Yes Chef!

The strange vocation of high end restaurant.

Cooking seems to occupy a unique grey area of public interest, a dull life necessity tensioning all the way to hero stardom. Everyone does it to one degree or another. Some pour boiling water over a pot noodle while others win three Michelin stars and become famous in the process. I can’t think of many other professions that have captured public attention and held it for so long; celebrity accountants seem to be in short supply. Over the years the shape and nature of cooks had evolved and intensified. We’ve gone from Fanny Cradock (not sexy) to Delia (slightly sexy) to Nigella (too sexy!), drawing the viewer deeper down the rabbit hole with salivating loyalty. As for the men, well, you can be rock stars!! (really from cooking!?) Yes. Keith Floyd had a son called Marco who adopted and raised a boy called Gordon, with Uncle Anthony in America documenting everything. and with the right cocktail of talent, charisma and rugged good looks, celebrity chefs are ushered in, making cooking impossible to ignore.

So these are the stars on our media stage: some heroes, some villains. We know them; we love them or hate them, and one thing is for sure: we keep watching. Food, in my mind, is the last incarnation of socially accepted and sophisticated adult pornography. But where did these rock stars come from? What was their vocational childhood like? And all roads from this question lead back to Michelin star kitchens. Having worked in them my adult life, from the scrappy yet beautiful one-star restaurants all the way up to the polished and systematic three-star, who have mastered consistency and perfection to its closest mark. They are without question something special, and for any chef with a real love for food and cooking committed to dedicating his or her life to that profession, hallowed ground. Yes, yes, we all know chefs like to shout and swear (eyes roll), but there are bollockings, reprimands, and tellings off . Let’s clarify, box, and fi le those. Unpleasant, but they come and go. However, what some chefs are able to muster is something very diff erent: an almost operatic, terrifying level of aggression that does not let up, like a pit bull with jaws locked and ragging on its catch. when you

cross a line, screw up, and trigger a very dark energy within them that will not back down quickly. A traditional repromand means you stand, listen, and grimace, and the situation deescalates, the moment passes, and we move on. A chef’s verbal reprimand stays on you constantly; you have to continue working with a madman on your shoulder screaming and digging at your every move and action. All you can say is, ‘Yes, chef,’ as the punishment continues for a seeming eternity.

Like I said, we know this to one degree or another; chefs like to shout and swear, but what used to really test me was when punishment escalated beyond harsh words and bad language when they resorted to physical abuse to get the message across. My first experience of this was during a job interview. I was placed in charge of the fish garnish, and when my lentils were returned the second time, the sous chef dragged a hot copper pan over the back of my hand and hissed in my ear, “Wake up you.” Later, a large blister formed, bulging with clear fluid that burst to form a scar. You could be punched, slapped, or have a pan thrown at you in the heat of service. When the pressure grew, you could feel the breaking point; when harsh words didn’t seem to work, a heavier hammer was required to keep order but would often scare chefs into a spiral that was hard to recover from. Internal pranks were not uncommon, like slipping Viagra or laxatives into a fellow chef's coffee. A line was crossed when someone dropped ecstasy into a box of chocolates, and the whole kitchen almost lost their job. An image that will stay with me forever is two restaurant owners giving the entire staff a dressing down for why this is completely inappropriate and dangerous with an induced chef sitting next to them smiling and swaying like Stevie Wonder. Meat would often come in whole, which means particular off cuts can end up where they don’t belong. I remember reaching into my pocket one night only to find half a lamb hoof and lower leg attached, to the shock of the bus driver and myself. And God bless you the day you decide to leave. A vile combination of blood, fish guts, and rotten food is preserved and tipped over you on your last day. No taxi will accept you at this point, so a long, itchy walk home is all you can do. A clever variant of this was soaking the chef's clothes which were then laid flat and frozen in a blast freezer to produce a thin solid wardrobe that you had to defrost and get home before pneumonia sets in.

Is this true?? Try this: if you know or meet a chef that has spent several years in high-end kitchens, I almost guarantee he or she will have a story that raises eyebrows and be of a similar tone and nature. But in a modern world of smartphone cameras and HR departments, it's probably on the decline. I can’t help but feel an injustice here; you could easily read all this and think, the inmates are running the asylum, and that’s not the case. I love the hospitality industry; the vast majority are incredibly hard-working, funny, talented people that dedicate their lives to service, nurturing, feeding, and bringing joy to customers. But the industry has a shadow 2% that fight to the top and are capable of horrific acts; it’s real, and I don’t think any experienced chef would deny it. The problem is the behaviour gets results, and great food can be created at the expense of ethics. My hope for our industry is that the trauma dissolves and talent is nurtured and developed from a place of love and humanity. It is possible, kitchens are out there today setting the example, and I'm proud to say Henry’s restaurant is one example, providing excellence while caring for the people who make it. A hammer can be seen as a tool or a weapon. It can build or break, and I want more than anything for the chefs of the future to be built, not broken.

Henry