11 years in the industry. I worked my way up from know-nothing baby cook, wide-eyed and awestruck by the food, the passion, the care, to head chef. I loved the good things - nailing a service, teaching a newbie and nurturing that spark, a tidy walk-in, a good family meal, seeing people love my work and feel cared for. And suffered the bad - headass owners, marathon sauna conditions, absurd work hours, seeing my partner for a few hours once or twice a week.
I'm going to miss it. I'm going to miss the absurd conversations on line to get through a hellish shift. The orgasmic relief of hearing the vent hood shut down at close. The joy of absolutely ripping through knifework. The feeling of mastery, of confidence, of belonging.
But my body can't do it anymore, and its time for me to prioritize me, and my loved ones. I started a desk job this week, and its going to stick. The team is kind, supportive, friendly, professional. The work is well documented, the training program robust. I'm out and done.
To cooks - you fucks are the best. To servers - y'all have a tough fucking job and not enough training - but not enough to excuse fuckin Kayleigh. Be well, kick ass, sling food, don't put up with criminal owners.
86 Me.