When I decided to become a chef, or rather I should say, when I packed my car full to the brim and drove to the middle of nowhere in upstate New York with the goal of getting my culinary degree- I had absolutely no idea what that meant in terms of my personal life.
There was ONE chef instructor who attempted to shed light on the fact that being successful in the restaurant industry inevitably was going to mean being unsuccessful in every other area of your life. By shed light on I mean he brought it up once, the week we left for winter break. And by brought it up I mean he said something along the lines of:
“ Enjoy your Christmas now, because if any of you make it past these doors, you wont see another Christmas like it for ten years at least.” - His delivery was very Chris Farley in Billy Madison (Ill turn this damn bus around, that’ll end your PRECIOUS little field trip pretty damn quick, huh?)
I remember hearing him, and wondering “Gee, I wonder what he meant by that?” and quickly distracting myself with the excitement of finals, partying with friends, and eventually leaving to go home.
I have since spent the past 12 years fully realizing for myself exactly what he meant, and recognizing the source of the tinge of disdain that he was unable to mask in his delivery.
Its no secret that the restaurant industry is brutal for anyone trying to have some semblance of a “normal life”. When restaurants are full and chefs are in business, the rest of the world is celebrating. That means being on your feet for the 15th hour in a row, all while being supported by kitchen shoes that are soaking wet from either sweat or the puddle that you’ve been dancing over (lowboy hose is no longer centered over the drain and ain’t no one got time to realign it). OK, that’s a hyper specific scenario which yes I have been in.
What I’m trying to say is that to be in the service industry is to be asked to work for and when everyone else in your life that decided to get their Masters and a 9-5 job with benefits and PTO is drinking and eating and enjoying. And you will also probably be physically uncomfortable at the same time. I don’t know why the physically uncomfortable part is a rule, but it is for me. I’m sure its got something to do with a decade of trying to fit in to uniforms that were made for men while also being surrounded by fire and hot grease, and the like.
Cheffing is not for the faint at heart, and for so long that ethos has been the pillar that the back of the house has perched itself upon.
Don’t like it? Quit. Can’t handle it? Go work at a retirement home.
Luckily for me, or the people I worked for rather, I was born with a brain that enjoys being asked too much of. I used to think I must be a masochist, and most of my coworkers fell into that category. However after years of getting to know myself, I now realize my ability to work well under oppressive conditions wasn’t based in some kink of watching myself suffer, but founded in my belief that I deserved the pain.
I will save all of you having to hear what my therapist hears and leave that mouthful there.
I tried, very hard, while actively cheffing, to keep my personal life on the rails as well as my professional life. Of course it didn’t always work. Like most people, when I was doing great at work, my personal life was suffering- I was missing big moments with family, or was spending too much time at work, or was drinking too much to cope with the mental strain of being in charge of a kitchen.
And in the reverse, when things were going well personally, like when I was getting engaged, buying a home, or attempting to make myself more available to my loved ones, I knew that there was a whole shift of surly and disgruntled crew members and bosses needing me and possibly (it still hurts to even type) failing due to my absence.
It was that lose, lose tightrope walk that I have come to realize my chef was attempting to address that day. Its not that Christmas would never happen again, because it would, every year.
Its that we would never experience one like it for a long time. We would never be un-obligated again, sitting happily at a table with friends and loved ones and wine because if you were, you would probably be failing as a chef.
Most of my chef friends I know that are now in their early to mid thirties are attempting to figure out how to have both a happy home life and also realize their goals as working professionals. The added strain of the pandemic has only pressured the fragile restaurant industry even more in to becoming a safe place to work with realistic expectations and good pay and benefits.
I’ve seen chef friends and ex co-workers turn into farmers, educators, cheese makers, and boutique grocery store employees to name a few. Every now and then we will catch up and reminisce. None of us want to go back but still look back, starry eyed and silently wondering if those were the glory days or if the best days are still ahead.
As for myself, shortly after I got married, I found myself pregnant. I knew that I was not going to be able to be the type of mother I wanted to be and the caliber of Chef I wanted to be at the same time. 30 years of becoming very familiar with my work ethic and expectations of myself made that inherently clear. I bounced around from doing my private cheffing augmented by serving or cooking while I prepared to be a mother.
When the baby came, I spent the first three months convincing myself I was fine (like the famous meme of the dog standing next to the dumpster fire, saying “this is fine”). It, and I most certainly were not fine. I had severe post partum depression that manifested itself in the form of agoraphobia and heart pounding anxiety attacks. In the brief moments where my brain forced itself to shut down and sleep, I would wake in a doomsday-esque panic that my son had died, or was stolen while i slept. It took almost 9 months for me to realize that I needed professional help and up to 15 months post partum for me to start to feel like I had a hold on mother hood- however, I was pregnant again already with my daughter and gearing myself up for round two.
