The Shit Fight


The war is over. Though many lay bloodied, scarred or on the edge of a pshycotic breakdown; the “christmas period” of the kitchen is at an end. Christmas parties, new years parties, functions, holidaying families, tourists, dates whatever flavour of consumer you are to our industry, you have come…you have decimated, yet you have not (completely) destroyed. The busy period, or the shit fight as we more commonly refer to it, It is the cooking equivalent of an endurance marathon. where after each service you look at yourself and your fellow comrades in a breath of relief, disbelief and utter exhaustion expressing a barely audible phrase, fought through groans and fatigue “thank fuck…that is over” (chefs don’t thank god…we all think we are god).

but what is it exactly you ask that is so stressful, so spirit breaking that we contemplate driving our heads into a concrete wall in an effort to beat the days hardships out of our still searing (chef pun intended) minds? instead of trying to explain to you the entire period; I’ve instead decided to elude you to “a day in the shit fight” start to finish.


My alarm clock is almost reminiscent of the docket printer…making me think I’ve woken up in service. After having received around 5 hours sleep, last nights six after work beers have left a very slight tinge on my usually perky rise, yet none the less the hangover: version lite 0.1 is far more acceptable and approachable than finishing yesterdays shit fight sober. Thoughts on my mind include – coffee, what mise en place do i need to do, did i put in the order last night? Seriously I need coffee, I should pee, wait…did i put the fucking order in?! after scrolling through my phone and confirming, yes the butcher will indeed be arriving this morning with my meat I’m gifted with the first (and possibly one of the last) wins for the day.

I am up, and stirring – showered and dressed (in casual clothes, only cowboys wear there uniform outside of work) all in the space of about 12 minutes. the other time missing was essentially contemplating whether getting out of bed was worth it. Enough procrastinating now…I really need coffee, local cafe pit stop and then on my way to work.

I arrive at work and check the bookings for the day…oh balls, we’ve picked up 14 more people a la carte, on top of the downstairs 23 cover degustation function tonight we are rapidly becoming an almost overflowing restaurant.. again… I quickly get changed and check mise en levels. fruit and veg is already here, second win. I can prep the garnish for the lamb dish, the function downstairs, the beef dish, the fish dish and all the sides: all before the meat even arrives because today after all is “meat day”. 10kg of lamb backstrap to remove all sinew, portion to specific weight, shape, roll and store for service. 6 pork belly’s are coming in, i need to confit 5 of them but only 4 will fit in the oven…shit. and that will take up the oven space for at least five hours. double shit. then I have to roll three “dicks” of beef… some call it eye fillet, though I’m pretty sure its phallic enough to be a dick. and where the fuck are my Poussin I rolled from last night? WHO TOUCHED MY MISE EN PLACE?!! after accusing everyone of stitching me up, I eventually remember I had sous vide them last night and put them in the cool room. as I work away prepping the garnishes and side dishes I receive a text saying “sorry bro, running late” which as most know: shits me, not because they are late but because as soon as you have wronged me I am no longer “bro” I am “chef”.

The kitchen is bustling, preps getting done. the mood is still somehow positive. jokes are told, music is sung, arses are slapped (hit the showers) this is the quiet before the storm.

Front of house arrives to a parade of chefs saying “COFFEE!!!” fiending for our fix, like a junkie cruising the streets of the Kings Cross at unseemly hours of the morning. we continue with the prep rapidly noticing that the clock is drawing ever so close to 12. and we have the majority of our customers arriving at the same time. talk and music fall to a hush the only sounds are the heel of blades on chopping boards, and the searing and clanking of pans.

A table of six has come early. “WHAT…IS… WRONG WITH YOU!!” is your life that unimportant you cant last till 12 to eat, can you not see the sign that says we open at 12, or that that’s the time you booked. The front of house will seat you regardless, because they are doing their jobs… you wankers. Now you’ve made me harbor rage toward my team. Great. You stitch up bastards. now i have to stop all the prep (which is now all unfinished) clean down the counter top, sweep the floor set up the pass, my pass cloths to polish plates with, every container of salt, every portion of butter to finish dishes, all oils, all bottles, fresh chopping boards, any prep that can come out, the breads for service, the specialty equipment, my spoons for tasting and plating need to be in canisters of hot water, and there needs to be separate canisters of hot water for my dirty spoons, napkins for easy access, wet salt made, ovens and equipment calibrated I want to taste and check all the mise en place before people arrive to ensure quality. I am in a foul mood and am now behind on what needs to be done, all of which has occurred because you have no concept of the value of time. you sir, and your cohort…are cocks.

