Shakes by Jason King

Of all the tools I expected to be important in the kitchen, the spoon was not one. I wanted a badass ceramic chef's knife, not a great sauce spoon.

The spoon however is essential to most plates. It delivers sauces more exact than a ladle. Blaze the tip of the spoon through a firmer purée, and you just garnished like a pro.

The spoon will even deliver delicate ingredients to the impossible tower of succulence you've built on the plate. The spoon is the most unassuming, yet very essential tool.

My one chef Chuck, valued the spoon. He used a metal engraver to let you know that was his spoon.

Fuck that metal engraver.

Slight back story. I had been prescribed a medicine in the early 2000's that gave me tremors. Shakes if you will. During service it was very common to catch me struggling to get a circle of sauce, evenly around an entree. "Shakes" became my name.

We did a lot of cool things at this hotel. From bourbon dinners for Jim Beam's grandson, to room service, no day was exactly the same... Except for my shaky hands.

The names popularity was growing. Cooks were calling me that, even managers. I took it in stride, I was still an up and coming badass. What's a little trembly hand, when you can go beast on the line, right?

Back to the metal engraver. It was like a Dremel-style tool, where you could write, so to speak, on metal. Exclusively used by Chuck, I had no worries of it being used to permanently tag my moniker to anything.

One slow night I stepped out back for a cigarette. I'm sure I had earned it. Upon returning, I noticed my knife bag askew. I get back to the line, and there it is. My German steel, eight inch knife, personalized forever.

On the thickest part of the knife, on the side opposite the manufacturer's trademark. "Shakes" was now etched in stone, or steel to be exact.

The tremors have since subsided. I didn't mind the jokes. A few years later, on another kitchen line, which was open to the dining room, I got to witness Chuck's karma. A cook placed hot sauce in Chuck's drink. Chuck being caught off guard, let a little projectile vomit fly.

No one in the dining room noticed. As he quickly left the line, I smiled a little. I might shake, but apparently someone can't stomach hot sauce. Hot Sauce McGee never stuck as Chuck's nickname.