08/18/2024
“I was forty-four years old when Kitchen Confidential hit—and if there was ever a lucky break or better timing, I don’t know about it. At forty-four, I was, as all cooks too long on the line must be, already in decline. You’re not getting any faster—or smarter—as a cook after age thirty-seven...
You’re basically done—or on your way to being done. Your brain knows it. Your body knows it . . . But pride persists.
What I do miss, I tell them, and will *always* miss, is that first pull on a cold beer after work. *That* is irreplaceable. Nothing approaches that. That’s the kind of satisfaction no bestseller can ever beat—no television show, no crowd, no nothing. That single moment after a long and very busy night, sitting down at the bar with your colleagues, wiping the sweat off your neck, taking a deep breath, with unspoken congratulations all around—and then that first sip of cold, cold beer. It tastes like victory. Happy waiters, flush with tips, are ringing out, the cooks look pleased with you and with each other, and you remind yourself that nothing came back the whole night.
Maybe it’s Curtis Mayfield, ‘Superfly,’ that comes on the sound system then—put on by a sympathetic bartender—or ‘Gin and Juice’ (also for the old folks), or something the moment somehow, by collective will, requires: ‘Gimme Shelter’ or The Stooges’ ‘Dirt.’ Songs from some other time—not this one—songs that will always mean something to somebody present, but maybe you had to be there.
You look at each other with the intense camaraderie of people who’ve suffered together and think, ‘We did well tonight. We will go home proud.’
There are nods and half-smiles. A sigh. Maybe even a groan of relief.
Once again. We survived. We did well.
We’re still here.”
–Anthony Bourdain
