When I Cook at Your Place…

Let me preface this whole thing by saying that I’ve been knocked on my ass by an incredibly nasty stomach virus. I’ve been spending my days going from the bathroom to the couch and back again, eating chicken soup and drinking ginger ale. Let me tell you, I like ginger ale, I think it’s pretty tasty stuff, but fuck man when that’s all you drink for five straight days you want to shoot yourself. I’m also whacked out on an interesting little cocktail of Immodium A-D, Kaopectate and Anti-Nausea medication. Anyway, I’m a little on edge…because I miss chewing food and this popped into my head because I was recently invited to dinner at a friend’s house, where some people she knew would be doing the cooking.
I love nothing more than going to one of my friend’s homes and making an amazing meal. It gives me wonderful pleasure feeding people, which is why I started down this path in the first place. If I’m cooking at your place, chances are you’re a friend of mine or if you’re especially lucky one of my friends has co-opted me to do some cooking for you. In either case, I’m there because I want to be there and because you’d like me to make a great meal (and probably impress the hell out of people); whether it be for a small gathering, a dinner party or a New Year’s blow out. Now when I say, “I” and “me” I don’t mean me in general, I mean all professional cooks who have ever gone to a friend’s home to cook a meal.
We cooks are a generous bunch, but we’re not exactly a wealthy bunch; but I feel some people still don’t quite get it. One thing that has always surprised me is that some of the people I know (not all; and those of you I’m not talking about know who you are; and you’re awesome) seem to almost take for granted that they can make a phone call and have a classically trained chef cooking in their kitchen 24 hours, or in some cases minutes, later. I show up, my arms heavy with groceries, my knives on my back and my wallet a little lighter from the proceeds of those bags. I unpack my tools and the food and usually get to work. I stand by a stove or a kitchen counter chopping, mincing, mixing, sautéing, broiling and generally trying to stay an engaged member of the conversation, but forgive me if I’m trying to sweat the small stuff like, ya’know, making sure the food tastes good or no one finds a fingertip in their soup!
Just because I say I think it would be fun to cook at your place when you invite 20 people over, doesn’t mean I’m down to do the shit for free. I’m sure I sound like a prick, but look at it this way: what would it cost you to hire a personal chef, have them come to your home, plan a menu, reimburse them for groceries, and then have them cook for people in your house…pretty steep eh? I mean, if I had a buddy who was an Accountant, I wouldn’t call him over every March, ask him to “look at” my taxes and then send him home with a handshake and a pat on the back. You get me for free; but you really shouldn’t, and I’m too much of a nice guy (read: sap) to directly ask friends of mine, or their friends to maybe pony up a little cash for my hard work. I’m not saying that every person who walks through the door to a dinner party, or whatever, needs to press a Sawbuck in my palm. That’s the hosts responsibility to pull me aside and say, “hey, thanks for doing this, what do I owe you?” In most cases, I’m not going to pull the receipt out of my pocket and hand it over but I’ll be happy you asked and I’ll ask for a little something. You’ve just got to understand where I’m coming from, when its all said and done if I’m going to leave your place tired from cooking on my night off, with my wallet a little lighter and maybe a little booze on the brain; I’m probably not going to be smiling as much as you are if I walk out of there with nothing more than the momentary press of your palm against mine.
In short, don’t take your friends who are professional cooks for granted. Your friends who work on Wall Street or for Prada or 1-800-Flowers or a Cosi or whatever, take them for granted, I don’t care. They didn’t make the sacrifices us cooks made, to work long hours for little money. We’re having fun, this is after all, what we signed up for; but there are times when it can feel like (and I know I’m not alone) that fun we’re having is being taken advantage of.
Maybe I’m just cranky because I haven’t chewed solid food in four days and my toilet seat knows me better than my pillowcase, but I know what I know. And right now, what I know…besides knowing I want a juicy burger like nobody’s business…I know that the next time one of us comes to your houses don’t let us leave with just a handshake.