Step one, work

I had always assumed that my first step into "chef-hood" would be through formal education,  yet all of the people I have encountered in the real world of cooking, possess no formal education what so ever, in fact it seems like these people didn't want to be chef's/cooks/bakers/dishwashers at all, they took the jobs by necessity. Where I see my self in a number of years is not in their positions at all, I see myself in a big city being the head chef of a somewhat prestigious restaurant.  I would prefer that this restaurant not be located in Wisconsin, or even the United States for that matter. I would like to follow in the steps of Mario Batali and move to Europe and find employment in a small pub or authentic restaurant and work my way up. I know this will not be a simple matter, but I need aspirations in my life to get where I want to be.

I just recently got a job at a restaurant in West Green Bay at a place called Fratellos. It is a authentic Italian place. I was hired as a dishwasher. I am not exactly sure if I am full time or part time or how much I am making... but I have my foot in the door now, my first real steps into my career. I am working about 50 some hours this week, a bit tired, but nothing I can't handle.

I have found I have developed a strong aversion towards water. I have never been in such a wet environment. My first night I made the HUGE friggen mistake of wearing skate-shoes with holes in the soles. I almost fell on my ass at least 20 times. I managed to break 2 dishes as well! What a great first night! I dropped a small plate at the wash station, which was not a big deal. I picked it up, no one was around, and tossed it into the garbage can and covered it with random food debris. No one noticed, however I was not so lucky the second time. This time I was bringing a large stack (too large) of small bowl like soup dishes to the waitress station where they are kept, I set them down and the tower of fragile ceramic fell so quickly I didn't even have the opportunity to cuss under my breath. I caught all but one. It plunged to the floor and I would have been able to catch it, if it was not for the armful of dishes I had already caught. It hit the ground. I wish it would have just broken there, but it bounced not once, or twice, but three times into the line where the cooks were finalizing a number of dishes. Then, it exploded. I could not even bear to watch it. Fragments of dish flew in every direction. A particularly large piece landed in a plate of some form of pasta. Sonofabitch...  The chef's face turned a deep purple and he started cussing violently about how it had to be thrown away and a new one had to be made, meanwhile I was on the floor avoiding his direct line of sight, avoiding the bustling waitresses and picking up every fragment of dish I could find. I finished and sulked back to my dish corner
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I finished the night in a somewhat positive mood, but still somewhat afraid of all of the cooks.  I got home, my parents were gone all weekend, and laid on the couch in my wetness, and fell asleep. I was quite impressed with how wet I had gotten when I woke up at 2pm the next day and I was still damp. I quickly dried and got ready for another night in Dante's Sea World.