As normal people start to arrive we are already firing the entree’s for the early table. My rage starts to increase further as a waitress queries me things i do not want to hear “excuse me chef”..”yes” i reply sternly.
“there’s a woman on table 5..” she replies
“yes?” i ask
“and she wants a vegetarian meal” I pause as if not to come across stupid
“yeah… no worries..there’s the foraged pine mushroom gnocchi or the Heirloom Vegetable garden” she pauses “yeah she doesn’t want those…what else can we do?” “…what else can we do? WHAT’S WRONG WITH THESE WEASELS!!…how about a big bowl of piss off elsewhere if you don’t want the fucking food, tell her that’s what she can have”. The waitress leaves for a few minutes and returns “so she can have the fish…but she wants the lamb garnish” i stare incredulously at the young waitress “what the fuck is wrong with everyone…what kind of a vegetarian eats fish and then decides which garnishes she can have with it.. you know what… no. she can have the fish with the fish garnish..its not subway you cant design your own meal”. My rage increasing as we start to heave. the kitchen turns into a blur, bodies moving, pans clattering, garnishes and plates building. the only verse spoken are timings – “2 minutes till pass” and a chorus of “OUI CHEF!!”

“Chef?” a Solemn faced waiter stares at me “I’m really sorry”
“what?” i reply
“the hag on 42 didn’t realise her duck was perfectly cooked and blushing pink and wants a tough, rubbery piece of shit instead. Can you cook it all the way through for her?”
most expect me to blow my top but in actual fact the pleasant manner i was just told this
was actually quite mood enhancing for me. “Oui dat. Re-fire on duck, well fucked and as rubbery as possible please”. the rest of lunch service carries out in similar fashion. the continuous struggle and battle continues. though We will not fail, it is not an option. we will be victorious. as the last tables desserts are sent out we stare up at the clock again whilst cleaning down the chaos of the busy lunch service. shit its 3 already. and we have 5 hours worth of prep to do before 6. I’m no mathematician… but i think we’re up shit creek.

Re-prioritising Mise en place after the lunch rush is our first port of call. we can do without the second belly, didn’t sell any pork, we’ll do it tomorrow. Poussins ok? yep. what about venison? yeah we’re on the edge…but we’ll run the gauntlet. she’ll be right… After redrawing the new systematic prep list we start tackling the prep. we move swiftly concentrating on multiple jobs at the same time. the chauffante is blanching vegetables for three different garnishes, the oven is low temperature cooking and dehydrating our olives at the same time. meats are being portioned, trimmed, and someone get me some more butter. butter on everything, you can never have too much butter.

One of the chefs has knicked his finger on the mandolin slicing radishes. its not too bad, but enough for him to slow in prep. also no one has staff meals sorted (which need to be on the pass at 5) alright
someone make it asap…”you had tomato scraps from the tomato dice bro?”
“yip” the reply fires
“garlic chili en place?”
“oui chef”
“alright someone grab the lardons from the freezer down stairs get the pasta on the crackle.
How many for staff dinner mate?” i yell across the restaurant
“Four” he yells back.
“Seven staffies all up oui dat, oui dat.”

the majority of prep is done, with only small jobs to be done. pasta Matriciana sits steaming on the pass we sit down and relax and shovel food into our mouths for fifteen minutes. for the chefs this will be the only time we sit down for the day and for some their only meal. This occasion, though seemingly rushed, is savored

we get back into the kitchen and continue to complete the final bits of preperation “lets not get fucked by early tables boys, clean down at 5:35?”
“oui dat chef!!” the chorus sings the ballet begins, burly, sweaty men pirouhette around each other the eb and flow of them needing little to no communication, aside from the occasional “behind” signifying ones position in the kitchen. The symphony of pans and oven doors being closed with feet, and the scene is set for a good service.

doors open. game on bitches.

instantly the 23 cover downstairs function starts to arrive I’m elated they’re on time. “Get the canapes and amuse ready boys, lets bang out this big table before we get raped” we start pre empting for the large functions food. small tables of 2 dribble in through the doors as we dictate the rhythm, and it feels good. it feels damn good.

I am chef, hear me roar.

slowly, gradually we have accumulated a full docket rail. we are now serving over 50 customers out of a small kitchen. timing is imperative. with many more courses to come. 50 people in a fine dining setting can have as many as 350 separate plates, dependent on how they choose to dine.

the restaurant is full.

as the downstairs function is served its mains. desserts for the 6 o’clock tables are moving out the door. the night is about to get very hairy. firing pans on a relatively small stove, with a relatively small team can prove difficult at times. luckily the restaurant seems to be wanker free tonight – no well done, no ridiculous requests. just happy diners a gentle raping…the best kind of rape. a waiter walks into the kitchen with a steak cut open my heart drops…how the fuck was that supposed to be cooked…was that the medium rare?
“excuse me chef, this woman asked for her steak medium rare..but she wants it with no blood” the waitress asks
“you mean medium?” i retort
“No, like medium rare..but no blood” i just stare at the waitress as another chef steps in
“thats called meidum love”
“oh, she just said someone cooked her a medium rare steak with no blood”
“THAT’S FUCKING MEDIUM” we repeat in chorus. we don’t have time for these conversations put the steak back in the oven. lets go lets go lets go. table 50, 31 and 32 we can group together then we’ll start on pre desserts for downstairs “oui dat”

the 13 year old dishy that started at 5pm tells me his legs are sore. fuck off.

