The world of food service is a complex one. Within this field of employment there are a remarkable variety of human beings slaving away in hot kitchens and crowded pub dining rooms. You have the cooks, baristas, wait staff, bartenders, dishwashers, managers, and of course, the boss.
Some are passing through – aspiring actors and hungry poets waiting tables to pay the bills on their way to stardom – and then there are those who are in it for life, graduates of prestigious culinary arts institutes who intend to spend their lives hunched over a boiling pot of stock. Of course, there are many in between who are in it for fun, for money or for some other masochistic reason.
I have been working in kitchens since I was 15. I started out making sandwiches at a deli in my hometown, and selling my homemade cookies for a dollar here and there. Since I moved to Amherst five years ago, I have worked in more kitchens than I care to recall, from fine dining to family style, and although I can’t say I have loved every minute of it, I will admit that the experiences have been invaluable. I like being a cook.
I currently find myself employed at a breakfast joint in town that feels a bit on the fancy side compared to the greasy diners that the college population gravitates naturally towards on hung over Sunday mornings. The food has a southwest theme to it, and the bar offers mimosas and three kinds of beer on tap to go with your eggs and bacon. I was a frequent patron of this eatery before I worked there, and I really do think that it is a good place to be.
Before this breakfast joint, where I have only been working for about two months, I worked at a restaurant just down the street, a swanky, expensive, farm-to-table establishment where fine dining meets the locavore movement. Every menu item is followed by the name of the farm that the ingredients came from. Prices are high but not astronomical. I was proud to work there. I had been a cook in many places before and dreamed of being a part of the culinary team at a place such as this: well known, dimly lit and expensive. I had completed a semester-long unpaid apprenticeship at a respected French restaurant in the center of town, built my resume and tried to learn as much as I could about fine dining. All of this I did so that I could make it to this place. It was exclusive, it was fancy and it made me feel damn proud of all the work I had done to earn the job.
The first few months there were magic. I felt like my opinion mattered. I felt like a contributor. The food was delicious, and at the end of every shift, they offered me whatever I wanted to eat and drink. I felt that I was being treated very well, but I began to notice that I was surrounded with a “higher” circle of Amherst society and with that, a fair amount of pretention from both patrons and fellow employees. I started to see how severe both the social and managerial hierarchies were in my workplace.
Hierarchies form naturally and very strongly in restaurants. The front and back of the house are separated and taught to hate one another. The head chef is always revered like some sort of deity, or dictator. New workers and young workers are expected to allow their seniors and superiors in managerial status to trample upon them. Being the new, untrusted one means doing the dirty jobs and taking the hazing.
When I left the fancy restaurant, it was not a smooth departure. Our ideas on how employees ought to be treated were somewhat different. When I moved on to the next restaurant, my current job, it was not so fancy, exclusive or expensive. But the decrease in the prices on the menu translated to a more grounded environment in the kitchen. Everyone is cross-trained and part of a team. The waitresses and the cooks are a bit more tolerant of one another, and the typical customers range from college kids to wealthy locals to farmers.
This is not to make the generalization that more expensive restaurants treat their workers with less respect. However, it is telling of a certain aspect of Amherst culture; there is wealth here, and when businesses market themselves only to the folks with thick wallets, it brings a certain air of exclusivity to the table, literally. There are places where certain sects of this town’s society feel unwelcome. Yes, the ingredients may cost more and the labor that went into constructing the formation on your plate may have been intense and grueling; the high price may actually be appropriate. However, the price a restaurant charges for vegetables and beef should not affect the attitude with which they go forward to feed the masses.
Marketing exclusively to a rich crowd, or treating employees as less than appreciated is no way to go about filling bellies. Working collectively is important. We are employed in restaurants because we have chosen to take part in the feeding ritual and have answered the calling to create and present nourishment to people as a way to make a living. Treating workers well means that they will care more about their jobs, and the greater cause they have dedicated their work to. When they care more, they will put more effort into their work. More effort and efficiency means that the food will be better, and when the food is good, the people will come to eat it.
Cassina Brown is a guest columnist and can be reached at [email protected].
