Second class citizen…

An all-male brigade of chefs.

I have been stewing about a situation that happened more than a week ago when Marty and I were making deliveries. I am a tough cookie, but sometimes something will leave me speechless and shocked. Here’s what happened. 

While delivering to the local restaurants, we bumped into the new French chef who is now at the helm of one of them. We were wearing our spätzle t-shirts, which we call the “company uniform.”

The new French chef greeted Marty, giving him a pat on the back. The two met several times. When Marty introduced him to me, he barely acknowledged me.

He spoke directly to Marty and acted as though I wasn’t there. As I quickly figured out, this French chef behaved like a typical French male chef I only heard about or saw on tv cooking shows.

The chef bragged about making his own spätzle but said it’s not gluten-free like ours. Then he said it would not be on the menu regularly, only if it went with something like the coq au vin, which was a special on the menu that night. 

We are fine with that; good chefs change their menu weekly or nightly. I can’t understand how some restaurants never change their menu; for 15 or 20 years! By the way, I am not talking about a famous establishment or family-owned business.

I bit my tongue because this is one of our wholesale customers. I wanted to tell him big shit, pal, you can make your own spätzle. Learning to make spätzle is the first thing they teach you in culinary classes.

I didn’t tell him I made my own for 20 years before I spent seven years developing the only gluten-free spätzle in the world.

He was using MY spätzle with his coq au vin, but he automatically thought Marty was the spätzle maker and dragged his wife along with him for company. I actually wanted to go to meet him since I heard good things about his food. We know how that worked out, don’t we?

While we were standing outside the walk-in, I could feel my temper boil as he stood beside me, speaking to Marty as if I wasn’t there. When we left, he said goodbye to Marty, and I said politely, “It was nice to meet you, chef.” 

I put my hand out to shake his hand, he had to take it, and I gave him my best death squeeze of a handshake. His poor hand, smooth as a baby’s ass, felt like a limp fish in my hand. Yuck! I thought for sure he would’ve had a power grip with that ego.

When we got outside, I went on a rant. Marty agreed what happened was typical in the kitchens of fine dining establishments. I ranted and raved while we went up the mountain to our next customer.

Now I know how it feels when I’ve seen women chefs on tv and in food articles talk about how hard it is and how badly they are treated in the kitchens run by male chefs. It goes way beyond, yes, chef; heard chef. You have to have some tough skin to take it.

Currently, only 25.2% of women chefs and line cooks work in the restaurant industry in our country. Less than 7% of U.S. restaurants are led by women.

That 7% of women are badasses who have to work harder and longer, find childcare, and support other upcoming female chefs. Female chefs of color with different ethnicities are lower in the part of that 7% figure.

I could go on forever writing about famous women chefs in history, but instead, here is a link titled The Triumph of Women Chefs. These women chefs paved the way for generations of female chefs.

Chef Julia Child was larger than life in the kitchen and on tv. I always wondered where she was putting things or getting things below her. The tables are turned on the set of The French Chef; this is my favorite photo showing behind the scenes, literally.

All week, I thought about that French chef who made me so furious. How dare he assume it was Marty’s recipe and business!  I don’t care who this chef trained under, where he worked, and he is friends with some world-famous chefs; rude is rude. Period.

I told Marty he could make the deliveries to that place since I have zero respect for the chef. The question is, can he cook? Of course, he can, he is brilliant in the kitchen, and everyone says the food is incredible. I expected it would be.

I wonder how many women working in his kitchens over the years went home feeling like shit after getting their asses handed to them every night, or better yet, how many got promoted to high-level positions?

Now that I’ve written about that eye-opening experience, I can let it go; but I will say this, “Va te faire foutre” chef, which means fuck you, chef. Please, pardon my French! 😂