Turned down a job with a World’s 50 Best, three Michelin Star reputation..

“Do you want to continue?”, the manager asked after the initial meeting. Without hesitation, I agreed. We prepped for the working interview, termed “stage” in the industry, by doing drills consisting of repeating the performative moves associated with proper table side service: body positioning in the dining room, plate placement as varied throughout each of the nine courses (a short menu, considering the next menu will consist of over 20), and the rules regarding who is served first at the table and how. Most importantly, we discussed the proper timing as a team of runners, captains, and somms would dance around the dining room servicing two turns of ~50 guests, each spending two hours and between $300-500 a head for their experience.

Service begins and the back of house swirls with a high-stress show of controlled chaos. Ten tweezer holding, extremely skilled chefs stand at attention at their respective stations, ready for action. At the head of this operation is the expediter, who oversees that all dietary restrictions and further accommodations be met. Chef calls the tickets, occasionally terming them soigné to designate tables of importance- typically high spenders or food industry insiders that may be reviewing the restaurant. The kitchen, always responding with, “yes, chef!”, begin course one. A team preps seven small plates filled with bite-sized delicacies to be rolled table side on a cart and presented to the first seating of guests.. 

The sensation in the back of house is curated by the reputation and expectations of the head chefs; that all courses must leave the kitchen perfectly executed and represent the military precision that reflect well on the restaurant brand.

I look around the room during the stage and can’t help but want to know more about the stories of the people around me. This level of fine-dining training attracts a certain kind of person, both willing to accept abuse and work to the bone for little pay in the pursuit of perfection. The hardness, poise, and high levels of scrutiny bring forth in my imagination visions of what combat training would entail. Like military training, everyone accepts abuse as part of the process and hardens themselves to work tirelessly for a greater purpose. When stakes are as high as the bill at the end of dinner and the namesake of a chef seeking to maintain the elevated status of one of the World’s 50 Best, this sense of comradeship runs the current of energy propelling the staff through the evening…

I hated every second of it.

Why?

The energy created through pursuit of perfection (in this particular restaurant!!) left the experience devoid of humanity. While certainly elevated, the experience, cold.

The aesthetic appeal of the restaurant, sterile. The table side service, mechanical. The whole operation, a machine of precision.

I never thought I’d say no to the World’s 50 Best. I was never more happy to return home to Evanston that evening.