I was able to book jobs while my son was an infant- sometimes I was preparing trays to be delivered, and other times I was catering full, on-site events. I was able to make it work with a mix of prepping after my kids were asleep, and asking for help from family members to watch them either for the events, or for the drop offs. But I was always so rushed. Rushed to have someone show up to help with my kids. or rushing to finish a dish, or trying to check my phone for the time while attempting to stay engaged in a conversation with a potential client. I never felt like I was able to do a good job, either with the food prep, or with my children.
I am blessed to have a partner who can cover the finances fully without any help from me. So seeing my family suffer or all of our nerves be spread thin because of my superfluous endeavors was a pill I tried to swallow for too long. By the time the pandemic hit and I got really nervous about liability, I pulled back completely from any sort of on site catering.
So here I have been since. Focusing all my attention on my children, and spouse, and home. A full-fledged stay at home mom. Yes. Me.
I field disappointment from not living up to my professional potential from myself and others regularly. I receive comments from family and friends and ex co-workers that unintentionally cut oh so deep.
“When are you going to go back to work? Your kids are old enough for daycare, right?”
“Have you thought about applying at (fill in the blank)?”
“You are so good at cooking, you should really be doing it!”
-Just a few things I hear on the regular.
How do I say, without slamming the mic down after I’m done:
Motherhood is the hardest job I’ve ever done, this is WORK. Work that never stops, and never sleeps, and demands more of me than I sometimes have. And if you don’t have kids, you don’t understand. And no I don’t care if that makes you feel excluded, or even worse, makes me sound like some ex-professional that has been lost to the anti-feminist dark side. The stakes are so high with this job. I NEED to do it right. I NEED to be here. The thought of letting someone else raise my kids so that society can accept me again as a woman who can do it all is LITERAL.TORTURE.
So here we are. A career on hold for the near future. An idea of what I could have achieved, or what I can still achieve, sitting behind me at all times. The presence of potential, both realized and unrealized, a gentle ghost in my reality. And all the while my identity begging me to include the title of Motherhood as proudly as I hold my other career-driven accolades.
So to my professional website I will now come to write and reconcile who I am now- Both Chef AND a mother.
Doing both sometimes great, sometime poorly. But still fully both.
And writer, and lover, and gardener, and outdoor enthusiast, and wife, and daughter, and sister.
For now I will make a job title for Motherhood- and I hope all the bad ass mothers out there will click “apply now” and accept that this job is relevant and important and worth adding to your resume.
Looking for:
An individual who is undeterred by the gross things in life. You will regularly be asked to clean feces, vomit, blood, and tears off of people, clothing, and furniture, to name a few.
You will be asked to lift and carry 60+ pounds up stairs, in to wagons, strollers, and sometimes up mountains, if the top of a mountain is what you desire to see.
You will regularly be confronted with not only your shortcomings, but your parent’s and grandparents shortcomings, and faced with the realization that indeed you are them. And they are you. You are all intertwined and it will take HARD WORK, ACCOUNTABILITY, ACCEPTANCE, and FORGIVENESS to even attempt to become a better version of yourself. This is necessary for the job.
There will be days where you will see your impulsivity, impatience, or anger mirrored back to you by the ones you hoped would never express it. And you will feel like the most epic failure. And you will be asked to continue on facilitating life. Wallowing in feelings of failure will not be tolerated
You will sometimes be expected to make food only to have it left unconsumed, or thrown. You will be asked to clean it up with patience.
You will have to figure out how to make all necessary travel and errands workable and enjoyable for every party in attendance, or else risk said travel and errands being truly torture.
You will not be allowed quite time unless you pay for it, and even then it will be on borrowed time.
Personal space will become non existent and privacy is a principle not granted to this position.
You must learn how to work under pressure and with constant noise, mess, and confusion.
You must silence society and other once important voices in your life in order to identify personal happiness. There will be no oversight, check ins, progress reports, or outside guidance.
Most importantly, and I stress- You must accept that your heart lives outside of your body now. And your love and contentedness will always be contingent on a small, always moving orb that will constantly be just out of your reach.
And you will not recognize yourself. Because you are not meant to.
In taking on this position, you have leveled up, and are meant to redefine who you are, and what is important to you. And what you simply will no longer stand for.