First To Leave The Party

I was invited to a post-holiday holiday party last night.  In the restaurant industry, we are typically so busy before and during the holidays working AT events that if we have a party at all, it is not until mid-January.*  The party was for the restaurant that I left back in April.  It was a peaceful and polite departure, as I had simply found that it wasn’t the direction I wanted to head in for the long term.  Strangely, over the course of the year, I began to second guess my decision, wondering (even if just for a moment), where I would be had I stayed.

If I haven’t made this clear yet, it really was the best decision for me.  Sometimes continuing to work for the best in the industry doesn’t mean that we will be the most successful, the happiest, or the most fulfilled.  Like everyone, we cooks all have our niche, the uniqueness being what we are passionate about; otherwise all restaurants and the cooks in them would be the same.  Take the contestants on Top Chef, for example.  Each cook has a different set of memories and experiences to draw from and develop new dishes (often on the fly).  Rarely do we see two dishes that are quite similar, even when the same few ingredients are required across the board.  Years ago, when walking onto a line for the very first time, did these cooks understand at that moment that each and every day of cooking would mold their cooking skills, menu development, thought process, even neatness and organization? 

Cooks seek out line jobs for a number of reasons.  And many cooks, at different points in their careers, seek out different types of jobs with varying needs in mind (or not in mind).  Sometimes we have an ideal of working for a mentor, a leader in the industry with a food ideology.  Other times we simply need income.  As time passes, we often trade in low positions at high end places for high positions at... well, a variety of establishments.  Each experience, from the process used to check in new produce and manage inventory to the method preferred to blanch fava beans, will differ slightly (or, perhaps frighteningly, differ a lot), from one establishment to the next.  And, in turn, these experiences will influence how we teach others when the time comes.  I find that the influence comes from wanting to either model an inspiring experience or from wanting to get as far away from a terrible experience as possible.  Regardless of the line of work you are in, either way can be an effective teaching tool.

To get back on topic here, I left the restaurant eight months ago.  I am going back for a party, partly to visit with old work friends, but also to (and I really hate to admit it), gauge my culinary growth with that of my old colleagues. 

Steamy windows back lit by lights and moving shadows, I round the corner into a stiff evening breeze as I approach the entry.  Am I even going to recognize anyone here?  In previous years, our holiday party was a potluck, a patchwork of items consisting of everything from watery casseroles and store-bought cookies to fresh rolls and tart tatin.  It was obvious that some cooks, unable to drive the menu on a daily basis, were aiming to impress.  Others simply resented having to cook on their one day off.  On this night, I walk into a party in full swing, with a complete balanced and decorated buffet with every accompaniment imaginable.  Some guests are even dressed in coconut bras and grass skirts.  This party is organized. 

It is an interesting experience to suddenly be surrounded by those who stayed when I left.  I recognize many of the faces around me, and I can guess by the mannerisms of the new faces whom they may have replaced.  My old line partners update me on the promotions/hiring/firing over the course of the year.  One line cook who I helped train is now the Chef de Cuisine.  An apprentice who trained with me is now the Sous Chef.  I am mixed with happiness and envy for my old partners in battle, but there is this other feeling.  It is the one deep in my chest, seemingly protected by my rib cage, an ache that instantly fills my head with regret for jumping ship.  Could I have been the next Sous Chef?  Or better? 

It is not until today that I revisit that feeling.  Why did I suddenly feel again that this one restaurant holds my future in its hands?  I didn’t align with the menu, the food preparations, the ridiculous hours, or the painfully low pay that required me to spend part of my retirement plan just to pay rent on a studio apartment.  I didn’t get the lightness of step that tells me that I am on the right track.  My aching back and feet, the disconnection between the guests eating the food and the cooks preparing it, the lack of overall direction that I felt I needed to become a stronger cook.  How would getting a promotion make any of it better, I mean really better, not just a temporary boost? 

It wouldn’t. 

But what is the lesson here?  Is it that I shouldn’t second guess my decision because it was the right one to make, or that I shouldn’t look back and fret over it because I can’t change the past and just need to move forward?  Or both?  I have friends who have given their notice at a bistro, only for that place to win a James Beard Award a few months later.  Others who have stayed aboard at a sinking ship of a restaurant, forgoing their own paycheck and picking their drunk and crying owner/Chef out of the gutter to sleep on their floor.  Cooks who have quit over a dispute for one single night off to go see Radiohead, cooks hired because they staged on the day the lead saute cook walked out over a complaint about too rare halibut. 

Surely months of writing down my life goals and the steps to reach them, then taking the appropriate action - surely that is the right path.  Right?  Is my cause more legitimate than quitting to go to the Sasquatch Festival?  Does it matter?



*Thinking of the movie Coming To America, when invited to a party by a previous or current employer, be skeptical when they ask you to wear something that sounds uniform-like.  You might end up serving the meal or parking cars...