Like many teenagers, I entered the real world through the kitchen. I had just turned 16 and Dad said I needed a real job other than my paper route. So I perused the “Help Wanted” ads, hopped in my car and began dropping off applications. The first business to call me back was Ron’s Drive Inn.
Ron’s may not be as famous as Dick’s or Zip’s, but if you have ever lived in Spokane, Washington, you know it’s an institution on Sprague Avenue. So, when I was offered the fry cook position, I jumped at the opportunity. Thus, my short culinary career began.
This was the mid-90s, when many restaurants had already installed kitchen computer screens that displayed orders to remind cooks what they should cook. Not Ron’s – not yet, anyway. When a customer placed an order, the teller simply yelled into a microphone how many fishes, fries, chickens and burgers someone wanted. Then the fast-fooding commenced.
The process worked well enough for small orders, but less well for a large family with a large appetite. After the first day, ego bruised and clothes stained with grease, I told my parents I was quitting. They responded like parents do and told me that wasn’t an option.
I returned to my station the next day, and the next. I fried corn dogs and halibut and prawns and chicken tender bites. I watched a coworker manning the grill pass out from the heat. My first foray into the real world was overwhelming and I didn’t last long. Less than one year into my tenure, I quit. Not out of spite, but to take a post at the city library stacking books in the nonfiction section – my dream job, which I kept until high school graduation.
Still, working behind the fryer for that short time, even at a drive-inn restaurant, instilled in me respect for the men and women who make us food. It’s often a thankless job that has only recently begun earning the accolades it deserves.
Now, television is littered with shows focused on cooking, whether through competition or technique. I consume many of them and read books on methods to improve my dishes. And I mostly fail. Cooking well is hard, and it’s even harder to make a living doing it.
Just last week, National Public Radio aired a story on the intense pressure high-end chefs are under in pursuit of perfection. Eric Ziebold, who worked for years at Napa Valley restaurant with the coveted three Michelin stars, told Morning Edition’s Renee Montagne, “In the kitchen there’s an incredible physical pressure; it’s not uncommon for it to be an 18-hour day.”
Of course, not every restaurant is chasing Michelin stars. They are, however, seeking to make a strong first impression with food, whether casual or gourmet fare. The competition is fierce. Many restaurants and chefs come and go. Those who last have often sacrificed much of their social lives and a little of their mental health.
We reap the rewards. There’s little better than beginning a weekend at a comfortable restaurant with a unique spirit and a hearty dish. And there are plenty of local options to do just that.
In this, our third annual Food Issue, we highlight just a few of the locals who make our food and drinks and do it well. They have spent years honing their skills in a stress-inducing business so people like me can enjoy the weekend a little more. And whether it’s a fry cook, or world-class chef, each of them deserves a cheers for that.