This Life Of Mine

This Life Of Mine



I often get asked: "Kevin, why do you continue to work in dingy kitchens, making a shitty wage, with no obvious perks?" Well, let me enlighten you non-industry people on the wonders of the culinary arts. I mean, I am a smart guy, there are many things I could do with my life, why do I keep toiling away in kitchen after kitchen, trying to scrape by on crappy wages ? The answer is simple: It's a lifestyle choice.


Fist of all, let me be blunt. I've had a few cocktails tonight. As I do most nights. What other job would allow me to have a few drinks while working, then a few more after I get off, then a few more after the pub closes? The answer: none, except ones that need a steady cook who shows up and has a basic understanding of culinary artistry and a feel of what the customers want. I happen to have that. There is nothing better than making a huge pot of Coq au Vin and selling it all to rubes who came in for a hamburger and fries! I feel like I'm making a difference. I'm pushing the idea that food can be an experience, not just a requirement for living. I can pound down a margarita or three, drop a cheap. simple recipe into the rotation, and look like a freakin' hero. Which, in a way, I guess I am. I introduce decent food to people that have no idea what they are missing...

Second, the lifestyle. I stay up late, drink too much, smoke too many Kools, flirt with women way too young, and generally have a great time, every day. My job isn't a grind, it's a joy. I do things that most 21 year old frat boys couldn't imagine. And I'm a a 31 year old burnout old cook! I take pride in my craft, for sure; but I also live a life that Bacchus himself would be jealous of. Nubile waitresses looking for acceptance? I've got your acceptance right here, little lady. Blowing rails off the bar at 3am while most of my friends are sleeping or feeding babies is a joy that most everyone I have ever met will never understand. We play while the real world sleeps. I make food for the elite, those that can afford to blow $50 on a bottle of wine, something I could never do. But once they go back to their soulless job, crunching numbers for the man, I'm at an all night joint, eating eggs and slamming shots of Jim Beam. So let them live their life, and I'll keep mine.

Lastly, It the joy of creation. I am a "Ouvrier" Literally, a "working man." I see what I create, I touch it with my hands, I smell it, I can see with my own eyes what I have done. I'm a practitioner of an art that goes back as far as time itself. I make the inedible, edible . I take raw materials and create something wonderful. How many people can say that? I don't crunch numbers, I make art. Even the humble hamburger is art. How many people can make a perfect hamburger? Not too damn many, that's for sure. I am an ouvrier, and proud of it!