I am fully willing to accept that this is partially the self-interested curiosities of someone trying to come to grips with there own existence, but it's also the topic of many drunken conversations between fellow cooks. What is it that motivates people to put themselves through the shit, in the shit, to the left of the shit, eating shit, smelling like shit, feeling like shit, looking like shit, acting like shit, getting shit on, and providing an excellent meal for joe shit head who'd 'rather grab a Big Mac, cause it's value for money'. It feels like I just finished work, and I'm on my way to go make people brunch. I don't even eat brunch and yet I will happily (once I get in the kitchen) pound out another 60 covers on top of the 360 from last night. I know I'm not really bummed about this, although I don't know why.
Perhaps there actually isn't anyone in the dining room. Stay with me here. Perhaps it's all one massive, bizarre social experiment designed to see how far you can push people in the name of 'passion', that self-righteous excuse for decimating our social lives, keeping us from loved ones, and ensuring that most every meal is eaten in a panic while standing (running) in that hour window between mise and service. The scientist's twist our fate like tiny pawns being forced mercilessly across a chess board, convincing us that it will be a slow night and then manipulating a walk in 15 (what the fuck are 15 people doing walking around) inspiring a sudden rush of early tables, bizarre and inexplicable allergies (cucumber?) and Mr.what's his fucking name whose wife only eat's Dom-poached dover sole. Sometimes the randomness of service feels so obscure that I feel this is a very valid concept.
To return to the original question. Why? A lot of people will cite the pitfalls of the alternative, that of being an office stooge or a criminal, or (dun dun dun) a server. I don't know if not doing other things is any reason to do something, but it's a start. Everyone like's to eat at restaurants so logically it should be fun to work at them right? We are all aware however that there is a fundamental disconnect between the frivolous joys of sitting to eat, and the painstaking satisfaction that is squeezed out of a solid service. So why? For me the most appreciable thing about working as a cook, or cooking as a work rather, is the brutally honest nature of our profession. Sad veg makes shit stock makes poor sauce. You can't hide bad food. Similarily peoples unsociable personalities are easily weeded out. If I worked in an office I couldn't tell someone to fuck off when I've had enough of them, but in a kitchen it can happen unconsciously. People who can't hack it get weeded out. You can't hide a bad personality either.
This is rambling, it's early, but I feel that it should be defined, or at least considered, as to what draws us to our commonality. Feel free to agree, disagree, or just gree.
daniel
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