No Money. No Problems.

Without fail, whenever I tell people that I’m a cook I hear any combination of “oooh”/”ahhh” from whoever I’ve just broken the news to. They’re excited, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in their heads. They’re referring to everything they’ve learned from the Food Network, imagining exquisite meals that I’ve made for decadent people in expensive places. Their initial analysis is, for the most part, accurate. Though I do think that they think that this somehow makes me exquisite, decadent, and expensive by association. Nothing could be further from the truth.

The truth is, we aren’t millionaires. Nor are we fancy. We rent instead of owning, ride the bus, and wear the same jeans four days in a row. We return our empty bottles and cans, but not for the environment. Instead we do it for the dollars and cents, which we inevitably turn into full versions of whatever it was that we had emptied in the first place. I’ve been cooking for about six years, and I know full well that this much time spent in another trade would leave me with pockets approximately three times more full than they are now. So why, in spite of this knowledge, do I choose to carry on?

The reasons for going back day after day and not trading my knives for wrenches are quite simple really. Basically, it’s fucking fun. Each night provides enough laughs to fill a thousand ears. Whether it’s about me falling down the stairs while carrying a crazy amount of expensive chocolate, or about the way our British import says everything, we’re laughing almost all the time.  While we’re taking the piss out of each other, we’re getting things done. These things, while delicious, are often challenging and provide the kind of job diversity that most people crave. After stepping onto my third station in as many months, I certainly can’t complain about a lack of opportunities to learn new things; they’re basically being forced into my caffeinated brain while I continue to be surprised by its capacity. Essentially, we’re a masochistic bunch. Every one of us is in love with the unique brand of punishment provided by a busy night in a busy kitchen. Each night to help us cope we’re provided with some free food and a free beer; medicine disguised as perks.

So what if by some bizarre twist of fate, the world started paying the cooks not just a living wage, but a thriving wage? My instincts tell me that it wouldn’t be pretty, so it’s probably best to keep that “save the line cooks” campaign in your back pocket for now. A sudden influx of cash would conversely rob us of something that we enjoy complaining about. We’re like the Irish: we LOVE plight, and we need that chip on our shoulder like thumbs on our hands. A doubling of our average wage would put us in plumber territory, and such a parity could result in a serious plumber shortage. They’d all be cooks, making you soup instead of plunging the stew that’s clogging your sink. If you’re like me, you prefer not to do your own plumbing.

Lastly, this kind of change would lead to a full scale war between cooks and servers. You see, the servers have a pretty good deal:  they show up later, and leave earlier with pockets filled with tips. During a particularly slow spell at a restaurant that I worked at, I had the unfortunate experience of hearing a server complain about how they were making “cook’s money”. The disgust in their voice was priceless. Basically, I don’t think their team would be okay with a reversal of the terms. If equality was met with that kind of disdain, I can’t imagine what they would do with the shorter end of the stick. I can see it turning into a feeble weapon, and that kind of violence doesn’t have a place between the front and back. Leave it in the kitchen, where it can and will be laughed at.

I used to worry about money a lot. As people, we’re constantly bombarded with messages telling us that we won’t be happy unless we have plenty of it, so I think it’s natural to sweat about it from time to time. Over the past few years, I’ve planned several escapes to other more lucrative vocations, but never followed through with them. It takes a second to dream up such a scheme, but any further thought generally leads to a shaking of one’s head. If I really needed money, clearly I wouldn’t have been cooking as long as I have. There are plenty of reasons to choose cooking as a career path, but wealth is not among them.  Many professions offer only money, and for me that just isn’t enough. I need the challenge, the humour, and the torture that only kitchens can provide. I’m sick, but don’t worry. I’ll be fine.

Your Friendly Neighbourhood Line Cook ~ Jacob Galbraith