The other day at my internship I was slicing meat on a newfangled deli slicer, and in the midst of slicing various meats either too thick, too thin, or with an invisible layer of plastic still on it that I didn't see, the head chef, whose name we'll just call "Chef" came up to me and asked me a question.
Now, this is a big deal for a guy so far down on the food chain as to be almost non-existent. So when he asked me a question, I should have been smart enough to realize that he didn't want me to answer him, he just wanted to say words to someone to show his displeasure in a situation. "I don't know Chef, I wish I knew" was all that was required of me to say, but instead I tried to answer.
Stupid.
Not that he got mad at me or anything, I just shouldn't have answered a question that didn't need an answer. I mean, it's not like he had just decided to become my friend, and wanted to hear what I thought. I'm smart enough to know that. I should have just shaken my head in disbelief and maybe then he wouldn't have been reminded of the fact that most interns are dumbfucks that should never be spoken to outside of "I need those four cases of tomatoes broken down." Or, "Can you come in on your day off this week? We need four case of tomatoes broken down."
Not that either of those things have happened, I'm just saying that my purpose for being there is other than answering rhetorical questions that a frustrated, overworked, thin-on-patience-as-it-is super busy chef asks some empty chef's coat standing close enough to him that it registers not who I am, but what I am, which is a guy in chef's whites that should be smart enough to not irk his ire by having the nerve to not only look him in the eye, but then to try an formulate a half cocked, retarded answer...
Are you picking up on the subtle vibe that this was humiliating?
Nothing to do with this story, but almost immediately afterward I was told that the meat was too thick and couldn't be used so I had to throw out an entire salumi's worth of meat and start over. Then when I did get the slice right, I left a plastic wrap on the meat that I didn't see, and the other big chef came over to help me as I was taking waaaaaay too long, and when he saw that there was a thin layer of plastic on each and every slice, was none too pleased. I didn't catch exactly how many times he said the words "Dude, why did you slice this with the plastic still on?" as I lost count after about 30, but it was a lot. Being an intern sure can be fun.
Anyways.
The point to this story is that although I shouldn't have answered it, or if I did, I should have answered it in a short definative answer (see title of post) instead of a rambling, too-many-details-about-myself answer that he walked away from half way through, but I kept answering anyways, literally offending the people left in the area who hear my answer, (take a deep breath) is that it was a really good question.
He asked me, "Hey, you worked in the front of the house for all those years. Maybe you can tell me why the front of the house is incapable of doing anything with any soul..."
See title of post for perfect answer.
Maybe I could have said "I don't know Chef, that's why I got out of the front of the house."
That's it though.
Instead I rambled on about how they don't appreciate how easy they have it. How crazy it is that I used to make so much more money in such fewer hours and didn't realize how much harder the back of house is.
At this point he left.
I, however, kept on answering by explaining how the front of the house doesn't put their heart and soul into it the way the back of house does (there were only front of house people in the room at this point) and how the waiters don't care about anything except making money.
At this point I heard audible groans from my newly never-to-be-friends and realized that Chef had long since departed so I stopped talking.
But the question stuck.
Let me explain for any of you who may not know, that the "front of the house", or Front of House are the waiters, the buss boys, bartenders, managers, Maitre D's, hosts, etc. The "back of the house", or Back of House, is (obviously) the chefs, cooks, prep cooks, dishwashers, etc.
Again, in case there is anyone reading this blog for the first time and may not know, I had been a waiter for the last 15 years, and recently started culinary school to move to the back of the house.
So the question of why the front of house can't do anything with soul, is a really interesting question for me.
It sort of goes to the heart of why I wanted to move from being a waiter to a cook. There really is no soul in the front of house.
My best theory, which is what I was trying to explain when I answered, is that for the front of the house, being a waiter, or a bartender, or manager or whatever is just a job.
Usually a waiter (or whoever) is trying to be something else like an actor or writer (or failed comedian). Maybe they're finishing school, or out of work from another industry that they are trying to get back into or need a break from, but almost no one wants to be a waiter and it's impossible to put your soul into something you don't want to be doing.
Even if you don't mind it, are good at it, and make pretty good money doing it. You're body is there, but only the fraction of your mind that it takes to remember specials and punch orders into computers is there with you.
This isn't a bad thing necessarily, but in most cases, it's a reality.
I recently read a book on Le Bernardin in which it says that they only hire professional waiters with no outside ambition other than to be excellent waiter.
I'd bet you there is soul in the front of that house.
I'm sure it's the same thing with some of the other three and four star restaurants. But those are by far the exception to the rule.
I used to think of waiting tables as going to the ATM. You go, you get your money, and you go home.
I was/am a good waiter that has worked in some really good restaurants, but the ones I preferred were the ones that you could give the least amount of yourself to, but still make okay money. And that was specifically because I didn't want to give my soul to waiting tables. It was a job, I was saving my soul for my writing or comedy or whatever.
The back of the house on the other hand, at least the back of the house in good restaurants (I'm not talking about the fry guy at Hardee's here) are there because they want to put their souls into it. You don't work 100-hour-weeks at $8-$10 an hour for years and years on end if your heart and soul aren't into something.
One of the biggest surprises for me in this transition has been not only how much harder it was than I thought it was going to be, but how working in a kitchen with a bunch of other people pouring their souls into cooking food that is inevitably going to be shit and pissed out, makes you want to work harder and be better as well. It's not competitiveness necessarily, although that's a big part of being in a kitchen, but it's more of an environment that demands perfection, and you either deliver, or you're gone.
It's fun to be in a kitchen like the one I'm in. There's defiantly a slight fear-of-god aspect to not have the sous chefs or worse the chef-chefs yell at you, but there seems to be a genuine desire by (most of) the people who work there to do a really good job. It's expected. It demands the heart and soul of everybody there and if you can't deliver that every shift, you won't make it. That's just not true of the front of the house.
As a waiter, I wanted to be good enough to make the most money, or have the highest sales. I was one of the top dogs at the places that I worked at because I was fast and knowledgeable and got good tips. But I never had to put my soul into it.
As an aspiring cook, I'm the slowest and least knowledgeable person there, and literally the lowest guy on the totem pole, but I have to put my entire soul into it.
Guess which one I'm happier doing?
If you need me, I'll be in the basement breaking down four cases of tomatoes...
n*
