Hail to the Chef!
Now Playing: A miserable occupation
In yesterday's New York Times there is a heartbreaking story about Floridian Luis Diaz, who has been in jail since 1979 for a string of eight rapes that he didn't commit.

Recent DNA evidence may finally free him, but noteworthy is that at his trial in 1979 there were many discrepancies between reality and how he was described by the rape victims. One example was that his family and his co-workers at the restaurant where he worked as a fry cook testified that "he reeked of grease and onions after working long shifts behind the grill." The victims all denied the existence of that odor on the rapist.

Besides breaking my heart--Diaz left a wife and three children when he went to jail--the story reminded me of how I would offend myself after long shifts of working in kitchens. Especially if I fried anything, I would stink a most unappetizing smell, like rotten garlic sauteed in four-year-old cooking oil. Awful. It took a huge effort to scrub it out of my pores and hair at the end of the day, if I had any energy left. If I smelled like that every time I cooked a meal, I'd give up cooking. (Maybe.)

Chefs and cooks feeding hungry people in the summertime have a miserable existence. It's a labor of love to stand over a hot stove for ten to twelve hours when humidity and heat are at their max, not to mention dealing with the foot pain, the sweating, and if you're chubby as many cooks are, the horror of chafing in places you'd rather not be thinking about.

As we speak, thousands of chefs and cooks are toiling in hellholes to feed us. I couldn't do it. I mean, I've spent many hours in hot kitchens, but now I have the option of grilling it all outdoors or ordering takeout when it's too hot to cook.

In a couple weeks I'm doing a chef demo at the local county fair and will wear a particularly fine, soft, and very clean chef's jacket. I will feel like I am an impostor pretending to be a chef, though, because my shift will be less than an hour, and I can go home and change into a tank top and shorts and sit in front of the air conditioner with a tall glass of iced tea or a beer.

Thank you, chefs everywhere, for sweating and chafing for us so that we might eat.