Chefs are known to be drunken bastards. Many of us living up to the reputation will readily admit that this is not exactly a myth. We’re not as bad as bus drivers, but yes, many of us are right arseholes. And I’ve been trying to suss out why.
Prior to the culinary revolution of the early 20th century, many cooks were still subject to abuse and beatings from their employers. Haute cuisine in Europe after all, developed at a point when many servants were made redundant as a result of the fall of nobility in the French revolution. Not only were cooks seen as glorified slaves, the best ones were also desperate for a job. For over a hundred years, many talented cooks were looked upon with as much respect as kitchen rats.
Sometime after WWI, it had to be the greatest arsehole of us all - Auguste Escoffier, to turn the tables around. The former French army cook heading towards a hotel career decided that enough was enough. Among other things, he documented and popularised the chef brigade - a military system aimed at garnering utmost respect for those sweaty sub-humans handling our food. The system remains unchanged in many kitchens until today. It is thanks to this system that the most senior member of the kitchen carries the designation of Chef… the cook is now boss. He is not only the person running the kitchen, but is generally the dude or (in rare cases) dudette whom you should not fuck with. Ever. Whoever you are or whatever you work at - be it as a commis, a waiter, the maitre, the GM or even the concierge (!) - the chef remains untouchable. He may very well have the insignia ‘non tocces’ inscribed on his toque. The chef is now god. In fact, it was also thanks to the introduction of Escoffier’s systems that in famous black and white wars (that is where front of house and cooks collide) the privilege of the last word is always bestowed to the one wearing a funny hat, holding a copper lid in the left hand and a boning knife in the other. Never is the smart, calm and squeaky-clean maitre given any credibility. Does that make any sense? My take is that allowing such authority to kitchenmen was a very bad idea. And that’s rich coming from me.
For starters, I am lukewarm on Escoffier. Fine, he was a genius in the right place and at the right time. But he was also implicated in theft from the Savoy Hotel and was eventually fired from there after he was caught accepting kickbacks from suppliers… hardly a rock-solid CV for the king of culinary discipline. To his credit, he eventually moved on to be the big-cheese at the then newly established Paris Ritz, working closely with founder Cesar Ritz. You think that should balance things out right? Wrong. Ritz, at the time a colleague of Escoffier’s at the Savoy, was thought to be an accomplice in the infamous Savoy thefts.
It’s quite simple. Escoffier was a dick. And he wrote the chef’s bible – La Guide Culinaire. We have been taught to follow his teachings. M’hemmx x’taghmel.
There is also a practical (and more obvious) element pointing at the reason why many cooks have issues with anger management, psychological stability and the idea of refraining from getting absolutely hammered every night after service. Restaurant workers are expected to be at their best behaviour in the dining room. But while the maitre offers to fondle your balls at table, the chef brigade is often practicing blasphemous litanies in the kitchen – and in many setups this is quite acceptable. Not many liberties are allowed in the back office - but at temperatures of 40 degrees or higher; in a context where fucking up slightly may cause heavy fall-outs with patrons and colleagues; where speed, physical endurance and logic must work in absolute tandem – manners are the first to give way. Because punters are not listening (unless you’re really pissed off), you often have carte blanche in the expletives department. Because waiters work in the presence of patrons, they can never be party to such privilege, and that makes cooks look more powerful. In kitchens, swearing is used to vent off and control stress-levels – to the detriment and scandal of junior staff and naturally polite servers of course. If you’re thinking Gordon Ramsay, think again – that’s just TV. I’m talking more of Marco Pierre White levels here.
Besides, a job in a kitchen involves being busiest when all your peers are relaxing – thus forgetting any prospect of happy marriage or normal social life. People like us, who choose this industry, are either masochist, totally screwed up in the first place or not fit enough to get a better job.
But the upside is that some of us can cook wicked dishes in record times. We might be rude, aggressive and are out on the piss nightly – but because we can make pomegranate seeds, lemon rind and rocket leaves look like a mosaic in a Benedictine monastery, you forgive us right?
Incidentally, there is a dish I have never sworn while preparing. Being a crossover between pastry and not – it can be easily seen as a preferred contender for nervous breakdown to prepare if you’re busy. But I’m eccentric, and it gives me a sense of calm.