I read a lot of food content on the internet. I read blogs, recipes, other people’s strings; I look at pictures. I was reading Michael Laiskonis' blog today and the poetic nature of being first in the kitchen struck me. I, too, love being the first person in the kitchen and when I was on second shift I reveled in the fact I was last out.
I love the smell of the first batch of bread coming out of the oven, yeasty, and buttery smelling. The smell of the first batch of cookies: caramelized sugar, butter, toasted flour and chocolate. I like the empty space. The tables are washed down, everything is put away, and the floors are clean. I love the quiet and the fact that if I want I can totally rock out and shake my booty and sing along to crazy songs while putting together a restaurant order. I love the warmth of the ovens that are perpetually running and the clinks and clanks of the ovens I turn on to start the day.
Regardless of the fact that there are some incredibly undesirable parts of my job, what remains when the irritation is gone is the desire to work hard, to make it mine, to strive to be better (even in that means I have to teach myself and push myself harder). I love what I do and what I can create. The smiles it brings to others, the joy, and the fellowship that often accompanies the products I make. It is the celebrations of life that surround good food and company. Sometimes I need the reminder just to keep going.