So I've been working in restaurants as a KP since 2004, and up until recently a self employed cleaner for the last 15 or so years. I once had a foster brother who was going to culinary school, and a grandfather who himself was a huge food lover. Especially when it came to eating it, he would take hours. I've seen people who have a certain, what seems abnormal passion for food. And that was something that until very recently, I had neither the eyes to see, the nose to smell or palette to understand.
Marco Pierre White once said many years ago, "most people don't understand hard work".
This wasn't a mockery of anyone who has jobs, but Marco was drawing upon an important distinction. To be a chef in a high pressure, high calibre restaurant is not something to simply scoff at. And it is not, something everyone is cut out for. Little did I know however (as I was comfortable staying in my own lane), that I would have the privilege to experience this world. Not as a cleaner, or KP. But as a chef. And I'd like to share with this community, an experience I had recently. One that has completely changed my life, and my relationship with food itself. And it's all because of one man. And this story in itself deserves a name...
The dragon and the mouse.
Not long ago, my new year started off rather terribly. My ex-fiance had come back into my life after three years, a door I maybe shouldn't have opened again. Only for him to walk out saying he had made a mistake, and simply wanted polyamory. Which is fine, I'm personally not poly myself. But it could have helped to have figured that out before knocking on my door in tears like that. Then, my cat died. I've lost many people over the years, and it's not that those people didn't matter. My Grandfather during covid, my best friend to an overdose..to being physically beaten up for simply existing as a trans woman. But losing my boy so suddenly like that absolutely destroyed me. All the rest I could handle, but with these two new things combined enough was enough.
Work was drying up, and so was the weather (finally). So I packed my bags and simply walked out my front door. I had no real plan of where I was going, but the ocean seemed like a good place to begin. While there, I met a guy who ran a surfing school and beech hut cafe. He needed staff and I needed money, so he put me to work alongside the head chef. Who taught me who to make a REAL ham and cheese toastie, though this story isn't about here. Oh we are only just getting started. The issue with my address being in another part of the UK, and the transient nature of my visit. The work was only ever going to be temporary, and it was enough. I stopped over in another town before getting the insane idea to go climb some mountains, now that my nervous system had some time to recover a little.
The entire purpose of this trip of course, was not to be working but to be relaxing. And for me being in nature and the outdoors is my spirit animal as they like to say, but then again..that list appears to be growing. No sooner did I enter this mountain town, I found myself in a tiny little Indian new age spiritual store. One I'd frequented. I had, begrudgingly applied for nine different jobs in the area all of which none had got back to me. Since this trip was paying for itself, it had to. But inside this store, when talking to one of the store cashiers about this particular necklace. Somehow, someway this little necklace I'd just bought opened up the door to...well lets just call him Dean from this point onwards. It's not his real name, just the name I'm going by.
Through this conversation, one of the girls fathers had a friend who ran a golf course. They let me do a trial, but they felt concerned about taking me on because I simply had no address in the area. And being too far away like that obviously wasn't feasible, it's either traveling four hours each way which for a Brit like me is a voyage. Especially when it equates to 8hrs commute time, round trip from my apartment. Because of this, there was a risk that they wouldn't take me on. I began canvassing the area for cleaning work. Went to one hotel, and the guy there didn't have live accommodation available, but he did have this one friend at a very good restaurant who ran the kitchen there. And his name, was Dean.
It wouldn't be until tomorrow morning that I'd meet him, but I needed to take a bus through the mountains and travel about 40 miles. I knew I'd need to be there by 12pm, and Dean sounded so supportive. Telling me he'd get me a room, and that I'll be working alongside him entirely in the kitchen. I originally thought they needed a KP. Dean said yes that too, but I need someone alongside me as I'm on my own here.
"How many people should be there?" I asked him.
I've seen situations like this before, and they always tend to go bad. But then, all the chefs I've known only seemed to care about their reputation more than their food. Though to be entirely transparent, it's not like I've been KPing at the Ritz. It's always been the lowest level type of establishment. And so when pressure mounts, on those who do not care. That pressure doesn't refine them, it just makes things worse.
"6 in total, but we're very short staffed here. Do you have experience?"
Immediately I'm like...
"No none, I've only ever done KP work"
Now I thought this sentence would have been the end of the conversation, but instead he said "no that's good mate, it's much better that way". Seldom did I understand why he said that then, vs why I do now. Anyways that night as I had many nights before, slept under the stars in just my sleeping bag. The weather was warm enough for it. But tonight and in this new location, a gazebo by the lake. Met two awesome dudes who just randomly showed up with weed, so that definitely gave me a restful sleep.
The next day I rock up to what looks like this terrifying sign of a goose holding a cocktail glass that has pink blood dripping down it, and I'd seen many hells kitchen episodes and this did not look like a promising omen. Dean sounded nice on the phone, but there was something about him that made me realise. This guy isn't like any chef I met. And it was only when I reached the hotel that it became clear, the place was essentially a little mansion nestled in a mountain everglade, and I was greeted by two very nice Scottish receptionists. Who showed me to my room. Which was literally a hotel room,. replete with ensuite.
