I Ain't No Gisele

My room mate doesn’t love her job. But then again, do most people my age, or any age do? I don’t think I can give a resounding answer either way, but the stereotype of “hating” your entry-level job at 23, goes hand-in-hand with taking the 6 train and having happy-hour Thursdays in crowded mid-town bar.

I’m an odd ball, always have been. I get up most days before the sun, take the odd numbered and/or lettered trains to areas foreign to most upper middle class white bankers my age, and work my butt off, on my feet, all day. And I love it.

The biggest misconception about being a chef (or training to be one) is that it’s glamorous. There is no doubt that the squeaky-clean images on food network have promoted this notion, but more than that, food is something almost everyone loves. Loves to love, AND loves to hate. It’s the story of our nation’s obsession with everything from fad diets, food trends, and ideals that links our very society. But the actual craft of cooking is intense, and never mastered, just continually learned.

So between the Rachael Rays and the Ina Gartens of the world, there’s a vast divide within the food world. Everyone from the delivery guys, to the men who wash dishes, serve food, and prepare 4 star meals are part of this underground system of food workers. And they all work hard. Everyday. Everyday someone and everyone needs to eat.

Forget happy hours, forget sleep, forget dates, and forget holidays. Your new family is your food family. And if you’re lucky enough to love working it, and/or who you’re with, it doesn’t matter how unglamorous the job gets.

Case in point. On Thursday night The Dinner Belle catered an event to launch the newly Pop: The Genius of Andy Warhol, by a New York social club in the home of famous fashion designer. The host lived in a Soho loft that was bigger than my house. Large scale Warhols hung on every wall, in an awe inspiring, take-off-your-pants kind of way. Just as Andy would have liked.

The party drew socialites, artists, writers, celebrities, and press. It was beautiful. Want to know where I was? Wearing an apron and pulling over 200 crab appetizers out of the oven until 11 PM at night for the rich and fabulous of New York’s downtown social scene. And I loved it.

It wasn’t glamorous. I wasn’t in any pictures, didn’t sip any cocktails, and sure as heck didn’t get to mingle with the tens of skinny beautiful women in sparkly cocktail dresses and Louboutin shoes. Nope, sure not. In the kitchen, working, and cooking BUT watching and listening.

I can’t tell you that what one person does for a living is more or less justified, but I can say this. If you’re lucky enough to find something that makes you tick, work at it. Keep going, and when you get tired (it happens, believe me I was “cooked” at 11 PM that night after being up since 5 AM) keep going.

And when you realize that you have to miss Thanksgiving for events and school, smile, don’t be bitter. Be happy that your friends and family are enjoying the joys of food on the holiday … and so are you in reality, just in a different way.