June 1985: Hail to the Chef

 

Go look in your kitchen. See? Cooking is honorable. It’s a class act.


                           Francesco Faconti

Late in 1971 when I signed on as editor of this magazine that was not the case. As a matter of fact, in a piece I wrote about the upcoming Culinary Olympics I noted that our impression of the cook was a lot like the stereotype: he (no female cooks back then) was little more than a toothpick-sucking Neanderthal, slinging hash in a greasy spoon, a pack of Camels rolled up in the sleeve of his t-shirt. That was the cook 15 years ago (reasonable facsimile, right). No more: gone for good is that image. Things have changed dramatically, affecting every job from entry level to owner. Herewith, proof:

Today, from the teenager frying formula fries at Wendy’s to the high priest (or priestess) of culinary art fixing fancy fodder at, say, The Forge, cooks get respect. Some we respect more than others. Some, as a matter of fact, demand respect and get it. The kid making breakfast at Burger King doesn’t get the media attention that Zack Bruell gets, but, nonetheless, she has earned—as has Zack—the adulation of her peers. It doesn’t matter whether it’s griddlecakes or garde manger, it’s the execution that counts.

At one time I thought supercooks were way short of celebrity. Now, I’m not so sure. I think they’re close; some, even beyond. I’ve noted that in gossip columns (the literate and believable ones), some chefs share the limelight with moguls, movie stars and models. Hard to believe? Picture this: you are working the door of an exclusive disco. People jam the entrance, shoving, kicking, hollering for your attention, convinced they are au courant enough to get your nod to enter. In the crowd you spy Joan Rivers and Wolfgang Puck. Who gets the nod? Of course. One of these days, he’s going to grace the cover of People magazine. I ask you, what better credential of celebrity is there?

Even the Armed Forces has gotten into the act. The other day, while driving about, up to my ears in Spring, I spotted a recruitment billboard for the U.S. Navy. It brought a smile to my face and the idea for this column.

You do remember the stereotype of the Navy recruit, don’t you—personified mindlessly and endlessly in dozens of Hollywood movies? You joined the Navy and for the rest of your enlistment you swabbed decks. No more. The Navy has polished its brass. Today, you join the Navy and learn high-tech, super-tech: computers, radar, electronics—scopes and scanners, radios and recipes. Recipes? But, of course.


Syda Productions                                                   

Once more: go look in your kitchen. See how respectable cooking is? See how refined an art it is? All is hunky-dory in the kitchen. See how the glow of it and its professionalism spills over into and through the rest of your place, touching the lives of everyone including your guests. Is there anyone who doesn’t love the chef?
None of this has been lost on the Navy. The exact wording of the billboard escapes me, but its gist—gisted beneath a snappy photograph of a smiling (but serious and clean-shaven) recruit dressed in the Navy’s version of cook’s whites—goes something like this: “He’s not just Navy, he’s a chef.” All of sudden, working the kitchen in the Armed Forces has become . . .well, how about, has become vital; as vital as learning about missile guidance systems. Long ago, the saying was that “an Army marches on its stomach.” Today not much has changed, except that today the food that the Army and the Navy eats must be and is (I know: I was there once) edible and palatable.

What’s going on here? If the Navy has figured it out, can the rest of us be far behind? Jobs in foodservice, long bad-mouthed as lacking sophistication or a learning curve, have taken on an aura of respectability. What do you know: foodservice is a desirable profession; there are opportunities for advancement and growth. Isn’t it amazing: you can actually make a career for yourself in foodservice. Check the records: ample proof exists that busboys do grow up to become food and beverage managers; food and beverage managers do grow up to become general managers. The list of ascendency goes onward and upward. Minimum wage does become a pot of gold.

If all of this is true, why is it you are not spending any time with your employees at weekly meetings drumming all of this into their hearts and minds? Why are you not making them aware of the challenges, the opportunities? Why are you letting them leave you for so-called “glamorous” jobs in other industries? What do you mean, you don’t conduct weekly meetings. What are we? Suicidal? Is it that you love turnover?

Speaking of which, we know, because we never stop hearing about it, that the industry suffers an intolerably high rate of turnover. The bad news? Between now and 1995 we’ll need more than 1.2 million people to fill jobs as waiters and waitresses, food preparation in fast food restaurants, kitchen helpers, restaurant cooks, and short-order cooks in specialty and fast food restaurants. Where are we going to find these people? If we can’t hang onto the ones we already have, where are we going to find 1.2 million more? We let employees leave us whom we’ve trained at a cost of thousands of dollars; and it doesn’t seem to bother us.

But it will. As the industry expands and the demand increases for personnel so will the competition for the best. Those of us who wind up with the best will pay them a decent wage, will treat them like human beings, welcome them into an environment that assures them their self-respect and surrounds them with ample opportunities to apply their creativity. To the losers will go the dregs of the chronically unemployed . . . and a consequent retrogression to those days years ago when the cook as beer-bellied slob symbolized the most exalted position someone in foodservice could ever hope to attain.

One more time: go look in your kitchen. See how hard your chef is working? See how she smiles (see photo, above left)? This is the first time you’ve seen her do that. She’s smiling because tomorrow she plans to leave you for another job in another restaurant where, she knows, the owner will overwhelm her with care, compassion, and respect.