‘Yes Chef’: life at the vanguard of culinary excellence

Introduction

This article foregrounds the experiences of ‘John’ in his career to date as a haute cuisine chef. John’s story from the front line begins when he joins his first Michelin starred kitchen and ends when he attains the position of Head Chef in another. While heavily anonymized, John’s narrative provides a detailed, candid and thought-provoking insight into working life in this industry. His story supports existing extreme images of the industry propagated in the mass media (e.g. Bourdain, 2001; Edwards, 2013; Ramsay, 2006) but also shows that high-end kitchen work can be extreme in ways that are hitherto unacknowledged. Much like other male-dominated professions such as the military (Barrett, 1996; Thornborrow and Brown, 2009), architecture (Sang et al., 2014) and management consultancy (Gill, 2013), working life for John was characterized by hegemonic masculine ideals. The culinary profession is not alone in being characterized by cultures of bullying, aggression and violence, but in John’s narrative these featured strongly. Although this darker side to haute cuisine is well reported (e.g. Johns and Menzel, 1999; Palmer et al., 2010), those elements which are at best morally dubious (e.g. long hours and low pay) and at worst criminal (e.g. cultures of bullying, harassment, aggression and assault) are hinted at (e.g. Ramsay, 2006) but remain largely unexplored. This article aims to address this dearth.

John’s narrative also contributes towards discussions about extreme cultures of commitment and practice and to long-standing concerns with how workers are socialized into accepting, adopting and even propagating extreme workplace behaviour (Dutton et al., 1994; Van Maanen and Schein, 1979). The kitchen environments John describes were male-dominated and highly competitive, and as a trainee, John had to work hard to align himself with an extreme, highly gendered, often fantastical image of what it means to be a chef. John describes how he, like many others, struggled at the start of his career but eventually came to accept and embody the hegemonic ideal. Simply, he became a ‘macho, tough, competitive, self-reliant, aggressive’ chef (Bradley, 2013: 47) and built an identity closely tied to a very particular idealized image of what it means to be a professional in his industry (Alvesson and Willmott, 2002; Collinson, 2003; see also Gill, 2013; Thornborrow and Brown, 2009). His working life became a ‘project of the self’ (Grey, 1994) in which he internalized fiercely masculine militaristic values – e.g. discipline, hard work, pride in appearance, etc. – which both guided his practice and became a key source of identity, pride and self-esteem (Barrett, 1996). One consequence of this is apparent in John’s description of how he went about preserving, reinforcing and teaching the values he had learned and subscribed too (Collinson, 2003: 533). He describes distancing himself from those who rejected his values (Collinson and Hearn, 1994) and when in a leadership position employing the same highly aggressive practices that he had endured to promote these same values in others. John experienced and later employed practices which involved actively seeking out and punishing weakness or failure through violence as well as other forms of bullying.

In speaking to discussions about identity regulation and masculinity in the workplace (Carroll and Levy, 2010; Gagnon, 2008; Gill, 2013; Hodgson, 2005; Kuhn, 2006; Thornborrow and Brown, 2009) John’s narrative also helps to explain the high turnover rate that is characteristic of this industry and perhaps also the lack of women working as high-end chefs. The life John describes involves aligning with an extreme, essentially masculine ideal in which there is little space for femininity or indeed other competing, less extreme masculinities (Carrigan et al., 1985). Although John did encounter women while at work, for them to excel they needed to adopt, like John, identities that fitted hegemonic masculine ideals. Those men and women that struggled to do so were pushed to the margins of the profession – into ‘gendered niches’ (Crompton and Sanderson, 1986; see also Bradley, 2013: 102) such as the pastry section (Ramsay, 2006) or out of the profession altogether.

The aim in presenting John’s narrative is to take steps to close the gap between our understanding of the nature of work in high-end kitchens and the everyday experiences of chefs. An important point to bear in mind is that while John’s story may appear exceptional, isolated and unrepresentative, it is none of these things and to assume it was so would be a failure to recognize the extreme culture and ideology that dominates in certain kitchens in the higher echelons of this industry. Certainly, there are many ‘Johns’.

About John

John is from the north of England. He left school at a young age (16–18) to pursue a career in catering. After a brief period in mass catering, inspired by a friend he contacted the owner of a Michelin Star restaurant and asked for a job. The owner, keen to give young people an opportunity, employed him as a commis chef – the lowest rank in the kitchen. John’s account begins with his first day in this kitchen.

Starting out at the bottom

We started at 7 a.m., not before and I remember my first day like it was yesterday. I was so nervous, but excited at the same time. I remember thinking, ‘This is it, my first real opportunity to do something with my career.’ So many successful and famous chefs had, at some point, cooked in this kitchen and I was about to do the same. What a great feeling.

