A Pirate's Life

As a kid, I thought traveling around the country solving mysteries out of a van was a viable career option. I mean, COME ON - new places to explore, new people to meet, helping the world out by ridding it of criminals?  It's basically the best job ever.  And no one to supervise you?  Ice cream for breakfast!  As a third grader, I was secure in the knowledge that I was actually going to get to do this, screw the kids who wanted to be president.

Sadly, the Scooby Gang did not accept my application and Jessica Fletcher is currently enjoying retirement.

I had back up plans, but it's harder to stowaway on a ship than you might think.

So I worked a lot of different jobs, hoping that one would stick and I would magically have a "career", which is apparently something adult people are supposed to have.  Some were awesome, some were awful, most were forgettable and did not inspire me to jump out of bed in the morning. 

I fell into cooking.  I was working an office job that I hated, contemplating suicide, and stress baking at home.  A friend pointed out I could do that professionally.  I laughed it off and continued circling the drain.   

When you do something you hate five out of seven days a week, you are not a pleasant person to be around.  Shocking, I know.  I was getting meaner and angrier as the days passed, but I couldn't figure out what to do.  And then I got pulled aside by the owner of the place, telling me to be nicer and I knew I couldn't.  So I gave notice.  It was entirely instinctual and reflexive; as much as I hated that job, I hadn't actually contemplated quitting.

To this day, that was the scariest and most liberating thing I've done.  The blind panic of 'wtf am I thinking - BILLS - cat kibble ain't cheap' cut with the euphoria of knowing the number of days I would ever have to walk through those doors was dwindling.

I thought about what my friend had said and ended up at the Giant Corporate Cooking School.  I'm not advocating for or against culinary school, much ink has been spilled over whether it's an awesome career advancement, or a giant waste of time and money.  For me it was a means to an end: it got me in the kitchen.

And I fucking love it.  

Because being a professional cook is sort of like being a pirate - from the tedium of the daily tasks (I have to make pizza dough again?!?) to the plundering of dinner services.  There's a lot of aggression, knives, and people who's personality traits and deficiencies could power the research for the DSM-6.  

Those are my people.  People who use fuck as a noun, verb, and adjective.  People who's appetites for everything - food, drink, drugs, experiences - is limitless.  People who should probably not be allowed things like knives and drugs.  

It's such a weirdly tight community.  You hate and love in equal measure, often at the same time, but in ten minutes you'll forget why, so it's okay.  

My last night in the kitchen was Sunday.  

I'm going to miss my pirates.