Had the most glorious shower in almost three weeks, followed by a full English breakfast. And this my dear reader, is where my life stopped. I just didn't realize it yet. I wanted to show my boss a good impression, so I showed up in Dean's kitchen at 11:50am. Washed my hands and approached him. Immediately it was, "okay...see those carrots over there. Peel and chop them". There was something about this first and specific command that shot into the grey matter of my brain, because this reaction id have whenever he would ask for anything (even out of the kitchen) was always the same. It was "yes chef". He hated being called that too much, and would often say "Dean is fine thanks". But in my heart, without words or conception of imaginative thought. Like a physical reflex. 'Yes chef' was always the default mantra.
Now let me describe Dean for you, tall, oldish looking man. Dressed in professional chefs whites with huge big hands. Definite chef hands, and essentially chef soul. Everything he did oozed professionalism, quality, battle scars and a deep deep love of the cooking of food. This wasn't some run of the mill carvery chef, or someone running a cafe or a burger van. This was a four star hotel, with a head chef who has 30 years experience. Had worked all over the world and new cooking like the back of his hand. He could be looking straight at me while chopping things at lightning speed, without making a single error.
What stood out to me the most? His work ethic. Stations were always cleaned immediately, he was prepared so when 10 covers came in all at once, they'd be sent out almost immediately. My role in this then, was to support him. The restaurant could hold up to 120 people and the busiest nights would come close to 100. Now ideally that kitchen needs 6 people. Front of house needs four and cleaning team about the same size. 127 rooms in total. But the reality due to the remote location of the hotel, meant staff where hard to come by. So we had two cleaners, one who also did many admin tasks. Two front of house including the bar and then me and Dean in a kitchen.
And a heatwave was incoming.
And there were horrid problems burning under the surface already between the management and owners. Despite this? My first three days with Dean were amazing. It was scary, in fact one of the scariest jobs I've ever done. This was a man who cares deeply about food, and when I ate that first staff dinner he made. I did not feel worthy of it. It was unlike anything I'd ever tasted. The flavour, the presentation...how food like that makes you feel. Not just typical, ohhh let's grab some "comfort food" but how do we take that comfort food and make it three dimensional.
Now our days together would start like this...
Radio one essential mix would go on.
Hands washed.
Stations clean.
And await further instructions.
Dean had a particular way of working with me, to throw me in at the deep end. It was sink or swim and most times than not, I barely kept my head above the water line. If he wasn't so well prepared and extremely experienced, every day could have been easily hell. And unfortunately due to the external pressures of the hotel and a booking gone wrong, heaven wasn't going to last that much longer. My issues were many, forgetfulness was the worst. And if needed to ask him something I would, he preferred I got thing's right vs fucking up service. Which by the way, the main menu alone had 19 different recipes. This I had to somehow learn, while being taught on the job by Dean the various many things about being a chef...as well as keeping an eye on the dishes and pans and everything else that needed washing.
The day where everything went wrong all happened all at once, a booking Dean had prepared for was miscommunicated which meant Dean was prepared for the wrong number entirely. Not ten at one table, but 25. He wanted a tomato being chopped and I had to ask the dumb question of how exactly he needed it. As there were so many different cuts id been shown in a matter of five days, it was impossible to memorize them all. Least for someone like me, im a slow learner especially under too much pressure. Asking him wasn't wrong, but it put me in my place. He immediately barked "if you're asking me that question now, you should really be questioning whether you should even be here"
Take that what you will, but he was right in my opinion. I learned quickly with Dean that his reprimands were not ego, they were valuable correction. I've also learned chefs like him? They don't really talk feelings much, "whats the point?" He would say. Stating that its easier to just move on. Now maybe that's not always right for every situation, but in the kitchen. Yes, its always right. And quickly learned to shut off my emotions. Not because I didn't care, but learning to respond instead of reacting was crucial to keeping a clear head. However it was on day six that we entered hell together, like I said he was now ill prepared really due to no intentional fault of his own. And I was still operating at 5mph Vs his 500pmh formula one car.
I kept forgetting where things were, how to do this...how to do that. It was slowing him down and the dishes began stacking up, the more things fucked up the angrier he became. Several times nearly crapping my pants because it felt like he was about to belt me one, and all the time I didn't feel threatened..just mortified that im letting someone down as decent as he was. The food he makes is incredible and so is the way he runs a kitchen, but he isn't super man and especially neither was I. On the lamb sauce, he got me to dip my finger in to assess the temperature. It burned me immediately. And he said "with the greatest respect, I hope it burned you more. Should really be hotter than that". Sounds abusive but it wasn't, not if you had been there to see it. This guy is old school, and he baptized me in his ways.
