For the past five summers, my mornings, days, and nights have been spent working with grills, potatoes, steaks, incompetent waiters and waitresses, and everything else that comes with commercial kitchens. From learning to cut my first potato in the back of Plank’s Tavern to now working as a sous chef at the most exclusive golf club in Southwest Michigan, I have earned my own as a member of the chef community in my hometown. What really brought me to where I am today was my ability to learn the code and language of a kitchen at a quick pace. Whether it be “86”, confit, cows in the field, or having a basic understanding of French kitchen vocabulary, each kitchen had the base of commands; however, each kitchen had their own dialect too just like regional languages around the world.
On the bottom left of my “Sponsors of Literacy” is one name that changed my life: Tim Henderson, my first Exec. Chef. Tim became my second father, as I spent more time cutting potatoes into fries and picking pin-bones our of fresh smoked whitefish than I did at home. Tim not only taught me the difference between 14 different knives, but he taught me how to communicate like a chef and swear like a chef. I was in awe of how many “shits” and “fucks” could be placed through a sentence and still have it be grammatically correct–but this was part of the language because as soon as the profanity stopped, the entire kitchen shifted in a driven, determined crew. These oral cues were important to catch. Individuals could be fired should they not understand when the jokes stop and the work starts, as surviving in the industry without understanding how to communicate is extremely difficult. I’m forever grateful towards Tim for teaching me the way of a Kitchen, as this summer I’ll go back to Michigan and continue to use the skills he taught me on day one.
