First Blood

I cut myself at work on Tuesday, not bad, but enough to get that first cut out of the way. It’s a badge of honor on your own chef’s knife…. with one that the kitchen owns, you’re just a dumbass who cuts themselves. What do you do? Wash it, stick some SuperGlue on it, and keep moving. There is no crying or hurting yourself in cooking. I once burned myself so bad that a plastic spoon fused onto my skin. What did I do? I ripped it off, put some silver sulfidine on my hand, and kept going.

You can learn a lot about life by cooking in a professional kitchen. With mine, sure, but especially on a huge brigade where you’re just one part of the machine. You don’t let people down even when your own house is in flames. Just looking at that sentence makes me sweat, because if you’ve been reading my blog lately, it is trying to learn how not to let people down emotionally when my own house is on fire.

Cooking is life if you pay attention long enough.

You’ll have to get past all our tattoos and piercings, but then you’ll find that we cooks are some of the sweetest, most damaged people on earth…… and by that, I mean that you’ll find people at ages where their life experiences seem impossible. We are all “night people” for a reason, and a lot of it is that we know we don’t work well with others, so we work with each other.

I may have to put up with a few fake dick jokes now and again, but say it one more time, Larry…. one more time. Your sister thinks I’m hot. So does your mom. My MO in the kitchen is to get at least one cook a night to say, “DAMN, man……” And then, my work here is done and I can start breaking down. Bring me those cups, would you?

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