Eat, Drink, and be married to it.

I know I compare being a bartender to being a chef pretty often. 

I do this because they are similar in many ways-in methodology especially. Processes being what they are, it's very easy to strike that comparison. Especially when we talk about the actual art of the bar. 

Two bartenders behind a three-deep bar on any given Saturday night is like a modern dance performance.
Swoosh, swish, behind you, corner, twirl, duck, jump back, hop, and sometimes-dive. You see feats of strength and lifting empty kegs and ice buckets like a human body-silhouetted against the back bar mirror reflection. You see bottles being balanced (NOT like flair) but like graceful movement in watching the tall stream fall from a pour to a metal cup or seeing it splash into the bottom like a raindrop on a lake of Belvedere. Slow motion. Poetry. Dance. 

She's even wearing a leotard. 

The pass in a professional kitchen is the EXACT same kind of poetry. The difference is you don't see it because it is hidden from you. The other difference is use of vernacular.
The word fuck-specifically, is a prerequisite for the job.
Ask any chef.
They will answer honestly, and usually with an enthusiastic "fuck yeah it is."

Look similar, right? Only-no audience.

Front of house has to be a little more selective with the language-dependent on the kind of place you are working in. But for the most part-it's a different paradigm as to the way you handle yourself and your customer base because you work for tips. 

That said-the point of this post. Little to do with a teaching moment, and a lot more to do with bar "philosophy" and tandem commonalities between the two sides of a restaurant. Front and back. Yin and yang. 

Because I have literally worked in every position of food service-from dishwasher to owner I have seen this all firsthand, worked it all firsthand, and lived it all-FIRSTHAND. 

The similarities to a chef and a bartender are uncanny. 

The existential dread, the vampirism, the down and dirty lifestyle, the dark-bordering on sick sense of humor, the work ethic, the dim soul sucking angst, and the dysfunction is all covered in spades by both chef, and tender-alike. 

"Fuck. I need a drink."

You are raising your brow. I get it. It's just confusing. You are asking yourself-why would anyone want this life? Why would anyone want to live like this? Why would anyone want to put themselves through this? 

Well, there's an answer. There are requirements, and of these requirements you pretty much have to have all of to stick to it-or really choose it. It's not for everyone. 

1. Love and pride of food. 

2. Love and pride of alcohol. 

3. See numbers 1-2

Chefs and bartenders are artists. Creative souls. They care about what you eat and drink and how you eat and drink it. They will mock you mercilessly for it and couldn't care less what you think. It's a very rare form of purism and it lives in the hearts of restaurant folk. 

But, it's just all about the love. 

The love of watching someone put a forkful of triple layer chocolate cake with a raspberry caramel sauce in their mouth and seeing that face they make. Eyes wide, then lowered-feeling that cacao-induced heroin high.

This shit is fire, yo.

Or the look of appreciation when that curmudgeon finally orders that "fancified craft beer crap" instead of their regular Pabst Draught, and they like it. 

The art of a layered cocktail and the beauty of each move.

Attention to the deets

The time and effort spent on a great reduction and putting together a plate with every detail covered down to the microgreen garnish.

Food, as artistic expression

When the chef looks out the galley window and sees the look-the one the server gets when he or she sets it in front of the patron. That OOH. That AH. That WOW. 

Okay, let's not go overboard here-she probably got a new car, not a plate of food-but this was the best I could find.

Anyway, appreciation of all of these things stokes the fire in our collective bellies. It makes a hard man as soft as yesterday's milkshake. 
We are insecure at heart. 

Chefs and tenders alike all feed from that rare pat on the back, although we'd both tell you that isn't true, and say something vulgar if you even suggested it. 

Something similar to the look you'd get

Egos run this game, and narcissism is rampant.

We like it that way.
Our complexities make us awesome.
In our own minds, anyway. 

But that love-it makes the heartache worth it. Like any other kind of love, it's always worth it, even if you are risking life, limb and sanity-it's always worth it. 

Most people don't spend their lives alone because they are worried about getting hurt by love. They take breaks, sure. But very few actually fully give up on it. Eventually they find the right one and settle in. Chefs and tenders-we usually never find that in restaurant work, and we will always be searching for the big love.
But in the meantime, we stay in the dysfunction-because we are gluttons for punishment, and because-what else is there in life other than love, amiright? 

You HAVE TO love it. And if you don't, well...you leave the dysfunction and find a different brand of dysfunction elsewhere and in another career choice. 
But, the way I have always seen it is-"I didn't choose this life, this life chose me." 
I was good at it, so I stayed. 

Secretly however, that person loved it as much as it loved him or her. They got the hug and was strung along on that premise-for life. 

Self-flagellation at its finest. But you love the pain. 

There is nothing wrong with being passionate about what you do, and that is true in any profession. But in the service industry-that's literally ALL IT IS. 

Love. Fueled by passion. 

The pay sucks unless you become a celebrity, there are no benefits-literally-none, unless you happen to be corporate and management. The hours are brutal, there's a lot more criticism than appreciation. It's not considered noble, and it is thankless. 
But we go back-like we have Stockholm Syndrome-every single time. 

Hit me again, Ike! And this time, put some stank on it!

Tina didn't find that funny. Told you we were sick.

Basically, if this is what you choose-like anything else in life be prepared to have it in your blood like so many bad drugs and forget about rehab. You'll always come back to Dr. Feelgood-he's gonna make you feel-alright. 

Don't worry about it either way-family meal is this evening is deconstructed Beef Wellington with Sous Vide Tenderloin in a Mushroom Puff Cage and a Port Reduction with Lion’s Mane Duxelles. And the wine pairing is a 2012 Chateau Latour Paulliac. The tender is drooling as he his cutting the seal and the chef is smiling pedantically. 

Eat up, and feel the love. 

Yin and Yang for all. 

"I worked in a restaurant where the house specialty was mutton chops and good wine. The entire place smelled like fat and grapes. It's one of the reasons chefs and bartenders hang with each other-who else will love our smells?"

-Anthony Bourdain

Eat, drink, and be married for better or for worse, 

T