Ruminations

I love being a cook. I love being in the capacity to effect even a small amount of difference in people lives. I know, it's a stupid job.

We're not curing cancer or inventing the longer-lasting light bulb, or anything like that. But I like to think that we can make a small difference. When a man wants to take his wife out to the nicest restaurant in town for an anniversary, he takes her to L'Espalier. When some guy wants to show his wife a good time on her birthday, he takes her to L'Espalier. These are usually rich guys who aren't exactly short on expendable income, so, let's face it, we're not exactly feeding the hungry. (I guess these people are actually hungry when they come in, but you know what I mean.)

I think it's a cool job. It's fun. I like it. But at what cost?I haven't seen my family in months. Christmas this year will be in Atlanta, or so they tell me. Thanksgiving will be in Cedar Hill, and they'll all be there. Family? Ha. I thank God that mine are so understanding. I just hope my grandparents will be around long enough for me to spend some more time with them before they are gone. But with my job, I'm not so sure.

Social life? Not even a consideration. It's not that I don't have time off, I do...usually tuesday and wednesday night. When my friends are out having a good time on Friday, I'm at work. After work, I'm thinking about Saturday. Saturday? Forget it, I'm booked until Sunday. The rest of the world is out having a good time, you know, having a life. When I'm finally off work, they are in the middle of the week.

Girlfriend? Not a chance. Even if I had the time to meet someone I don't have the money. (Oh yeah, "my love don't cost a thing." Thanks, J-Lo, but you clearly haven't been around the singles scene in Boston. If I had a nickle for everytime I have been asked what kind of car I drive, I would not be cooking for a living. [And yes, they really ask that.] Besides, anyone who has ever tried to maintain a girlfriend knows that this is not a cheap proposition. I'm certainly not closing the door on anything, but I'm a long way from finding a girl that is understanding enough to accept my situation as-is.)

Speaking of girlfriends, cooking kind of screws you up in that regard as well. There is a certain mindset that begins to permeate your life: perfection. In the kitchen, only perfection is remotely acceptable. It becomes your obsession. You start to expect it in everything. It becomes your mantra in life; even your dating life. After a while it doesn't matter who she is. She's not pretty enough. She's not smart enough. She's not personable enough. There's always an excuse. (Lately, she just lives too far away.)

I love cooking, but is it worth livng a life of poverty and loneliness?

But about once a week we get a table that really does make me think that my job is worthwhile. We had one Sunday.

I don't know who this guy was, or what he did for a living, or even if he was a nice guy. But he might be my hero.

What I do know about him is that he had sweaty palms. He didn't check his coat at the door, and he ordered the Chef's Tasting menu, the most expensive menu option at an already very expensive restaurant (that he didn't look like he could really afford). Later that night, outside the steps of L'Espalier, in the shadow of the Prudential Center in the Back Bay of Boston, he knelt down on one knee, took a small box out of his pocket, and asked the young lady he shared dinner with if she would be so kind as to be his wife. She lowered her eyelids, bowed her head, covered her face with her hands, and knelt down beside him. The two of them then embraced within her tearful acceptance.

I may not have had very much to do with it, but I hope they had a kick ass meal. They deserve it. They made my life make sense again.