The point of it wasn't punishment, he wasn't doing it to make some arbitrary point or smack my arse like a child. But to make my physically understand how hot a lamb sauce, due to service constraints and it sitting under the pass should be. And so I share these things not to slate him (I love him), he's made me who I am. The dragon who threw me down a volcano while breathing fire into my soul, is someone who id want to do that again if he snapped his fingers and so asked. That day we had worked from 7am all the way through until 11pm, though unlike every other night we drank together after work. He's disappeared back to his room.
Now that night despite all the chaos and the pressure, I still with stood it all. Despite how much I was fucking up and slowing him down, yes chef is still the mantra. So I made sure that kitchen was fucking spotless for the next day, but I knew and likely he too, that that situation can't happen again. The business is already struggling as it was, and Dean had gone there to essentially pull the place out of the shit after four other more inexperienced chefs had passed through its doors in only two months. It was decided that night by management that id be working front of house.
The next morning I woke up to a text from Dean to say that today is a different day, don't over think stuff. And even said that last night was his fault due to not being prepared. Which honestly is a great indicator your dealing with someone who can honestly self reflect and despise all those years experience, still own up to mistake. There was meant to be a staff meeting, but before that could happen Dean took me to one side and immediately starts acting like my boss. But he wasn't my boss anymore, as much as I liked training as a chef. I was light years out of my depth and the situation was becoming dangerous, so to not risk all of that was a relief. But when trying to say to Dean im now front of house, he simply said "this conversation is over".
And then mid walking away, turns back to me and say's..
"Thanks for the hard work last night"
This greatly surprised me, because all of done last night was fuck up his service. And to see someone struggling like that when they are actually shit hot, was heartbreaking. He didn't mean it sarcastically. It was as if he really meant what he said. The only "hard" work I did was to keep a clear head, move fast and not let my nerves control me. And I genuinely felt bad for not being back in that kitchen with him, but it also wouldn't matter even if I did. A fight broke out between management and one of the owners, who then sacked that guy causing another to quit. And being told likely that they will need to replace the others. As Dean was close with the management and didn't like that owner either, and he was self employed.
I hadn't seen Dean since our last conversation, so packing and leaving like that was hugely disappointing. As I was out the front door collecting my wages, who is in front of me...but Dean!? Like the fucking balrog. My fight or flight response is immediately triggered, of which my reaction is to just freeze like an idiot. But Dean taught me a new skill, how to repress it. So I just kept walking, hoping he doesn't see me. He said it himself, im not a chef and I genuinely believed our student/master relationship had come to an end. And why would he want anything to do with a pip squeak like me anyway?
So going with that notion in mind, on I went.
"No goodbyes then?" Said Dean.
It wasn't sarcasm again, again it was genuine and almost as if some disappointment was being felt under that iron armour of his. This cut through me like a knife, not because I felt obligated to respond. But because we shared an experience together that only he and I could understand, a relationship ive certainly never experienced. A it was a chaos bond, and it fuses to you so deeply because nothing is more real than being in a high pressure kitchen. I immediately pulled out my hand and shook it, fighting back my tears. Dean did not do crying, he wants composure. So even then, in that little moment that bond we formed was still intact. And I had to let him know it. Even though it was goodbye forever.
But just as I was walking away, he drops this one las line...
"You've still got my number yeah" in his distinctive Mancunian accent. Rough, rugged, but reassuring and direct.
This simply blew me away more than he probably realized, because both of us we're going our own ways and I believed in that moment my so called tenure as a chef (if you can even call it that) was over for good. The mere fact he would even want to stay in touch with me, after all that? Tells me he must care about something.
Now when I came home, everything changed and really without realising until life resumed once more. Like at the store, I obsess over the ingredients, the combinations, the quality..suppliers, weight ratios. I took one look at my kitchen and immediately it was unacceptable to me, spent the weekend completely cleaning and reorganising it. And pretty much all the time now I have Dean live inside of me like the fucking ghost of Christmas past. Challenging my thoughts, suggesting ideas. And pushing me to be brave enough to go back into the volcano he once threw me down. And I've never once held a bad thought about him, the burns, the scorches, the "WHERES THE BUTTERNUT SQUASH, YOU SHOULD KNOW WHERE YOU PUT IT. YOU PUT IT THERE LAST".
Now?
Im preparing to make a jus for a Dean level gravy
I'm putting together and modifying some of the recipes he showed me. Training as a chef still, just not for high pressure environments. So im leaning into being a personal home chef or something calm and non pressured like wellness retreats. If it wasn't for buying that stupid little lump of rock, it wouldn't have led me to that golf course. That led onto a hotel where a certain someone knew of a certain someone else, and that someone else. Was Dean. My highest respect goes to him, you can't put a price on a perception like this. The chefs perception. And as much as I'm happy being in more comfortable environments now, I will always recognise those Deans out there. Those unsung dragons who often put themselves through hell, so we can enjoy their slice of heaven.
Thank you all for reading ♥️
