Influenced by nakedness

The way you spoke about food made me jealous. I almost wanted to taste the words as they fell from your mouth as they sounded so sweet. You moved with rhythm and held yourself with humble strength.

With such flare and coolness you slide down spiral staircases. Jumped on a vesper and zigzagged your way to the markets. I was hooked, in love and forever inspired.

I was 14 when you first came into my life. Not yet sure what my path for the future was meant to be, Nor had i even contemplated what i was to be when i grew up.

That was until you came along.

The colours, ingredients and your passion drew me in and in that moment i knew.

I was going to be a Chef

I remember it came as a shock to most as id never shown any interest in food up to this point. But i was encouraged with my dad buying me my very first uniform for Christmas.

And so began my love affair with you and food. This was never a school girl crush or even a fan club lust. This love was admiration. I aspired to be like you and a fellow peer. I wanted to love food as much as you did, if not more. And i knew i would have to work hard to get there.

I would get your books every Christmas and every birthday. They where my bibles and over the years i would always use them to inspire new menus or ideas.

Many great chefs have said never to copy but make it your own. Something i have always strived to do.

15yrs later i find myself being nostalgic on those moments of first seeing you.

I sift through my memories to see if I was as passionate, kind, fun and humble as you. Just like you zigzagging through the streets of London I have had to navigate my own traits as a chef and climb the very steep stairs of leadership.

Thank you for your inspiration, excitement, passion and love of food.

I am still inspired by you.

The dyslexic chef

“You are so stupid was something i was used to hearing when i was in primary school. Then high school came along and id already given up on caring what they had to teach me by this point. I hated school and everything it had to offer. High school wasn’t made to help me at all. Instead i would zone out into my own world of mischief. I was a burden, a nuisances, a trouble maker until i decided to just stop going. I would spend the days hiding at the beach with my friends because that was better then feeling unintelligent. I wanted to escape from the potential of getting called upon to read out loud or being put with all the other learning challenged kids in maths.

I would count down the days till i could escape that horrible place. Never did i care about my education.

Until i went to cooking school.

There i wasn’t branded as anything other than an apprentice. I found people that encouraged me to be the best. Teachers that wanted to help, fellow students that wanted to be there just as much as i did and of course the love i felt for food.

Fast forward to my 20s and my vocabulary was far more then i could have hoped, however my spelling and grammar was still extremely poor.

I had many head chefs put me down or laugh at me for this. But i was good at my trade i would think to myself. No matter what they would say i was still a good chef. At least i had that.

Then i became the boss. I had finely earned the tittle as head chef. No more would i have to worry about feeling stupid or what people had to say. Well so i thought.

By this stage we all had spell check on everything. Even though that fixes most words things still slip through the cracks.

When you have junior staff pointing out your many spelling mistakes on prep lists or other managers asking you to spell check menus things start getting hard again. For me i just started the very slow process of closing down. A world of anxiety, stress and feeling not good enough even though my food spoke for its self.

However my job aloud me to go to training courses. To learn how to get the best out of my staff and become a great leader for them.

I remember feeling so afraid at first to be going back to school. Of feeling simple in a room full of head chefs and mangers from all over.

I had to have a different state of mind this time around. My bosses and fellow peers believed in me. That i could push through this challenge and become something more.

I learnt that we are all very different and learn in different ways.

As a leader we must encourage others, be patient, use tools that can help develop our skills and be understanding of our strengths and weaknesses.

For such a long time i was guarded and never asked for help or guidance. I thought by doing this i was showing strength not weakness. Turns out this is showing my inability for growth and development.

Now being 30 i have made peace with being dyslexic. “ A word i can easily say but need to spell check”.

I feel free from the chains that prevented me to write. I will not be held back from the stories i have always wanted to tell. And will not feel shame for the mistakes i make in them.

I’m continually learning as a chef and a writer.

The chef in me will always want to learn and the writer in me has many stories to tell.

