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all that glisters....

4/1/2019

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I wanted to see the year out on a positive note. I wanted to write about something close to my heart and something I know us chefs, waiters and other hospitality professionals all need. In fact, this transcends the industry. It reaches all of humanity and especially at this time of year, it is never more important.
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I want to chat about relationships. You know what I mean? I’ve touched on this in many of my previous blog posts. I often mention my wife. She is the woman who pretty much raised our children as a single, working parent while I was bunkered down in a kitchen somewhere. She was and still is the woman turning up to parties on her own, while muggins here, is routing through a fridge to find the garnish for a late ordered cheeseboard. My wife is the mother who attends parents evenings and school plays on her own, because the Head chef’s pet dog needed babysitting. So I needed to cover his shift (true story).

We have been through so much over the years. Almost 25 years together. From Commis chef to
Head chef. I have seen many chef’s relationships come and go. Our relationship is often put on a pedestal
of unrealistic presumption. We get regarded as that “strong couple.” People are often asking us what is our secret. How has our relationship endured this industry which is notoriously hard on couples, families and friendships? It is no different for us. We argue, we “do each other’s heads in”. There are days where we just don’t speak to each other. But that is the nature of relationships.

When you find someone who can live with the hours which we put in. I don’t mean the amount of hours, but the structure of those hours. A partner who can tolerate the split shifts, the 32 hour weekends and the non-committal, vague finishing times. Hold on to that person. Appreciate the moments together.

I am pretty far away from being a relationship guru. I could well be single by this time next year. The hospitality lifestyle is hard on relationships as you know. I try to not bring too much work home. I know Abs (That’s my wife Abby) has no interest in how glossy my demi-glace was during service tonight. She doesn’t need to be told how tired I am. What she wants is… When’s your day off? What are we doing? And rightly so.

Being a father is the easy part, but being a Dad is the challenge. My kids have never known any different from me. I am at work. This is the part I find hardest. They already know and assume that I will not be there. All school letters and reports get handed straight to mum. During their younger years, this is what I found the toughest. Missing the school plays. Not being at the football games and cup finals. Not being home when they returned from Scout Camp. This was torture for me. When I look back at some of the reasons I missed some of these events, I have total regret. Why didn’t I tell my head chef to “do one!”? I guess it was a different time. Maybe the fear of not being able to provide for my family, outweighed the necessity of being present. That’s something for my therapist to analyse. Not for me to dwell on now.

Now, as teenagers, they really couldn’t give a crap where I am. I mean that in the nicest way. I can’t pretend to understand teenagers. They are all weird and speak a different language. I love my children to bits. They know this. That’s all that really matters, right?

My friendships have been fickle, fleeting, non-existant. But at the same time, pure. I have a very small inner circle of friends. Some of my oldest friends, I only see once a year at best. Rarely socially. It’ll either be when they visit the pub and I’m working or a chance run in while shopping. This is totally my fault. Trying to balance that quality time with my family when not working, leaves very little time, if any, for working on relationships with friends. Especially as we are now all older, have jobs and responsibilities. The days of meeting at the new wine bar for an all-dayer are a distant memory. But a happy memory. I am very fortunate to have some very good friends around me right now. They support me, my work and they love Gin (and meat!) For Abs and I, they all help fortify our own relationship. It’s just a shame that the meet ups are usually set around the parameters of when I can get the time off. But, I guess it’s about quality of friendships, not how often you get out. And I do have some high quality friendships.

There is no secret. We have been lucky. No! I have been lucky. I am a chef. I have put Abs through the mill many times in the past. I have been a proper arse. There have been times when I said I’d be home after my shift and then rolled in a lot later. Stopping for a few beers after work, which then turned in to a bit of a session. This was in the days before mobile phones. The days when you couldn’t just log in to Facebook to see where someone last checked in. People were just “out”. I was by no means a saint, but this is not a confessional. I just wanted to write about my experience as a man, as a chef, as a husband in this kitchen lifestyle and how we all endure it.

When I first met my wife, she was a trainee hairdresser. She worked in the Salon next door to the restaurant I was working in. We developed a friendship, a relationship and a partnership. From early on, she knew that I would always be working. She understood that a chef worked evenings and weekends. She accepted it without fuss.

I’m sure there are a lot of chefs, male and female who can relate to the kitchen language. The hospitality industry is a cauldron of hormones. Men and women who spend more time with each other than they do with their own partners. The friendships formed, can be very tight. To the external eye, stories can be manifested and edited to suit a narrative. Not necessarily the correct tale, but strong enough to wreck a relationship which has not had time to set it’s foundations. This is where trust comes in.

Of course, there are occasions where the story created in the mind of the suspicious partner is not that far from the truth. It can be very difficult for someone outside of the trade to understand the strength of the relationships formed in the kitchens. So many inside jokes. So many stories which can NEVER leave the Pass…. I’ll leave that there.