The first thing I noticed on my first day was that the cooks ran everywhere. The first thing they did once they got in the kitchen was to grab all the pans and hide them under their benches or in their fridges. Later I realized that you needed to hide everything because if you didn’t you wouldn’t see it again. Even the onions you’d just spent 10 minutes chopping, or a bouquet garni you’d prepared for a stock, would be gone in a second if you left them on your board. People didn’t care if you were in the shit, getting the section ‘en place’ was all that mattered.

I started on the Garnish section, everyone starts on Garnish and the first job each day was to bring the veg deliveries in and organize them with the sous-chef (Peter). My job was to lug the 25kg sacks of potatoes, onions, carrots and other vegetables through the kitchen to the outside store where I would arrange them perfectly neat, tidy and clean. Peter would check the quality of the products before we put them away. Then he would check I’d arranged the veg how he wanted them.

Peter was very loud and aggressive. He was the sort of person who made an impression. When he arrived in the morning, you knew about it. He would walk round the kitchen and kick everyone to greet us: ‘Morning’, kick; ‘Morning’, kick; ‘Morning’, KICK!! He did it in a playful way, but really he was showing us he was boss. Once during service, not long after I started, I dressed a plate badly or I was too slow dressing – I can’t remember exactly. Peter kicked me hard in the leg for it. I turned around and told him: ‘You don’t fucking touch me! Kick everyone else if you want, but you don’t touch me.’ He didn’t touch me again, but he did everything he could to make my working day miserable.

I could have changed things if I’d shut my mouth and taken the kicking but that wasn’t me. Admittedly I was a bit of a stubborn, gobby shite with zero experience in Michelin star kitchens, but I wasn’t ready to accept that way of working yet. From that incident onward, Peter pretty much hated me. He made me pick spinach, mix salad and peel potatoes every day for months. During the service when there wasn’t enough room for me to do mis-en-place, Peter would make me work outside. It was November and December and it was freezing. I had a hose and a big plastic box to work into, a short sleeve jacket and those thin blue and white check trousers to wear. I froze.

When I was allowed in the kitchen, sometimes Peter wouldn’t even let me in the same room as him. The kitchen was split into two parts and if I walked into the part that he was in, he would just shout at me until I left the room. If I needed something from his part of the kitchen, I would have to ask someone else to get it for me. So many times nobody had the time so I would just run the risk, take the bollocking, get what I needed and get out as quickly as possible. It was a game for Peter. Sometimes he would know I was busy, he would call me from the other part of the kitchen and I would go and see what he wanted: ‘John?! …. Johhnn??…. JOHN?!’ ‘Yes Peter?’ ‘FUCK OFF!’ ‘Yes Peter.’ He would laugh. I would go back to my section feeling stupid and irritated for falling for the same trick again, but I didn’t have a choice. If Peter called me, whether it was just to tell me to fuck off or not, I had to go and see what he wanted. We all did. He was the sous-chef.

Some people can shut their mouth and put up with being bullied. I couldn’t and it used to really get to me, to the point of tears. Sometimes I would get so angry I just used to leave the kitchen and punch the wall outside a few times. I couldn’t deal with him. I hated him with a passion, I wanted to kill him. Hated him. Even now it bothers me to think about it. I was trying so hard to advance in the kitchen, but it was impossible with him in the way. It was so annoying to work with someone like Peter.

Progression

After four months working with Peter, he was moved to the Starters section and the other sous-chef, Paul, took over the Garnish section. I got on better with Paul, he could see I wanted to do well and moved me forward on the section, but there was still always the same bullshit with Peter, just a little less intense for a bit.

Six months in I’d made quite a few friends in the kitchen and they taught me a lot of things, including how to deal with Peter. The abuse stayed the same, but it was my way of dealing with it that was different and helped me advance in the kitchen. The advice was pretty much, shut up and take it, let him think he’s right, even if he’s not. It worked for the majority of the time but there was one day that sticks in my mind. I was working on butchery and Peter had ordered a lamb. He wanted it prepped a specific way, but he didn’t tell me that. So, I prepped it like we always do. That day, we were in the shit, all of us. Things had been going wrong all morning and we were struggling to get ready for service. The atmosphere wasn’t good. In the kitchen, I used to time myself on every job I had to do in the morning and if I ran over by even a minute, I knew I wouldn’t be ready for service on time. If one person isn’t ready, it affects everyone. Each section relies on the other so if one runs late it can set back the whole team, it’s like dominoes. So of course, I’d prepped the lamb wrong and when Peter found out he freaked out at me. He went absolutely mental. He didn’t tell me he wanted something different but he went mental anyway, launching one of those big cling films across the room at me. It smashed me proper hard in the chest and that was it. I put my knife down. I had a fridge behind me, I went into my fridge and started crying uncontrollably. I never cry like that. I don’t know anyone who does. But, I was. What happened next was weird. He came and found me and we spent 20 minutes in the fridge together, talking. I was like: ‘I’m okay, I’m fine, don’t worry about it, I’m alright.’ We were already in the shit to get ready for service, we didn’t need to waste time talking in the fridge, but he carried on anyway. I think he felt guilty. He said: ‘You know what I’m like, I can’t help myself. I’m fiery, I can explode, it’s nothing against you.’ I said, ‘Yeah, it’s fine, whatever. I’m just tired and I just made a mistake.’ I was on the edge already, I was tired, I knew I’d messed up, but I didn’t need that as well. The cling film in the chest tipped me over.

