>>> This is the sequel to Chris Hill’s article: Dear Chefs (This is for you). I’m sorry. You waited up for me again last night. Work got the best of me and before I knew it, 10 o’clock was here.
We got our asses kicked, we got rocked, 3 hours straight, the normal Friday night. I just saw your call, and your texts. Shit. I’m sorry. I know what you are probably thinking, with my checkered past, but believe me when I tell you, I’m sorry. I’m hustling all night, not for me, but for you, and for us, for our family. Unfortunately, at times, I know you feel like my life as a chef gets in the way of that. I know it’s hard. Maybe you knew what you were getting into, maybe you didn’t. But, if we’ve gotten this far together, and you haven’t given up on us yet, maybe we can work things through. Keep reading, and I think, by the end you’ll appreciate me, what I do, and my love for you in ways you never thought possible. You see, I am trying to build something. Yes, I know, you are too. It’s what we’re all trying to do, build a life that’s meaningful and that matters. Every day seems like a tug of war, though. I’m trying my best to juggle the two things that mean the most to me: Our Life Together VS. My life in the Kitchen. They both make me feel alive. The kitchen is stressful though, goddamn it can be stressful. The hours are long and often thankless, leaving me thirsting for a few cocktails come quittin’ time. Unfortunately, that can be 10 PM, or it can be 2 AM, and when the crew wants me to meet them next door for a few, it’s hard to say no. Regardless, though, in a way similar as to with you, I’ve fallen madly in love with life in the kitchen, and in some of the most unexpected of ways.
Stop, please. I know what’s happening. I can see it, and I can feel it. I just don’t know how to stop it. My heart breaks with yours when I see resentment lurking behind those eyes I fell in love with not too long ago, because it seems I’ve chosen a career you’ll probably never fully understand. I get it. Your parents, they probably won’t understand, and neither will your co-workers and friends. That’s okay, but hopefully, by the time you finish reading this letter, you’ll be proud of me, your chef. The weekends, the late nights, the holidays, you find yourself alone a lot. We talk about kids, but I know you tell yourself, “I don’t want to raise a family alone”. I get that. There is no sidestepping around those challenges and if it’s not one thing, it’s something else, but if you think about it, that’s not just the chef life, that’s life, for all of us. Life is one big storm. We can either fight the rain, or we can learn to dance our way through it. The obstacles, they can stand in the way, but only if we let them. The problems, some of which have been exaggerated in your head, they are real, and can bring us down, but only if we let them. The hours, the shitty pay, the potentially debilitating work environment, they can destroy us, but only if we let them. The issues surrounding a life in the kitchen have been known to wreck families and destroy fortunes, and those things, they can happen to us, but why should we let them? You started falling in love with me, we had chemistry, and it “worked”. We enjoyed spending time together, I brought you flowers, cooked you dinner, rubbed your back after a long day at the office; you noticed the small things, and I enjoyed doing them for you. You, simultaneously, could see that I was falling in love with you, and there, trust started to emerge. We respected and appreciated each other, and as things got serious, communication laid the framework, allowing trust, as well as us, to blossom into something special.
But that’s not WHY you fell in love with me, that’s HOW you fell in love with me, and neither my career, nor yours should get in the way of that. Communication, it’s everything. It’s a two way street, but it usually takes listening more, talking less, and most importantly, paying attention to the things and people around us. It’s the first step towards building any relationship, intimate, working, or otherwise. In the kitchen, on a busy
