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.