Everyone struggles at points but looking back, I never felt comfortable in that kitchen. During that first six months I was upset all the time, but I couldn’t have quit – what would I have done? If I couldn’t work in that kitchen, what could I have done? If I’d quit that kitchen then, I’d failed because I knew the other restaurants would be harder. If I couldn’t do the easy one, how would I cope elsewhere? So I stuck with it.

Moving on

After two and a half years I was sick of it. I was sick of being there, I was sick of those chefs. I didn’t have any confidence. When I get low on confidence and when I get stressed out, my mind gets really cloudy. I can’t think, I can’t work. I literally can’t do anything. I was quite scared to be honest. I was scared I wasn’t going to be any good. In fact, towards the end I even told people I was gonna quit and do something else. I had no confidence at all. When I did eventually quit I didn’t really know what else to do. So, I went home and tried to find another job, something easy.

I couldn’t find a job to save my life. The jobs that I went for, they wouldn’t give to me. I was over-qualified, apparently. In the end I found a job in a nice hotel, a five-star countryside manor, where the hours were never more than 12 hours a day and everyone was very friendly. What a change, what a step down I thought. After about a week, even though the chef there had worked for one of the best chefs in England for many years and he’d even won his own Michelin stars in his previous kitchen, I knew this kitchen wasn’t for me. There was no buzz, no adrenaline, no urgency to the way the kitchen worked. I’d spent the last two and a half years in a kitchen that demands the highest standard of cooking day in day out, using the best produce you can find in the world. White truffles, black truffles, caviar and foie gras. There was no limit. Although it was a place where the cooks were solely focused on getting their section ready for service and the sous-chefs were unfairly harsh from time to time, we all had the same reason for being there. We all wanted to work for, to be the best and this hotel kitchen that I found myself in after all that just wasn’t the same. So after three months, I politely handed my notice in and went for an interview at a new place that was more like the old kitchen I used to work in – the kitchen I was used to. I knew people at the new place already and so when they offered me the job I took it. No question.

This new place was good for me. Although it had a reputation as one of the hardest kitchens in the industry, the guys there were more my type of people. I didn’t feel like anyone was judging me or turning their nose up at the stuff I was doing. The head chef took a shine to me and taught me a lot. We got on really well, but it was a lot different to the first Michelin star place I worked in! For a start the hours were crazy. So before, I was working 7 a.m. to 12 a.m. with an hour break, five, sometimes six days a week. Here it was more. I would start earlier and go home later, sometimes as late as 2 a.m. and then have to be up for work again at 5 a.m. I used to have to drink three espressos just so I wouldn’t crash my motorbike on the way home. I only lived 20 minutes away. A few times I got woken up by cars beeping their horn – I’d fallen asleep at the lights. Once, I fell asleep turning the corner into my street and woke up when I hit the floor.

The whole tiredness thing completely messed with my head. At one point I went through a phase of thinking that everyone in the kitchen was trying to stitch me up. I was convinced of it. It wasn’t happening, it was just exhaustion. I was completely irrational and would flip out over nothing and completely lose my temper. It was just tiredness and stress. It got so bad that I’d wake up in the morning and want to puke. I never ate, I just felt sick. I’d only ever sleep two or three hours. These days, when I get tired and I’ve had five hours sleep I think: ‘What’s the matter with me, I used to do this on two hours.’ To do those hours you need to want it more than anything. You can’t work 18–20 hours a day, five days a week, with a doubt in your mind. The restaurant becomes your life and you have to love it, or leave.

As well as the hours the mentality in this new place was very different. It was very strict. I had to be immaculate – iron my jacket, trousers, polish my shoes, everything. I loved that. I loved how regimented it was. It taught me to have respect in myself as a cook and to be proud of myself as a cook. It built up my confidence massively. It was also a very aggressive kitchen, very regimented, much like the army. They looked to bring out the fight in people. If they spot weakness, that you’re a weak person, they’d attack you but the point was to bring the best out in you and that’s what it felt like. They did it to build your leadership skills, to build your confidence and teach you respect.

