This is the latest installment in a continuing series that documents my personal quest to become the host of my own cooking show. Since this is a relatively new “career” there are no vocational programs or community college courses to prepare me for it. From what I have seen, the two most import elements in securing such a position are passion for food and plain old dumb luck. Born with a passion for food, I set out to make my own luck.

Once more unto the breach…

My first night back in a commercial kitchen was memorable.  It is a Friday night and the restaurant is on about an hour wait. I am training and therefore have plenty of time to take in the sights and sounds of this old friend.  Tickets are ringing up, the expo (expeditor – person in charge of organizing food from the kitchen and sending it to the dining room; a mediator of the line) is barking out orders for a FOD (fish of the day) that is going on 23 minutes, servers are stealing each other’s salads in a failed attempt to salvage a tip at a table they have neglected, and the dish-washing unit is beeping because it needs more sanitizer. Heaven.

One of the servers comes into the kitchen with a Hawaiian Ribeye his customer has sent back. Here is the dialogue as it unfolded:

Chef: Why is she sending this steak back?

Server: She said it tastes sweet.

Chef: Of course it tastes sweet, it’s a Hawaiian Ribeye.

Server: She said she had no idea that it would taste sweet.

Chef: How did you describe the dish when she ordered it?

Server: I said it is an 18 ounce choice ribeye steak with Hawaiian flavors.

Chef: What are Hawaiian flavors?

Server: Uh . . .

Chef: What do you think we do, shave a live Hawaiian over the steak when it is done? It is an 18 ounce choice ribeye steak marinated in teriyaki sauce, honey, and pineapple juice, served with two slices of grilled organic pineapple! Because you didn’t take the time to learn your menu, I have to throw away a $37 steak!

The rest was unsuitable for print.

The restaurant is the last place that a boss can actually get angry at employee when they do something stupid that costs the company money. In an office setting, the chef would have been headed for anger management classes. In a kitchen, the chef is the law, the employee slams a few things down and mutters furiously about what a jerk the chef is. Three or four f-bombs later and all is forgotten.

As the months go by, I begin to feel my stride again. I am handling copious amounts of work on Friday nights as it is the Lenten season. Since many Catholics give up red meat during Lent, the pantry station is getting slammed with salads. It baffles me, if you have given up red meat for Lent, why are you going to a steakhouse for dinner?

New opportunities to learn keep popping up. For Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, we do away with the menu and replace it with a lavish buffet. Buffets are new to me so I get my first real taste of batch cooking. The owners start having chef’s specials – each chef gets to contribute. Mine is an appetizer – Southwestern Spring Rolls with smoked chicken, corn salsa, and cabbage served with a spicy ranch dipping sauce

The chance to cross-train arises, so it is time to pick a new position to learn. I have worked the fry station at many restaurants so it can wait. I can go toe-to-toe with anybody on a broiler so there is no challenge there, thus I begin to learn the sauté station. If a kitchen were a rock band, sauté is the lead singer, the one everybody is looking at. The guy who gets the chicks. My skills grow each day I work in this kitchen.

But, I am just a part-time chef, here. I work Friday and Saturday nights only. I still work at the call center for my primary income. I am only a few months away from my five-year anniversary and the guaranteed pension and fully vested mutual fund that comes with that. It would be foolish to leave before then.

Then came Hurricane Ivan.

Just 25 miles from slamming Mobile, the deadly hurricane inexplicably changed directions, hitting the other side of Mobile Bay and pummeling Pensacola, Florida. It is now known in these parts as “the last minute jog.” Though our neighbors in Baldwin County and in Florida were in dire straights, Mobile was up and running, sort of.

The call center was on the same power grid as a fire/rescue and police station, so we were open for business just 36 hours after the infamous jog. Not everyone was so lucky. For that reason the company had decided to feed all employees and their families with whatever food was in the cafeteria. The catering contract at our site was in limbo. The old company had left the day before the storm and the new company was not scheduled to come in until the next week. They needed someone to run the kitchen.

Do you want to know one of the reasons why I love the culinary arts? Look in the eyes of a six year old child that has just gone through one of the most destructive forces of nature on earth, is now living without electricity, air conditioning, plumbing, or any creature comforts for the first time in their life and then hand them a pancake with a smiley face made out of chocolate chips.

The day of my fifth year anniversary with the rental company I mail out a dozen copies of my restaurant management résumé. The first interview does not come for two months. It is with a sports bar chain famous for their waitresses’ skimpy outfits. The interview process goes well. I am very eager to escape my cubical nightmare and return to my passion but the salary offer is an insulting $23K a year. I have to think carefully before declining the offer. The thing that really killed the deal was that management was forbidden from dating the very attractive servers in the skimpy outfits. Seriously, if you are only going to pay your managers chicken scratch there has to be some fringe benefit.

A few more interviews and finally the offer comes that makes the career change worth the chance. A well known fern bar is looking for managers. The training lasts 10 weeks in either Kansas, Nebraska, or Florida and pays a much more attractive salary. Overnight my pay doubles and my life changes forever.