About a decade ago, I left my life of being a nanny and a full time student in Eugene, Oregon to come to the "beautiful, lawless swamp" that is Florida. My first job was a cashier in a medical apparel store or "Scrub Store" as we called it in the University Community Hospital right by USF main campus.
My husband, however, has always been a restaurant man and a self-taught cook, which is one of the reasons I married him, because I cannot cook, like at all. I can bake a few things but outside of Mac and Cheese, sandwiches and salads, nope.
The hubby got a job at like 19 or 20 maybe at "Pizza Pete's" Italian Kitchen in Eugene and worked his way up from the dish pit and delivery to learning the ropes in the kitchen. From there it was to the new, soon to be hot spot, "El Vaquero," which was Eugene's premier Tapas Bar, and also had one of America's top 5 bartenders, Jeffrey Morgenthaler, as the man behind the cocktails. Morgenthaler and his second in command, Scott Butler, took my hubby under their wing from time to time to show him all about craft cocktails and what real bartenders looked like.
At El Vaquero my husband went from prep to pastry chef and a little bit in between. When the owners saw that he could actually thrive in the kitchen, the sent him across town to his pride and joy, Asado. Asado was a smaller, but also intimate Mexican-type kitchen with tapas and cocktails, and it was there he found his long time friend, Jarred, who was a groomsman at our wedding. He learned how to run a kitchen and even a restaurant during his time there.
When Asado was sold, he moved onto The Old Pad, which was strictly "bar food" and then lastly to the Villard Street Pub near campus. He has learned every single cuisine from scratch, from Italian to Mexican, to Sushi to Coastal Cuisine and lastly, French food. In Florida he got a job at a Sushi place, a Mexican Grille, then a local bar, he helped open a new Coastal Kitchen in Westchase and designed the menu, then for the same company put together craft cocktails and American gastro-pub fare at another new restaurant that holds two locations to this day and will remain nameless. From there he did some time at a local artisan sandwich place, finally landing a high-end French fine dining establishment close to home. He's never gone to culinary school and is extremely talented in my humble opinion.
However, living the life of the wife of a chef, is anything but easy. I had my foray in the food biz about 9 and a half years ago too. We once worked at the same restaurant together, he was in the kitchen and I was front of the house. I had the personality and the energy for it, but I got burned and burned out quickly in every sense of the words. The picture above is from my favorite restaurant life movie "Waiting," which I used to watch weekly to handle the stress of that whole atmosphere.
I was good at my job too, but I had no desire to be a manager and the tipping system where I was, left a lot to be desired. I met some amazing people though, and learned a lot. My biggest takeaway is pictured below, please excuse the swear but unfortunately it is completely true:
While I am incredibly proud of my husband and ever-impressed by his culinary evolution, no one tells you that life in restaurant industry is rough as you enter the family phases. And I say this for me personally, not even just for the man working the stove! We had once talked about running a restaurant together someday, and even once had the opportunity to do so outside of Florida, but as my husband simply said, "Then you would really never see me."
When I say I never see my husband let's break it down for all you non-believers. After half a decade of struggling as parents and job-jumping and life hurdles, I have found my "forever job," that is unless they fire me. It is an 8-5, lunch at noon office type thing. It is reliable with all the benefits that work best for family life. The kid is in school and after care full tilt. My daughter and I are off full weekends and I'm home every single evening.
Hubby is not quite on the same schedule although he did score Saturdays as a routine day off, which is a restaurant life miracle, but regardless, we don't have much time together. In a realistic scope, we have Saturday from about 8:30am to 10pm at night, give or take bed times, so what is that 13ish hours? And we have Sunday mornings from say 7:30am to 1:30pm, but throw in church drumming, commuting and errands, maybe separate cars, we can call that a good 4 hours of seeing each other? And he is off all day Monday and I get home at 6pm and am always in bed by 9pm weekdays so, let's call that 3 hours? So doing the math; 13 + 4 + 3 is...20 hours a week.
I have the opportunity to see my husband for a total of 20 hours a week, at best. That is less than a full day out of 7 days each week. You may think I'm exaggerating or being dramatic, and I'd like to say I am but add in errands, or plans with other people on the nights I have back up and it's easily less than 20 hours a week. It's not an simple thing.
For the longest time, this born of was necessity. When you literally cannot afford childcare or daycare or anything like that but still can't just stay home full time, you work opposite shifts, not matter how crappy and painful. You promise yourself it will get easier as the kiddo gets older and it does in SOME ways, but the more things change, the more things stay the same.
My husband's talents are completely underrated by many; I think my dad and sisters may be his biggest fans. He usually gets irritated because of all the favorite things of his I love for him to make, all I ever want is Tacos and Pizza, which he finds unimpressive. They are so damn good though!
He's always made me insanely proud because he has brought himself up from the dish pit to a sous chef, but that's not to say the life in proximity to the hospitality industry doesn't have its sacrifices and challenges, because it very much does.
The wives that send their men to the army, or that have husbands that constantly travel for business, or their hubby runs a hotel or bar? Those are the women in my tribe who can commiserate, if not trump my whining over wine-ing. It sucks sometimes, but unfortunately I've gotten used to it.
In a perfect world we'd have family meals every evening, we'd have routine nights out and all the sporting events and extra curricular activities would rule our nights and weekends, but we are far from being able to do that. We cram a lot into Saturdays. We juggle a lot on Sunday mornings more often than not, and we just keep on keeping on.
It's hard for a lot of people to understand and sometimes I wonder if we would even know how to be around each other more, if it ever happened. Even on vacations it's like divide and conquer and we have to re-learn how to be around each other for that many hours in row.
I'm extremely grateful to have a man who works insanely long, 12-14 hour shifts on his feet creating delicious food and still manages to cook for me, while providing for the family. Although, I will say, life in the hospitality business is not for the faint of heart. There are a million times I wish he could have come home early from a shift to help with the sick kid, the sick dog or a sick me, but alas we continued.
I think life is hard enough as it is, and as we grow older we just look for ways to shape things to ease the rough exteriors and make everything more palatable. I very much have to take one day at a time. I've learned that planning in advance with his career is super difficult. I've learned how to operate around the Kitchen chaos. I've learned that most of kitchen life is fluid and if you can't stand the heat, you gotta get out of the kitchen, all puns intended.
Maybe some day schedules will align and be different but for now, we stay grateful for the food on the table, the roof over our heads and health we have to work the hours we do, especially for him. As I live this life in proximity to the Hospitality Industry I can say I've learned so much and appreciate all the lessons...and the food, but certainly wouldn't mind seeing the man behind the food more often. A girl can dream! Cheers!
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