years playing off my passion for food as a hobby, slowing chipping away at my art degree until graduation. I do not regret my degree – I think it has broadened my perceptions of the world, refined my tastes and actually helped me to realize where my vocational passions lie.
To say that I was pleased when I stumbled upon your blog would be a massive understatement. I became fidgety with an excitement reserved for sugar-saturated toddlers. In the past few years I have devoured countless writings by chefs and cooks that serve as both affirmations to the initiated and warnings to the misinformed. And as I step up to test my resolve, I do not fear the hard work, the long hours, the cuts, the burns, the tears. In actuality, I welcome them with a kind of foolish enthusiasm I myself cannot explain. At the heart of it all, the choice to pursue a career in cooking feels like one of the first truthful choices I have made for my future in 3 or 4 years.
I suppose that the reason I write you this letter (aside from my awe-inspired praise) is to seek a connection with you on some level. Guidance perhaps. My pawing at the restaurant’s door paid off. I received an interview, which resulted in a subsequent interview. Proud of my own pluck, I went to the second interview yesterday. I spoke with both the chef and the owner. I was nervous, but collected. Suddenly, the interview was underway… or rather the lecture. The owner took the reigns. He was honest and blunt, and I respected his “no bullshit” attitude. But at the bottom of everything, I felt his unspoken assumption that I was some starry-eyed school girl with dreams of becoming the next Food Network personality.
I wonder now how I might have been interviewed were I taller, brawnier, penis-ier. Would the undertones of warning have been so prevalent? There is no denying, I am small and doe-eyed (some have said) and perhaps it seems crazy that I shouldn’t want to work front of the house. But that is not where my heart lies. The owner ended the interview by offering me a job as dishwasher “if I want it.” And now I am sitting here at my computer (taking up far too much of your time) sharing with you my first hurdle… and curious about your thoughts. I went into the interview ready to accept whatever bottom-of-the-totem job they had to offer. I went in ready to learn and work my way up, but I left questioning myself (and this was far worse than any interviewing skeptic). Does it reflect a lack of passion if I question myself? God, I hope not.
If you have had the time to read this far, thank you. I apologize for how long this letter has become. I began merely to tell you how much I love your blog. Please keep writing. Please keep teaching. I only hope I have the privilege to someday learn from a chef and mentor like you.
Sincerely, Respectfully, Passionately, s.
~~~~~
Hello s.,
First of all, thank you. Look how brave you are!
zow. I am honoured to be on the other side of your words. The internet
never ceases to amaze me. What I would not have given for such a
resource when I began.
I hope you'll forgive that my letter will be shorter than yours.
Without
knowing the details of where you reside, what your expenses are, how
big your commute is, the name of the restaurant/chef you're speaking of,
I will say this:
Take that dishwashing job. Proudly. Defiantly. Go in there and kick
ass. I washed dishes as one of my first jobs and I HAVE NEVER REGRETTED
it. I am not being ironic or facetious or downwardly mobile or spouting some anarcho
bullshit. Because I know how to wash dishes on a commercial dishwasher
my dishwasher person & machine does not have me by the balls. {Which
is a power play they often make.} Because I've worked that station I
teach my crew how to respect them. "Dishes" don't go the dish pit with
gobs of product left on them. I bake in such a way so as not to give
them more work. I soak all my pots. I pitch in and help when I have a
moment. It always takes them off guard. In a good way.
Hear This:
If you start at the bottom of a kitchen no one can
give you shit. no one.
You roll up your sleeves and eat
humble pie and the kitchen is in awe. Because it's a hard fucking
station. It teaches you order, cleanliness. It teaches you what the
diners eat and what they don't. It teaches you to be part of the gang. And, in most of the USA, it teaches you Kitchen Spanish. Also, if you
work fast enough, when you're not washing dishes, you're doing prep. And
that's the way all people move up in kitchens: when you finish your
list you learn something new by asking someone else if they need help. And someone always needs something done that 1. they can't get to &
2. they loathe doing.
All that said: if this is not a Michelin rated {well you know what I
mean here} restaurant you don't want to spend more than 3 mos on that
station. Keep your eye on your
prize s. Know what your goals are and, very quietly,
privately, stealthily, achieve them!
Show those owners up. They might think you need a penis to do that
job, but you know you don't. You know that there have been women in
history before you who have done harder jobs. ain't no thang, girl. You
know, I know what I can and can not do and that doesn't make me a woman
it makes me human.
I ask one something of the people who write to me for advice:
write
me again in 6 months and tell me what you ended up doing, if my advice
was taken, if it helped, how it didn't. and what you think you'll be
doing in another 6 months.
Thanks again for writing. I hope you step into this profession no
matter who/what tries to get in your way.
Good luck.
all the
best,
shuna fish lydon
e g g b e a t e r
cooking,
baking &
nifty photos
http://eggbeater.typepad.com/shuna/
><((((º>
&
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