My first smell of the kitchen by Jason King

It was Outback Steak House, circa 1996. I was a young buck, 140 pounds with change in my pockets. 

No Food Network, celebrity chefs, or self proclaimed "foodie" title brought me here. I was inexplicably drawn to work in kitchens, as hipsters would say, before it was cool. 

I had yet to meet any of the mentors and chefs that would lead my journey.

I had only worked at Taco Bell.

As fresh a meat as there is, I stepped into a dish washers role at this factory of a sit down chain.

An angry dish machine birthed 180 degree 2 pound ceramic platters, faster than I could stack. Once caught up, I ran a mad dash to the front expo line, confused as to where everything's home was. 

A surly outside expo was my only chance of knowing where to stack these plates. These plates are giving me first to maybe second degree burns. Show no pain, this place is like prison. It will eat the weak. Finally, I find the places these plates go, run back to dish, and repeat.

I remember this kitchen had a smell. Not bad, just a smell I'll always remember. One day while almost investigating the source of the distinct aroma, I stumbled upon two men.

These tattooed, parolee looking guys were cussing. Looked hungover or just drunk, and we're peeling shrimp.

That last one was an understatement. They were peeling a small, gulf coast boats haul for the day. So many shrimp, I thought then how could they do them all?

I said to myself... " I will never be like those guys.."

How many times since, some young cook's first impression of me has been hunched over a sink. Peeling shrimp.

I never found out what the smell was.www.themfu.org