03/19/20
I couldn’t believe that he left me just like that. I’m sure I could figure it out if I needed to but just yesterday I was polishing the legs on a stainless steel prep table and today I was the new grill cook at one of the countries top steakhouses. I’d had friends apply for that position with a lot more experience than me at the time and get denied and here I was, the new grill cook.
The rest of the day went fairly smoothly, I undercooked one steak and had to throw it back on the grill but the general manager told me that it’s better under than over in this rusty New York accent. This guy talked like Joe Pesci from Goodfellas if he smoked 2 packs of cigarettes a day and talked with one of those voice box things. I went home that evening still confused as to how things were going to go from that point forward. I knew I had impressed the Executive Chef, but was I really cut out to be cooking $96 .00 porter house steaks?
I slept like shit that night. Tossing and turning, a million different thoughts going through my head. What if Jaime came back? Was he ok? What if I messed up again? What is a bernaise sauce? That morning when I finally drug myself out of bed I got on my computer and started to look up chefs who started at the bottom and worked their way up then I remembered, Anthony Bourdain started as a dishwasher and for many reasons, I looked up to that man. I recall hearing him talk about the crazy life of a line cook and what goes on behind the scenes in a kitchen in a book I read called Kitchen Confidential. A book I truly believe should be mandatory for any beginner making his way into a kitchen.
Right as I was getting myself out of my little head trip my phone pinged me. It was a text from my Chef saying “come in an hour early today” with no explanation. I knew he probably wanted to review yesterday’s performance but I immediately got anxiety again. My buddy picked me up for work about 2:30 and I had to be at work by 3:00 in order to be an hour early. When I got in his car I could smell that slinky odor of freshly burned marijuana and I looked at him and he had the stupidest grin on his face and I immediately knew what was in his hand hanging out the drivers side window. He passed it to me and I inhaled it like I had many times before and we were on our way. We passed it back and forth for a few minutes then he flicked it out the window right as we were pulling up. I smoked a cigarette before entering the building as a half assed sorry attempt to mask the odor. I went in the door and clocked in and made my way back to the kitchen and I could hear the chef screaming at somebody. When I turned the corner he greeted me by saying “don’t be like that fucking guy” and waved at me to follow him to his office.
His office looked like the Tasmanian devil had been there recently and in the back of my mind I couldn’t quite figure out why a chef needed an office in the first place. He told me to take a seat and told me that I surprised him how well I did yesterday. At the same moment he said that it felt like my brain was melting. The joint I had just smoked in the car was hitting me and all I could think about was “Why do they keep bring back the McRib if it was never good in the first place”? I was fucking stoned and everything the chef said went in one ear and out the other. All of a sudden I hear him say “Is $12 ok? Andrew, is $12 ok?” The second time in a much louder, more direct tone. I nodded my head yes and he pointed me to the kitchen and told me to get to work. At the moment I told myself that I’d never come to work high again and I believed it. Oh boy did I have another thing coming.
A Chef's Journey 