The eyes are upon you. They sit and stare with the occasional utterance of a question, and most of the time they just watch. Some will stare. Others could give two shits. “Don’t these people understand what we endure to bring them a plate of food?” I question. We suffer for their pleasure. We trade sacrifices for sustenance. Cooking for a person is one of the most selfless and humbling gestures. We put everything on the line for less than slave wages to ensure a great dining experience. I take heed in this thought process for it breeds resentment, but cannot help at times feeling like exploding into a ball of flames as if I was just used to deglaze a hot skillet. In the heat of battle there really is no escape. I feel as if I’m a caged animal, being helplessly pointed and gawked at. “Ignore them, stay in your zone” I say.
I know that line cooking is just one facet of part of becoming a chef, and that in order to be a great chef one must also know how to truly interact with customers. For now, this has been one of my greatest struggles. I am slowly learning how to manage myself better with the face to face interactions. I appreciate every customer who comes and eats our food. If it were not for them we would not have no jobs, no audience, and no canvas. Becoming a chef is about being in the spotlight, and until that light is center stage, the only thing there will be the eyes.
Mexican Slang of the Moment:
“la neta” translated “the truth” or “freal” or “word”
Me: “Did your cousin really have sex with a donkey in the fields?”
Some Red Wine/Sexy Sunset/Blood'cates/Beautiful Burger/Beet Salad/Creepy Message in Mayo/"Chees"/Roast Beef Location/