Goodbye my little Sous

I know you better then your family and you know me better then mine

I tell you everything as you tell me

You have seen me at my worst and at my best

As have i seen you

We tell each other our hopes and aspirations

Of our past and future

I know you

As you know me

I know your strengths and weaknesses

I help you with both

Your loves are mine

And when you hate them so do i

You know my heart when it is full or broken, empty

You are always there for both

To listen and to talk

I encourage you to be better

I push you to be the best

I train you to replace me

Without the desire just yet to leave you

I know our time will end

You don’t, well not yet

I miss the days when we aren’t together

I call you on your days off

We talk about everyone

The politics of our work

Complaining about the pay

The hours

The good days and the bad

Today i have a thought

Its not the first time i have contemplated this thought

I feel different today

This thought is firm

Strong and clear

I don’t tell you this time

But you know

I leave you for a minute

I’m going to have a chat

I do this almost everyday

Today the chat is different

I’m back at my station

You can see it on my face

I try not to show you but you can see

My mind is made

I feel empowered by my decision

Relief even

You do not speak a word

You pretend everything is fine

But i know you

I know you suspect what i have done

I must keep this secret from you

I will tell you

Just not yet

I don’t want this to end

I made a promise i would be here with you

Till your years where done

Till the papers where signed

I promised

I’m going to break your heart

And my own

You know I’m sorry

You know i have nothing left to give

You will understand with time

I know you do already

But I’ve hurt you

I’m leaving you behind

I sit you down

With the team of course

I tell you my secret

You knew it already

You saw it in my eyes

The day has come to say goodbye

We played our favourite songs

And dance our last dance

We worked well together

But i am finely free

Goodbye my little sous

This is not the end

I will see you again

As you know me better then my family

And i know you better than yours

Food for thought

Food is the fuel that keeps me going. Well the thought of it anyway. My fuel isn’t like yours, it sustains me but doesn’t provoke pleasure or desire.Maybe not even value.

It keeps me going none the less.

I do not cook for myself as it is a task i can not bring myself to start. Coffee, cigarets and what ever i need to taste get me through the hours of a working day.

when i finely finish I’m starving.

My days are spent smelling the sweetest of smells, working with the freshest of vegetables and the best cuts of meat. I am not hungry for any of it. What keeps me going isn’t food. Its success.

Success of my day and of my week. Food is my accomplishment.

What i can create for others is more fuel for my day then actually eating it.

This has always been my down fall. My weakness was to care more about your fuel then my own.

Most of us spend the day on our feet pivoting on the spot, a sort of tango with each other around corners and through doors. We push our minds and bodies for 10 plus hours a day and find breaks a waste as more prep could be done.

To step back from this mind frame is something we don’t do till we are older, till our knees start to get ache, our backs have sharp pains and wrists don’t quiet move as quickly as they use to.

I am not there yet, no aches or pains in my body but i need to preserve myself. An understanding that i cant live off sugar and black coffee.

The desire to not only give others pleasure in a mouth full of food but to put myself and my machine first.

To take a moment.

A break.

So with that i take my moment.

I eat with lust and passion in mind. I feed my soul before i feed yours and i harness my skills.

For if i don’t fuel this machine it will not run and i will not success in my dreams.

Work hard, Party harder

The sun is coming up and my alarms start making there ever annoying tones. I have 6 of them set for every 15mins. I snooze all of them except for the last, that is the one i must get up from.

I awake exhausted and think of how i can’t wait to go back to bed. Today will be a long shift and i prepare myself for 12hrs but i know it will be longer.

I wrote my prep list last night and start thinking of how many thing i can do at once. I only have a few hours before service and the list is so big.
I drag myself to the bathroom for a shower. It wont help wake me, if anything the warm water lulls me back to sleep and i stand there contemplating my life choices. why am i awake?, was last night worth this pain in my head?, my body is sore, did i say anything stupid?, why did i suggest the next bar?, should have called an Uber 3hrs earlier, did i really need to shout that last round?. Oh how we danced. Im so fucking hungover.

I make it into work 5mins late but everyone was there last night so no one even notices. My sunnies shield the sun that make me feel more pain. I didn’t even put makeup on or fix my hair the way i like it. who cares today. Just gotta get through this.

Coffee apparently fixes everything. Its in my hand before i even ask for it. Barely touches the sides before I’m asking for another.

I’m getting hot flushes, i stand in the Coolroom for a bit and re organise the shelves. I should be prepping but i just need a minute. I’ve done half my list by the time service starts and delegate staff to continue the jobs that need doing.

Dockets start to roll in every minute now, we all take our places ready for the craziness.