The last of the meals start dripping out of the kitchen. as we start cleaning down we create prep lists for the day tomorrow. pork can go in overnight at 80 degrees
“what needs ordering?” someone calls
“Dry goods” but they dont come on saturdays…
“no worries someone do a shop run in the morning for almond meal”. As we pack down the kitchen, clean out the fridges, the benches and the floors the front of house polishes the cutlery and resets the tables for tomorrow the diary looks quite similar tomorrow, going to be another big day.

We phone and email through the orders to our suppliers and finish writing the mise en place lists for tomorrow. We get changed into our casual clothes. someone cracks a beer and we cheers in unison the joyous bubbly beverage invigorating our souls and reminding us that life is worth living. Someone suggests a pit stop at the pub, though tempting, is quickly declined. In my earlier years i would have been the last man standing at the boozer, but we have to be back at 8:30 to get started again for tomorrow.

I’m home, showered and on my third beer. I’m Ready to fall asleep though my mind wont switch off what needs to be done tomorrow? Did i forget anything? perhaps some light entertainment or pornography would help. ahh fuck it to tired to even try. ill just fall asleep with beer in hand as per usual.


finish my beer and slowly drift all the meanwhile the inane chatter in my head, planning, solving my day tomorrow.


32 thoughts on “The Shit Fight

  1. Damn…..now THIS is a job! And I thought being a graphic designer was (often) hard, but you sir, have a harder job. I now have a much higher respect for chefs than I had before!

  2. It never.. fucking.. ends.

    As a 28 year old female who has worked in every aspect of restaurants for what feels like forever, I commend you for the ability to handle such a tedious and demanding position as a chef.

    There are many stigmas behind working in the industry, especially front of house. We are the “undesirables”. We have no other applicable skills. We haven’t attended post secondary. The reality of it is, that it takes a strong mentality to do what we do. Deal with hundreds of hungry entitled dicksmacks on a daily basis. Serving should be a prerequisite for life. PERIOD!

    Look forward to reading more from you. Cheers from Canada. √

  3. Jaci says:

    Love your work Zane, though I’d like to hear more about crazy wise old Japanese men, hyper PNGians and psycho pastry wenches.. … Makes me laugh and actually get a bit excited about going back to work.
    Ps ‘hit the showers’ will never die ;0)

  4. Hey bud you are an incredible writer. This blog combines my 2 favorite things in life.. Kitchen work and writing. I am inbetween trying to decide what to go back to college for; writing or culinary. I made this account just to let you know this blog kicks ass, keep it up

    • thanks mate, glad i could be of service. Studying writing is an opportunity I too have considered. I mean I don’t know many chefs who wouldn’t have a crack at being Anthony Bourdain if they we’re given the chance. I hope you make the decision that’s right for you. Remember when it comes to passion (work, relationships) you can fall in love multiple times, so if you do go to study, there’s no reason you cant come back to cooking or vice versa.

  5. PiripiP says:

    This is one of the best-written blogs I’ve come across!

    Great flow, humor, excitement, and brings back memories of working in hospo.

  6. Epic read mate. I can relate to this like I wrote it myself. Many times during this recent “Shit Fight” combating stress and extreme fatigue, i wondered out loud more than a few times “what would mere mortals do if they could feel what we do in a service?”, most would never feel this inner body turmoil mixture of stress, fear, pressure, expectation, anxiety, adrenalin, elation etc in their whole lives let a lone on a daily basis!! Some times when we are so busy (100 covers p/h in a tiny kitchen) that afterwards it feels like I blacked out and can’t hardly remember specifics of the service!! The only thing that saves you is your team, and more often than not at the completion of severe monster serves I’ll turn to my co-chef/ mate and have a man-hug, a sigh, and think ” fark, only a few more hours before it starts all over again!!!” I haven’t been able to come up with a clear reason why I do it, other than being able to see that look on a patron’s face when they have truly enjoyed something you have produced, and being able to impart a little piece of yourself into every dish you put together. I can’t wait till i get to get share your work with my colleagues, you have captured everything eloquently and with great understanding like you were in my sink tonight!!! well done and cheers!!