So, to sum up. If you have found a person who can put up with your shitty hours, the way you smell of meat and chips when you get home. The person who just gets it. Do your best to hold on to them. I can’t offer any dating advice if you are single. I realise I know fuck all about modern dating. Tinder/Grinder/Plenty of Fish (is that a thing?) are all alien to me. I’m from an era when my mum was Caller ID on a landline phone. “Who is it, mum?....Tell her I’m OUT!” I have written posts before on the subject, but more tongue in cheek. Go check out my other blog: 10 Things to know before you date a chef post and share that. Along with why being a chef is awesome!
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I think I’ve rambled on enough. You get my point right? Did I make a point? Probably not lol!
 
Happy new year Chefs & Front of Housers!
2019 is yours!
 
Brian Powlett
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Old enough to know better

2/11/2018

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​We chefs are curious creatures indeed. I often imagine a highly produced BBC Documentary in the style of Blue Planet, being shot about the behaviours of chefs. Animalistic and savage, yet territorial and family oriented. With a voice-over by Sir David Attenborough, we would be entertained by hyper slow motion shots of newbie chefs peeling potatoes (shot in real time). Through to the dramatic, overture which plays across the scene where the chefs fed on the carcass of the Sunday roast tray, mopping up the jus roti with the day old bread ends. They then scatter when the general manager or executive chef walks in. They fear an attempt of an awkward conversation about Love Island or recent football results….

I love being a chef. I’ve said this many times. I can find it challenging, but these days, it’s more of a physical challenge. Everything hurts as I’m getting older. Approaching my mid-forties, I am constantly aware of every passing hour. Counting down to the end of my shift so I can have a cheeky sit down while I phone my orders in. I know 43 is not old, but with my 44th birthday coming up later this month (22nd November if you wanna send me a card) I am thinking more about the next stage of my kitchen career. I am not a chef on the cusp of rosettes or Michelin. I am a good chef, but I am fully aware of my limits. I love to challenge myself and I have never shied away from graft. I pride myself on being a chef you want to work with when it gets busy. My coolness under pressure is my USP. My priority has always been flavour not flowers. I am definitely more Bistro than Blumenthal. I currently ply my trade in a pub kitchen, where we are spectacularly busy. I guess I’m doing something right. And like the 99% of chefs out there, the daily graft is real. So far removed from the TV chefs. The faded whites which chafe at the armpits. The turmeric stained apron and the trousers held up with a belt made from tightly pulled cling film. We turn up, we cook LOTS! We clean down, go home and repeat the next day.

Have a drink on me chefs!!Privately, I recently had a crisis of confidence. Fuelled by my impending birthday and that feeling of what now? Is it a young persons game? At almost 44, the harder shifts are getting tougher. Although the muscle memory for most of the tasks has set in. Keeping up with current trends and the ever changing legislation changes gives the older generation more things to think about. I was starting to consider how many years I can keep up to speed. Will my chefs tell me when I start making those silly mistakes which aging chefs make? You know the ones. We’ve all worked with a chef who has stayed in the kitchen a few years too long. We’d be pulling the pan of reducing Gastrique off the flames, as they had forgotten and overstretched themselves. I don’t want that to be me.

(Side note; How old is the oldest chef you’ve worked with?)

Forty-four is by no means old. But in this very physically demanding industry, it could be compared to professional sports. Should I take a move down into the lower leagues, become a dinner-lady, minus the gender reassignment. Chocolate crunch with pink custard? Is it time for this chef to start considering an exit strategy. Open my own restaurant? Forge a career as an author of a series of books about a wizard chef? What to do next?
Disclaimer; I am VERY happy with my job. I’m just looking at the big picture. The Greyhound in Ipswich has been a real life saver for me. I’ve had the opportunity to rediscover my love of food in an environment which suits where I am at in my own headspace. This post is more of a general rambling. Aimed at that large cross-section of us chefs who don’t sit in that illustrious top echelon. We, the guys and gals in the trenches. The chefs with no time for posting on Instagram. No desire for a cookbook deal. The lifer.

Coming back to this blog a few days after writing it. I was concerned that I was sounding a little defeatist. I am generally quite a positive person. Always looking for the next adventure, idea or opportunity. I love writing these blogs. These are the conversations which I often struggle to verbalise with my peers, family and friends. This, as I have said before, is my therapy. Just writing this has ignited the spark of motivation I needed. No, this is not my letter of resignation. Although, imagine that? One way to see if they read my blogs at work hahaha! I still don’t have a cast iron plan of what to do next, but I feel better for just putting this out there.

Thanks for reading

Yours Over-sharingly

​Brian

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    Brian Powlett

    Hi, Welcome to my blog. I have been writing for a few years now. I like to think that I have improved slightly over that time. 
    ​I write mainly about chef issues.
    ​For blogs which are more about food etc, click on the IDEAS AND RECIPES option at the top of the page.
    ​Although, please read my posts here too.
    It's all good clean fun. 

    Cheers,

    ​Brian 

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