How Being a Line Cook Saved My Ego

I used to be afraid of ovens. Like many college students, I lived off rice, pasta, and scrambled eggs. Occasionally, I would bake chickpeas (if I was feeling really fancy), but I would ask one of my roommates to pull the sheet tray from the oven for me. I’ve never considered myself a particularly fearful person, but when it came to the kitchen, I was hopeless. Any sort of sizzling or popping noise had me diving into the living room or hiding behind the fridge like a feral cat.

This summer, I was hired as a line cook at a high-end restaurant. If you’re wondering how this happened, well, so am I.

Of course, I was terrible at it for the first two weeks or so. I didn’t know how to hold a knife, I didn’t know my way around a kitchen, and along with a million other shortcomings, there was nothing that could have prepared me for the other line cooks and chefs. Some were friendly. Some were terrifying. Some were somewhere in between. Almost all of them had some sort of substance abuse problem. Many of them became some of my favorite people in the world.

Fast forward a few weeks and I’m trying to figure out how to train some of the new people that my boss hired, talking about where we keep the hotel pans while my brain is screaming, why the hell are they having me do this? Again, I still don’t know.

The only thing I really know is that this whole experience as a line cook was like heroin for my ego. By the time I left the kitchen, I was telling everyone what to do while still taking care of my own station (I was also everyone’s favorite, even if not all of them will admit it). I’ve always struggled with feelings of incompetence, even in my own field. Walking into a place that had only been a source of fear and failure, then walking out feeling capable and confident, made me feel powerful. Untouchable. Admittedly, I also became a lot meaner while working in the kitchen. I tried being kind — it got me nowhere. When I tried being aggressive and bitchy, it got me respect.

Being back on my college campus, I’ve noticed that I walk a little differently. In public spaces, I no longer wonder if I look okay or if my friends actually like me. I haven’t really been worrying about those things anymore.

This feels like something to celebrate, but I can’t help feeling like somebody plucked something out of my brain. Maybe it wasn’t a good part of my brain, but it was mine. Besides, is this newfound confidence worth it, when kindness no longer seems to be a priority for me?

I’m not sure if being a line cook really saved my ego or ruined my personality (it could be both, or neither), but at least I know how to hold a knife and make a decent meal.