  7. Eva says:

    I can’t say:” I can only imagine how it is to work as a chef” because I can’t. My son is a chef in fine dining and he doesn’t like to go out eating a lot because he knows what’s going on to get good food to the table. I completely appreciate what chefs do, and try to be a very pleasant diner and praise staff (front house, too). You often get the service you deserve. I just don’t get one thing: Why do you do this? It is so bloody hard!!!

  8. Buzz says:

    This is so incredibly accurate I pissed myself laughing reading it!!!, right down to the young kitchen hand complaining of having sore legs. Such a great read if your from the industry, I’ve had to share it with my fellow chef buddy’s.

  9. David Summers says:

    /Quote “the 13 year old dishy that started at 5pm tells me his legs are sore. fuck off.”
    ^ Brilliant line!

    Great writing mate. Brought back so many memories from my own “shit fight” days as a Chef.

    Sad fact for those not in the industry though, this story is extremely common and accurately depicts the “Average” day in the live of a Chef, if more people were aware of this then the ratio of wankers to diners would improve.

    Looking forward to your next article, suggestion; “Valentines day”. Has to be my 2nd worst time to cook after Christmas.

  10. Kalpana says:

    As a mom of a to-be-Chef (my son is in his final sem of Hotel Mgmt & Hospitality Admin. he is passionately crazy about kitchen), can only thank you for giving us an insight into what a Culinary person’s life is all about! Please continue to blog about this stuff, will certainly be a learning experience.

  11. Mahanda Maddick (Say it without the space) says:

    Comical stuff indeed, how little has changed since I left kitchens with regards to minor problems being over-blown for drama’s sake. I am still in hotels though so I can sniff around when I want…one of the luxuries (or penalties) of my position. I do see literacy levels have taken a significant dive though. Not merely at work but also in this rant about not being able to handle a job (not knowing what you did with your MEP is a clear warning sign unless that was meant to be humorous). The lack of respect shown to guests and staff alike speaks volumes. I’ve seen more and more volatile cooks coming through the doors, maybe they think watching Gordon Ramsey on TV is character training and HR only cares if they can fit in the uniforms. I watch them get booted out by a real Chef, one that knows what is happening and does not rant on like a tempestuous child or, well, Gordon Ramsey. Our TV ‘reality’ shows give the great unwashed a scripted glimpse into something they have never cared about. Gold mines, gun dealers, kitchens…the places Joe Public probably do not want to go. Yes, kitchens can be hectic and to an outsider, the flames, pace, volume and movement could all make it seem like a mystical world. Those of us who can cope in there know it is merely a workplace, processes and passion working together to provide delicious creations for paying guests. Not wankers, cocks or hags. Becoming a cook (and remember that title, although it seems everybody who works in a kitchen will tell their regular friends they are a chef) is a viable career choice and offers the ability to work around the world within reason. It has been amazing to see young apprentices continue into higher positions although I have seen many walk away for so many reasons. I will advise anybody considering commercial catering as a career to really look into the reality of the game. It is hard work with frequent unsociable hours and the occasional good meal but if you end up in a kitchen where some egotistical fool is screaming obscenities as they think that is the way it is…walk out. Good kitchens are plentiful, you will find one.

  12. Jason says:

    I fully sympathise with it all. I work front of house in a chefs hat restaurant in Melbourne, Shane Delia’s Maha, and frankly, it rocks its socks off.
    Well written and honest, good job, Zane

  13. Jimbo says:

    Enjoyed this after a 3 day x 14 hours day shifts. Been doing this for the last 44 years, Your blog is brill and spot on. How many times I been thought that scenario , as I have worked myself across the world in catering establishments, some good, some bad and some just downright slavery.
    But you told it, as it is. Enjoy your passion, like I have all these years

  14. This is so true and we could add so much more to the list…

    What about the vegetarians or vegans going to a restaurant specialized in meat on the spit?

    Or the ones with several allergies who cannot eat almost anything on the menu?

    Or the waiter serving the meals to the wrong table and yes the customer started eating what he even did not ordered. So let’s do it again…

    There is always a waiter going to put an order for the dish we just sold out and yes we told the manager in charge to warn everyone 5 minutes earlier…

    And the late delivery due to a truck breakdown,.. when you got a lot of preps to do before service and you need these goods in order to get your special ready…

    Or the chef calling sick 5 minutes before the start of his shift and yes you have only a small team…

    Mate, we could write a book with hundreds of chapters,
    Thanks for sharing…


    Check this:

  15. cam neale says:

    good read chef ..but you young guns have it easy now worked in the uk started at 530 am left at 130 am end of story ..burnt out after a 2 years of hell ..thankgod for civilised hrs in aus …keep up the honest work ..respect

  16. Michael says:

    This is brilliant, I can relate to all of this! I could write a book on all the dumb shit that comes out of customers mouths!

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