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Cashiers Chef

The chef and his sous chef. A man and his wife, had three kids, a grandchild, and an ever demanding but thriving business. 

It had been decades of hard work and sousing himself before he struck out on his own. Though not alone, his wife, who at had also been working the same kitchen, was the perfect partner for the business. 

Their relationship had begun in the flames of local but classy restaurant. As each of them worked up through the ranks they learnt the requisite skills of running a kitchen. With the nature of the profession, they’d then shifted around some, but ultimately settling back in the one Appalachian Mountain towns of North Carolina. 

Sharing both personal and professional lives the team of two knew precisely how each other operated, and their roles within the space. Still, it was clear from the outset that he called the shots, made the decisions, and drove the growth.  

Going out on his own had been trying. The ups and downs had been hard on the business, I could only imagine the same of their relationship. But difficult as it was, he was unwilling to compromise on his vision. He only wanted to source local ingredients. Organic, free range, and trusted. While both proud of the food, it added a layer of complexity that they constantly wrestled with.

The creative expression to come out of the kitchen told the table as much. The food was full in flavour and variety. As each course was served, he’d explain what was done to create it, detailing each of the ingredients, their purpose, and the farms from which they came.

Be it carrot, chicken, or cornmeal he’d proudly state its origin. The cornmeal. It had to be sourced from across the state line in Georgia. There he’d visited the mill that ground the grain – still spun by a wheel turning in a creek. The mill had been operating for over 180 years and produced a high-grade product he happily stood by. 

His wife, soft-spoken and reserved, was a workhorse. She’d dart between kitchen and table – placing full plates and removing the empty. The constant prioritization of tasks never left her idle. That said, their two-man operation wasn’t seamless – I doubt any real kitchen ever is. When the mark was missed, individually they’d make mental notes; where was the error, how to adjust, what to substitute. 

Thinking through all this, I wondered how the drive home looked after each job. A constant play by play of the evening and its nuances, or did exhaustion take hold, and they would just sit in silence. Tacitly agreeing to let it ride as the night rushed by.