What chefs carry home when service is over

Stuart Taylor-Roberts, head chef at The Sportsman in Elm, near Wisbech, wrote for The Staff Canteen about the part of the job that doesn't appear on any rota: what chefs carry home once service is over.

Taking your chef jacket off is the easy part.

You've cleaned down, checked the fridges and worked out what needs doing tomorrow. There might still be a message to send or an order to finish, but eventually you leave. As far as the rota is concerned, you're done.

Your head can be less cooperative. On the way home, you're still going over the table that waited too long, the conversation you could have handled better or whether there's enough prepped for lunch. You can remember an awkward check in extraordinary detail while having absolutely no idea what your partner asked you to pick up.

You pull up outside and turn the engine off. Then you sit there for five minutes.

There's nothing you particularly need to do. You're home. You could go in. But nobody needs an answer in the car, and for a few minutes it's quite nice not to have one ready.

Then you get through the door.

Someone wants to tell you about their day. There's something from school that needs reading. A bill needs discussing. Nothing unreasonable. Just ordinary life, which hasn't stopped because you've been busy elsewhere. And somehow you've got to catch up.

No handover at home

I'm a working chef, a husband and a dad. Those parts of my life overlap whether I've got the energy for them to or not. There isn't a handover where someone explains what I've missed and gives me half an hour to get my head around it.

Sometimes the hardest part is answering an ordinary question without making it sound like one more demand.

Bringing the service mindset home

In a kitchen, being useful often means reacting quickly. You make a decision, give an answer and move something along. When there's a problem, you look for what needs doing. During service, there isn't always time to do much else.

That way of operating can follow you home. Someone starts telling you something and you're offering a solution before they've finished. You're trying to help. They're trying to have a conversation. Now you're both annoyed, and neither of you was looking for an argument.

It can be surprisingly difficult to sit with something you can't fix. At work, you'd find a substitute, change the plan or get another plate out. At home, someone might need to be upset for a while and have you stay in the conversation. You haven't finished just because you've suggested an answer.

Or you go the other way and barely speak. You've spent hours making decisions and being available to everyone around you. By the time you get home, even choosing something to watch feels like a decision too many.

"Anything" seems like an accommodating answer until someone has to make every choice around you.

From your side, you're trying to settle. From the other end of the sofa, you might look completely uninterested. Knowing why you're being short with someone doesn't make you particularly pleasant to sit next to, either.

And the people at home have had a day too.

Your partner might have been working, sorting the house or dealing with something you haven't heard about yet. They haven't spent the evening on standby, waiting to help you recover from service. You getting home might be the point when they hoped they could finally share some of what they've been carrying.

A child who wants your attention isn't adding another job to your list. They want to tell you something because you're their dad. You can know that and still struggle to listen. That's uncomfortable to admit when you've managed to give so much attention to people you barely know.

A customer got a careful explanation. A colleague got patience while they learned something new. Someone at home asked a simple question and got the last, scrappy bit of you.

There's guilt in that, but it can quickly turn into defensiveness. You really have worked hard. You're tired for a reason. You start explaining how many covers you did, as though the numbers might settle it.

But nobody asked you to prove you'd had a hard shift. They asked whether you'd heard them.

Living on different clocks

The hours complicate it further. Sometimes there's nobody awake when you get in. You've got plenty you could say, but the house has finished its day. By morning, everyone else is moving while you're still recovering from yours.

You share a home, but whole stretches of your lives happen out of each other's sight. Even catching up becomes something you have to find time for.

It isn't only difficult services that follow us home. A good shift can leave you wide awake. The team worked well and something you'd been trying to get right finally clicked. You want to talk about it, but explaining why a smooth Saturday night felt so good can take longer than the person listening has available. There's a lot of background before you reach the bit you're pleased about.

That can feel lonely, even when nobody has done anything wrong.

I like cooking. I like getting through a service properly, and I care about the people I work with. Some of what follows me home is worth bringing. I also want to hear about a day that had nothing to do with mine, without turning it into another problem to solve.

Some evenings that comes easily. Others, a small question catches you at the wrong moment and you hear your service voice come out in your own living room.

You apologise. You ask someone to repeat what they said because you weren't listening properly. They might be fed up with repeating it. You have to hear that too.

The shift has a finish time. Arriving home can take a bit longer.

Meanwhile, someone is halfway through telling you about their day.

You'd like to hear the rest.

About the author

Stuart Taylor-Roberts is head chef at The Sportsman in Elm, near Wisbech. His background spans professional kitchens, butchery and kitchen management. Writing as Chef Stu, he explores work, responsibility and ordinary adult life, drawing on his experience as a chef, husband and dad, and how earning a living fits alongside everything else that still needs doing.

(Photos: sgoldingdesigns)