We broke up close to 8 years ago. I still remember how we spent our last day together. If I’d known I’d never wake up beside you, be invited into your bed, or kiss you again I would have called work and told them I couldn’t make it that day, f***, I would have quit. I would have stayed and worked everything out with you, as long as it took. I would have spent the whole day in bed with you, just talking, if that’s what it took.
Instead I left, and I never reentered that space in your life. I kept on with the cooking jobs, because during a hectic rush all I could think about were the orders in front of me, because I enjoyed the art of combining flavours and colours to create a feast for the senses on a plate, because I could pretend that every dish I sent out was meant for you.
8 years later, 2 years into my Red Seal chef certification, and you know what? As much as pretending every dish was meant for your lips had gotten me through, I’ll probably never cook anything for you again. No matter how precise my cuts, how s*** my plates, or how damn delicious my dishes may be; it doesn’t matter. I can perfect my choux paste, medium rare steak, and over easy eggs, but you won’t know, and more importantly, I expect you won’t care.
Every. Thing. I. Have. Made. I would have been happier making in our home, for the two of us, or for friends, or at least bringing you leftovers from work. I loved cooking for you. I loved fulfilling a primal need, I loved making it into art. I loved being able to make you happy, just by asking what you wanted to eat – and then being able to produce that dish for you!
And you don’t care, you’re almost certainly not thinking about me right now, you don’t know I could have thrown in the towel for tonight’s feature but I stayed creative and made a flavour combination I was really proud of. You didn’t taste it, and you didn’t want to. To you, it doesn’t matter.
8 years of sweat, compromise, pain, endurance, of pushing myself, of stress, of adrenaline and dehydration. 8 years of believing, somewhere in the back of my mind, that if I could just be good enough at this, you’d take notice, you’d miss me or just the food I made for you. 8 years of giving my all – for what? I put a great deal of effort into my job, I take pride in it, and generally the only time I hear feedback is when someone doesn’t like what I do.
Customers, please tip well and compliment your chef if you enjoyed your meal.