Night Moves by Jason King

I have  touched on the scheduling woes of working in the restaurant business, a little.  Well, maybe a lot. In this installment, I am going to talk about the ass-canyon of shit and heartbreak that is... ALWAYS working nights and weekends.

Any decent cook or server has subtle routines or quirks that the second shift encourage. They may not know there is a huge fucking line at 8:15 am at any Starbucks.  Rather, they mosey in for a no-wait espresso drink, oblivious to the early chaos the coffee shop saw. While normal folk are approaching hour three of work, we are nailing the bids on The Price Is Right.

What's bad about that? It is about the only cool thing, that is what's bad.  Oh, and we are very open for doctor appointments. I forgot about that sweet perk.  A kitchen lifer working dinner service, five nights a week, exist in a purgatory of not being able to participate.

Meeting for drinks at six o' clock Tuesday night? Sorry, crab leg night, I'll be sphincter deep in Old Bay broth then... What about shots at 1:30 am before the bar closes? No!? Oh, right you have to leave at 7:30 am tomorrow to be able to swing by Starbucks.

During most new job orientations they explain the benefits, holidays and such you'll have off.  Shit, they don't give us Columbus Day off?? In restaurants, you get to pick if you take Thanksgiving or Christmas off, you can't have both.

Nights, holidays, weekends.  Those three times are huge for most people. They become just times. Times that give you an annual idea of what you'll be doing. Mother's Day? Not with mom, unless mom is working the dessert bar, next to my carving station. What about any given Friday night? The lifer is owning what ever kitchen station needs it.

For every old timer trying to figure his way out of the game, there is a young buck ready to step in.  A new foot soldier, not phased by the hours. I benefited from those salty old dudes as a young cook. They taught me a lot about cooking, working, sacrifice, bourbon and cocaine. I mean if your going to work all these shitty hours, you need to have fun doing it.

Yeah.. I used to work in restaurants... by Jason King

If you have spent at least two presidential terms in a kitchen, likely you have heard "I used to work in restaurants" uttered by more than a dozen people now working quite different jobs. You know, jobs that pay well - have benefits. Fuck, these jobs may even  have normal hours and give you weekends and some holidays off.

Shut your damn face.

I hate hearing expatriates mention their former alliance to the industry I sweat and have become more than just "ok" at. Immediately I question their abilities from past stints on grill or whatever. Surely if they were talented, passionate, and not too much smarter than me, they would still be a chin gon', badass line cook or chef. What could steer a good standing member of the culinary labor pool astray?

Oh yeah, I had a brief moment of head trauma and forgot the sometimes deplorable conditions of being employed in the back of the house. If you are an hourly employee, the back bone of the production, chances are you make less than $350 a week. That is roughly $21,000 a year before taxes.

The old saying in the kitchen... If you wanna make a living with a line cook job, get two of them. It's a sad reality that one has to work 70-80 hours to live a grown up's life.

Your rebuttal may be to work hard and get a salary job, a sous or executive chef position one day. This path is a tried and true way to 40k a year or so to start. That is double a line cook wage! Now you can work one place, make a comfortable amount of money, and plan for your future. Psych!!!

With the exception of great employers, the unfortunate reality is the term salary may be French for "being in the state of indentured servitude, ultimately responsible for any issues." The kicker is that even good employers may want to wrest 60-70 hours a week out of a sous chef, if not more.

All of a sudden you are standing on the expo line looking at a good line cook, realizing he makes more an hour than you, as a salary worker. He comes from his day job making pizzas, earning the same $12 an hour there. Fuck, this guy works two jobs, no liability for orders, prep, or scheduling and might actually make more money than you.

This is a big reason it takes a lot to stay in this business. You hear your same aged friends  using strange vernacular like "paid time off" or "flex time"... What the fuck do you mean you can come to work when you want? The only flex time in a kitchen is called being unemployed.

To my lifers out their, keep banging. To the soldiers I know that fought the good fight, got an honorable discharge, and are on to some grown man job... My hats off. I regretfully understand why we do strive to move on in different directions professionally.

I swear to Jesus Almighty however... If I ever am asked about when I'm getting a real job, I am going to jab that person in the teeth with a Sharpie.

Whisper voice… The Stage’

A look at working auditions by Jason King

If glutinous adoration for punishment was more widely enjoyed, I think more people would work as a line cook. Thanks to the old school badges for how shitty, evil, busy, and little one was paid on their way to the top, an archaic institution still permeates, if not flourishes in the kitchen. Whisper voice…  The Stage’. Working for free, like an audition.

That epic movie trailer narrator often moonlights as my inner dialogue. Especially when I walk in a professional kitchen for the first time. The raspy, authoritative voice tells me I live in a special world. I have near super-human kitchen skills, a daring, near lethal affinity for oak-aged bourbon and may or may not thwart a terrorist plot. (The last one may be part of my long relationship with delusion, but the kitchen skills part is true.)

Like my other comrades in arms, I am a cog in the restaurant industry machine. A mercenary in the epicurean discipline, fueled by the rush of a flawless night of service, by the fourth push of the night helped by an Ecuadorian commando’s little bump of coke in the walk-in cooler. This is the glamour I know.

This same fire is in the soul of everyone who loves this industry. Not the cocaine per se, just the passion. For a few -- the best talents, the hardest workers -- success in the business can lead to meteoric acclaim. I want to believe that all those who have “made it” want to help cultivate the next great cooks or chefs.

Enter “The Stage” – ( Whisper voice please) the working audition many kitchens use as a way of ensuring that only the best, most eager aspirants join the team.  We work for free in some cases, whole shifts sometimes. If the spot is nice and reputable enough, God forbid a Beard winner, then there's often a waiting list to offer free labor in exchange for a chance to get in.

I appreciate every lump I have taken to make me a better cook. I don’t want to seem like a whistleblower too light in the wrist to even succeed at an audition. I’ve seen those guys.  They show up so high, don’t write down what chef asked them to prepare, and end up interrupting a purveyor meeting to ask how the wanted the egg cooked

.

Over easy asshole, it’s not rocket science. Your future employer has asked you to do six things to demonstrate your prowess. We all know you were up late duplicating a day two of Coachella playlist.

I left the diamond fields of Sierra Leone for a reason: Slave labor is not cool. What happened to nailing an interview and taking thirty minutes to show what you can do?  What about having a consistent resume that you can parlay into a decent wage?

I have severed countless good relationships, bled, sweated, and nearly killed to make myself a commodity to a new kitchen. I didn't do it to stand in a breadline like a luckless hobo from the 1930’s.

The working audition is a tool, and shouldn't be abused. Doing things for free to get a chance is one thing, but be sure to know your value. Do a risk/ reward analysis. I set up a free glory hole at a rest area one time. I did not end up a porn star.