Earning my stripes

Any good chef will tell you that in order to become a great chef, one must start from the bottom and work his way up, plain and simple. Chefs refer to this as earning your stripes. The second thing a chef will tell you is that to remember everything in a kitchen is hot, forget this rule and you will pay the price. Needless to say I forgot this rule and paid the price.

Finally a month into my new job I was finally getting a rhythm going, I was starting to memorize all the dishes off the top of my head, there wasn’t anymore asking "is this the right sauce chef?" Needless to say my ego was slowly starting to grow each day, a little more confidence here and a little more arrogance there. Finally I was given my shot, scheduled to work on Friday night. This was my chance to show chef I had what it took to be a line cook. So that Friday night I walked in pumped for work, ready to rock and roll. Cooking a dish here and a dish there I thought "this isn’t so bad."

That all changed right when we got slammed with tickets, order after order just kept coming in with the constant noise of the ticket machine printing "di didi dididi di". Ticket after ticket coming, I thought to myself "when is this going to end?" I’ve been cooking for almost 6 hours nonstop without a break. I was starting to question if I had what it took to be a chef, or not even. What if I couldn’t make it as a line cook? Just when I was about to tell the chef I needed a break to my horror I see the chef walking off the line, before I could even say anything he told me "good job Cesar, starting cleaning up." I look over to the clock and realize its 11:15. The kitchen closes at 11, I had did it, after a busy Friday night I had survived, covered with sweat and drained of my energy I could officially call myself a weekend warrior.

Invigorated with new found energy and cockiness I went to start cleaning the kitchen. Without paying attention I went to pick up a wok and the next thing I knew I was dropping it on the floor and grabbing my hand. It was official I had gotten my first burn, a nice sear on my hand for grabbing a hot handle. I learned two more lessons that night, one that perfection each night is needed from a wok cook, and that two, one mistake in the kitchen can ruin your whole night. For me I had been perfect all night but my simple distraction of momentary pride had gotten me burnt, ruining my whole night. Leaving the kitchen that night I walked away from the restaurant tired, covered in dried sweat, with a nice burn on my hand, and lastly I left with a humbled ego. I had learnt that the kitchen had a way off humbling the cocky and the arrogant. I wouldn't make that mistake again.