Some people go there and don’t like it, like a friend of mine. I helped them get a job but after a few days they screwed up and one of the chefs punched them in the face. They called me that night and told me they were quitting. That pissed me off, it looked bad on me. I’d helped them and they’d let me down. That was four years ago and we’ve not spoken since. What they didn’t get was that it was that kind of kitchen. They were physically aggressive and they would encourage the other guys to be the same. I remember, when I was running the Garnish section, my commis was late. I mentioned it to the executive chef and their reply was: ‘Did you beat him up?’ I was like: ‘Er, no, I haven’t beaten him up.’ They said: ‘Next time you fucking beat him up when – if he comes in late.’ I was like: ‘Alright.’ They meant it, so when one guy really pissed me off I literally followed him into the dry store out back and beat the crap out of him. He’d done something, screwed me over somehow, I can’t remember what. I knew he was going to go outside and I thought, ‘As soon as he goes outside, I’m going to follow him and just hit him a few times or whatever.’ I wanted to make him realize that he’d fucked me over and that he wasn’t going to do it again. That was the way it was, everybody did it like that. It sounds bad but it was just the way it was. I mean you might get the odd person who was new and might be a bit surprised by it, but it was the way it was. The amount of times I heard the chef say: ‘Go and fucking beat him up’ and it would just happen – the guy would go over and start beating another guy up. That was normal, but everyone there was mad. The whole mentality of that place was completely warped.

Although I loved it there, sometimes things did overstep the mark. I didn’t care about people getting burnt, having risotto pushed in their face or sauces poured down their jacket but there was one lad, an apprentice, he was really, really motivated. He really wanted to do it but he was useless, a proper idiot. He lived miles away, so far that sometimes he wouldn’t even get home at night. He used to just sleep in the bus station and then come back to work. He really wanted to do it, but he was crap – probably because he was sleeping in the bus station, for Christ sake. When people used to pick on him, I didn’t like that. He was a tiny little boy. He probably only weighed eight stone. There’s a point where you think, ‘What’s the point in hitting him? I mean, he’s tiny.’ It just wasn’t fair so we used to try and help him as much as we could. In the end, there is only so much you can do for someone who is completely useless. You don’t have a lot of spare time to bail people out, particularly when it happens every day. We’d help him get ready for service because if he wasn’t ready then we’d get it in the neck. We would try to protect him and ourselves by doing his work for him, but there comes a time where you’ve been bailing the same guy out every day for weeks and you just have to let him sink. If you don’t you fuck yourself over in the end. I remember his last day: he only prepped half the amount of canapés he needed for the service, so he ran out by 8 p.m. The chef kicked him out the kitchen and we didn’t see him after that. The rest of us picked up the slack by starting earlier and finishing later, but that was nothing new.

Moving on, again

After a few years in that kitchen I got to a point where I had done every section, I was as good as the people above me, but I couldn’t get promoted. There is only enough room for a certain amount of senior members of staff. Like anywhere, I guess. Once I feel that I’m not learning, or that I’m not progressing, I get bored. If it’s not a challenge anymore, I’m not interested. I felt I had achieved what I wanted to in that kitchen, so I handed in my notice, not knowing really where next to go.

I was lucky they liked me, because they helped me find a new job. I had a few different options, but I was really inspired by one in particular, so I went there. It was a massive change. For a start I was now a head chef, but it was also a new environment, new people, new country and a new language. One of the things I found particularly hard was that my mentality had to change, again. The aggressive approach I had learnt wasn’t allowed in my new kitchen and I kept getting into trouble with the management for trying to sort out the discipline. It was frustrating, some people just weren’t pushing as hard as they could and I wasn’t used to it. Looking back, it was all a massive eye-opener. It made me realize that the aggressive approach I’d got used to was not the only way. It has taken me a couple of years to see that but looking back, I was very closed minded. Now, as an outsider looking in, I can see those people before were fucked in the head. Their food is fantastic and the consistency is the best I’ve ever seen, but other kitchens are just as good as they are and they do things differently. I guess it depends on the chef, as there are loads of kitchens with less accolades and the violence is still there, but it doesn’t have to be that way.

Although I found a lot of things really hard I don’t regret choosing this career, not one bit. However, this job isn’t for everyone. If you want to be a chef in a good kitchen you have to be prepared for it to take over your life completely, to lose all your friends, miss out on a normal social life, miss important family events, be tired, stressed, upset, ill and still want to go back to work all day, every day. If you are not ready for that, don’t cook. If you are prepared to keep your head down, work non-stop for at least six, seven, eight years, listen and learn everything you are told, everything will fall into place. You’ll have endless possibilities, be able to work anywhere in the world, doors will open and you will have a job that you love. Sure there are some negative sides to the industry but cooking in a good kitchen is fun, rewarding, exciting, creative, challenging, inspiring and more, all in one day. I wouldn’t do anything different. I could not work in an office, where’s the fun?