It all started with a dream of culinary stardom, of sautéing sous-vide and reduction sauces that would make the judges weep with envy. But, as it often does, reality had other plans.
I spent years honing my craft, flipping eggs and folding napkins with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker. I even convinced myself that I was destined for greatness, that my name would be etched in the annals of culinary history alongside the likes of Ferranad and Escoffier.
But, alas, the universe saw fit to dash my hopes and dreams on the rocky shores of a greasy kitchen floor. A single, ill-fated soufflé and it was all over. The kitchen staff, once my loyal cohorts in culinary crime, turned on me with the ferocity of a pack of wolves. The health inspectors, those unyielding guardians of the gastronomic arts, closed in for the kill.
When the Chef Had to Become a Consultant When the Chef was Forced to Sell His Car When the Chef Realized He Actually Had to Cook for People He Didn't Actually Like When the Chef Got Burnt By His Own Ignorance When the Chef was Forced to Admit that He was Really a Line Cook