The Gift of a Chef’s Coat

The gift of a chef’s coat is wonderful for many people. Last week we were cleaning out the offices at work, and having gone through a name change, the old chef’s coats are now obsolete, so I asked if I could take one for my daughter. When I gave it to her (before I even washed it) she was ecstatic. She especially loved the cloth knot buttons; mine have more conventional plastic buttons. If I’d realized how excited she would be I might have saved it for a special occasion—like maybe Hanukkah.

Several years ago my mother offered my brothers-in-law and me our own chef’s coats. I had forgotten about it, but on Thanksgiving I saw my brother-in-law Dave wearing his, which sparked the memory.  My brother was miffed she hadn’t offered one to him, so he got one as well. I, ingrate that I am turned the gift down. I didn’t want my mom to be hurt, but to me a chef’s coat was something I wore at work, part of my uniform, not a gift.

It’s been a long time since I wore a chef’s coat for work, but I am in one again; back in uniform. There are many people who wear the uniform but aren’t chefs and vice versa. The coat isn’t what makes me a chef, but it is a way for others to identify me as such, especially children. It is mostly children who see me in my coat and to them I am a chef; their chef and that makes me special to them.

I recently met someone who seemed impressed that I was a graduate of the CIA, and this was far from the first time this happened. Getting into the CIA requires nothing more than applying and writing a check. It is difficult to flunk out, very few people do, and though you cook every day, including in the restaurants there, school teaches you skills.  Nothing can teach you the more subtle aspects of good cooking, or being a fine and talented chef. I am not a brilliant chef, and there are many who wouldn’t consider me a chef at all. I consider myself a good cook, with a very good culinary education and a thirst (or hunger) for increasing my knowledge about food and all things related. An authority on food if you’ll indulge me.

Shortly before my graduation from the CIA I was waiting on a table of women (maybe in their 70s) and they were asking my friend Jenny and me questions about school, and our plans after graduation. At the time I felt so old compared to many of my classmates, but I was in my mid-thirties, so I was a bit put off when one of the women said to me “Your family must be so excited, now you’ll be able to cook them great food.” Unable to hold my tongue I replied “I was a good cook before I attended school, I didn’t spend two years in school to cook for my family.” (I wasn’t wearing a chef’s coat at the time, we were dressed in black and white, with waiters’ aprons, and that outfit clearly doesn’t inspire the same respect.

Cooking for work again is both gratifying and exhausting. On Monday I peeled and chopped 100 lbs. of carrots, and my hands are sore and blistered. Once again cooking is work, I am wearing the uniform of the kitchen, and I doubt I’ll ever think of a chef’s coat as anything other than that, but that doesn’t mean that for other people a chef’s coat isn’t a lovely gift. Maybe you’re one of those who would love one of your own.