The A team is on today and we dance with such perfection. We clear the rail many times over. Food is quickly taken from the pass out to its owners. My staff know what music keeps me happy and we continue to dance and sing. I’m still dying inside but i can’t show them weakness. I cant stop calling the dockets or demanding the next table be ready in 3mins or we will go down. Wait time gets to 30mins and i start separating the rail, we push out 4 tables at once. Im calling more food runners with a stern voice now. HURRY THE FUCK UP i think but do not say out loud.

We finely clear the last of the rail. Even the stack of dockets under the bell have been done. But its not over yet. All the prep i did this morning is gone, i must start all over again.

Chopping boards line our benches and we prep like our lives depend on it. The kitchen hand is frustrating me as i swear he’s been washing the same pot for far to long. I yell “ step it up a gear” the look of shear terror on his face as he starts moving at a faster pass.

2hours to go till this is over. Just 2 more hours i think to myself. I push the team. I push myself to be faster.

1hr to go. We need to clean this place down. We do it as we have done it very single day. Everyone knows there job.

Its finely over the day is done. Together we get changed, while debriefing about our hard day we tell each other we deserve a drink. We agree just one as we all still feel like shit from the night before.

There are 10 of us all slowly drinking our favourite bevys, the floor staff are also starting to finish and join us. We start talking about how fun last night was and the things that happened. A few suggest we move to another bar, its our second home and we know all the bar tenders. Might as-well have another drink the first one went down to quickly.

The sun is coming up and my alarms start making there ever annoying tones.

Fuck.

I did it again.

Oh my little cooper pot

How beautiful you are. I dream of you often, the sounds you make hitting the stove, the way you glisten hanging from the range hood. You sparkle with tradition and radiate class. I know when im with you my ingredients would be fresh, crisp, expensive and of the highest quality.

I will have worked hard to be with you. To stand next to you, many hours would be spent getting to that moment. Washing many uglier pots, suffering cuts from a knife i couldn’t quite master sharpening yet, burns from oil that shouted there own escape from unloved cook wear.

But how i dream of you my little cooper pot.

I am closer to seeing you. My scars are healed from those earlier days, only i can really notice them. Many hours of practice and repetition means my knife is always sharp. My fingers are always pulled back. The blade only comes close on my last day when the hours of work take there toll on my mind wondering off to think of you. The oil and me are friends, I now know how it sings. It still escapes from time to time, My skin is not afraid though. It keeps me on my toes and reminds me to be careful. I work with better pots newer pots but they are still not like you. They are shinny and taken care of, they sometimes even hum many a note on a busy day. They don’t sing like you though.

I walk past a store and see you. You beckon me to come say hi. Of course i run to your side, i pick you up with such joy. My heart is a flutter and my smile is the biggest it has been in some time. I take in ever edge, the feel, the weight. Your handle is perfect. You are perfect. oh my little cooper pot. I can not have you yet though. i place you back on the shelf.

We aren’t ready to be together. I still have much to learn. I can wait for our moment.

So until then my little cooper pot i will dream of you ever night.

Many years have passed and i have almost forgotten you. It isn’t your fault though. Id forgotten our love, our bond, our dream. I went down the wrong path and followed plastic, education and tittles. You didn’t give up on me. You came to me in my dreams. You reminded me of our plans, our future and what we both could be together.

So here you are sitting on my kitchen bench, still perfectly wrapped up. I take my time with you. To marvel at your beauty. Theres no need to rush, we have time, as you are all mine.

Not just an egg

The cracking of an egg. A pot of perfectly simmering water, just the exact amount of vinegar to create a tear drop timed exactly. 2mins 22seconds. The beep of the timer, its a fun game to scoop them out, how quickly can one get them before they go over that precise temperature .

Cut the tail with the spoon and lay each one just so, on a cloth over a rack on a tray. Leave it for a few seconds. No-one wants that excess water touching there toast. Theres always that one terrible egg. It didn’t want to play but theres no time for imperfection. Discard the bad egg. Clean that water. Quickly and ever so gently stir the pot and again the cracking of an egg. Oh how easy it is to break and what a joy it is when doing so with only one hand. How many scramble batches did it take to crack an egg in each hand at the same time. How many yolks broken when frying an egg to know just the right amount of force needed to break the shell. there is something so pleasurable so fulfilling in the perfect egg. even more so watching someone admire it, taste it, moved by the skill of what is simply cooking an egg.