By Laura Libert, June 2008

I am mentally and physically exhausted. My shoulders slump from fatigue as I sit down to recall the past week and column ideas. Gainesville’s restaurant industry got its butt kicked again as hoards of college graduates bombarded their businesses in early May. It’s a very hectic weekend, and we consistently break records every year. As per usual, we boh (back of house) rats practically live on our stations.

When you work that hard for that long, it’s like a Zen experience, a practice in character building. Temperaments can be fragile. You begin to see how people deal with stress. At the end of a busier night, as Franz and I sluggishly cleaned up he turned to me and said, “Good job tonight. You know, not everyone can do what we do.” I think that’s true. It requires a tough and steady will. Due to the level of physical labor and stress of our work, a tendency arises to evaluate each other in terms of respect, a quality that can be worth as much as gold. How you build respect anyway?

When faced with a concept that denies me an automatic clear evaluation, I ask my more experienced coworkers, and we subsequently ponder and interpret. It seems you can basically break it down thusly: We appreciate work ethic; proof that one can finesse a situation with elbow grease. We appreciate those who work well under pressure. Despite my history as a slight complainer, after much blood, sweat and tears I’ve learn to harness my chi… most of the time.

Then there’s what separates a line cook from a chef. A good chef is not only a hard worker, but a person who mans up to do the jobs no one else wants to. For example, our kitchen manager cleaned up a pile of crap in a urinal on Mother’s Day. That’s hardcore.

Respect can follow you wherever you go in this town, and it can deplete as soon as you leave a familiar kitchen for a foreign one. Any newbie receives a series of subtle tests and observations to see if they’re worthy. A perfect example of making or breaking one’s future potential for respect: When Ed first started on pantry (salads and desserts and such), the guys were a bit skeptical as to whether he would fit in. After a shift of cautious cajoling, Jeremiah felt secure enough to brazenly claim he would take a shot of anything, including the option put forth — all the beef blood and seasoning that collected on one of the grill’s cooler trays during the night. Just before close, H. Carl giggled sinisterly as he drained it into a soufflé cup, calling Ed’s bluff. Having clearly overstepped his comfort boundaries, Ed stepped back nervously making excuses like, “Well, what’ll you give me if I do it?” Carl scoffed and replied, “Maybe a little respect!” before he downed the shot himself, wiped his chops and walked away.

Respect bleeds both ways, to foh (front of house) too. It seems like a server’s status according to the kitchen carries a heavy weight. However hard they work to help us out determines how much we respect them. Servers can be swell people, but if they don’t make an effort to run their trays, the kitchen staff still won’t respect them. And they can’t displace blame without dire consequences. I’ve heard that a server who held the kitchen accountable for their blunder soon found their tickets taking long time to fire.

  I guess since our job feels more challenging, by harnessing some power over the fate of the servers’ reputations, we in the kitchen get a sense of higher importance. Regardless, the restaurant workers who present themselves as team players and a hard workers with a set of balls and a heart of gold are guaranteed a nod of recognition from our side of the line. Or, as a short cut, they could just eat an entire scotch-bonnet pepper on a bet. (Mr. Valentine needed a large cup of milk after that).