You Don't Become a Chef by Cooking for Friends — or other myths that will slow you down

 


Everyone who's ever gotten a compliment on their roast has thought about it. Maybe I could do this professionally. And look, I get it. Cooking a beautiful meal for people you love is satisfying. It should be. But let me be straight with you — that has almost nothing to do with being a chef.

Here's the reality. In a professional kitchen, you're not cooking for five people who love you. You're cooking for a hundred people who don't know you, don't care about your process, and want their food hot, on time, and exactly the same as the table next to them ordered. Saturday night. Full cover. Every section firing at once. That's the job. Passion gets you through the door. Consistency keeps you employed.

Fast hands don't mean a sharp mind.

Another one I see constantly — cooks who move like they're on fire but leave chaos behind them. Mis-labelled containers. Prep done in the wrong order. A station that looks like a war zone by 7pm. Speed matters, but speed without thinking is just expensive noise. The best cooks I've worked with aren't always the fastest. They're the ones who think three steps ahead, set their station properly, and never have to scramble because they already saw it coming. Work smart. The speed follows.

Attitude is everything. And I mean everything.

If I had to pick one thing that separates the cooks who grow from the ones who don't — it's this. Not knife skills. Not palate. Attitude.

Early in my career I blamed a wrong ticket on someone else. A senior chef saw straight through it. Didn't say much. Didn't need to. That moment stayed with me longer than any dressing down would have.

I've also sent out a dish I hadn't tasted properly during a busy service. Under-seasoned. Table sent it back. There's no one else to look at in that moment. Just you and the plate.

And I've insisted on doing something my way, ignored advice from someone with more experience, and watched it fall apart exactly how they said it would.

Each time, I had a choice — make an excuse, or own it and move on. The chefs who make excuses plateau. The ones who own it get better. It really is that simple.

The kitchen will expose you eventually. It exposes everyone. The question is what you do when it does.

— The Chef

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