Leadership in the kitchen
As I arrived at my first Good Food and Wine Show in Durban, shortly after the launch of my first book, A Week in The Kitchen, I was surrounded by crisply dressed culinary school students assigned to my demo clustered close and asking questions: “How would you like the carrots sliced, chef? Would you like us to mix the dressing, chef?” I was a little curious about who might be behind me until I realised, with a blush, that “chef!” was me! I had always worn my chef’s whites as protective wear. I was accustomed to dirty aprons and well-worn clogs. I’d spent days and some entire nights prepping in one kitchen or another for events large and small. And in my young shop, I was still in the thrall of daily creation and innovation, producing new vegetable-led dishes to seduce, heal and inspire! I regarded myself as a cook more than a chef. I’d done time in kitchens in the U.S. and England. But I had not been to cooking school! Me? Chef?
My leadership in the kitchen had evolved so organically and speedily that I had not recognised that in fact, I was a chef, if a non-traditional one. But this was the time of challenging all kinds of “norms”. In my kitchen, I was making scandalous combinations, using methods discovered by trial and error, hacks, and new ideas that would probably raise some eyebrows but clearly resulted in some pleasing and winning results. We were “reaching for the jugular” and my whole team were behind me. I was a chef leading my kitchen into flavour and discovery and leading a whole community of committed eaters into deliciousness – food that was fresh, accessible, and GOOOOOD!
We’d exchanged the close quarters of my home kitchen for a tiny Woodstock kitchen which we shaped into a restaurant space. But having come from the intimacy of a home, my core team were accustomed to my shameless pursuit of people pleasing and the sheer fun of cooking together and a familiarity with resourcefulness. It worked this way: I led the charge, brought the concept and the ideas, the plan and the clients and I created the space for it all to happen. Once I’d made a dish, assembled a salad, that dish became the domain of one of my team. From the very beginning, our style was collaborative. I would arrive with a sheaf of recipes: Phumla – Slaws, Beetroot, and falafel. Pati, the bigger salads. Sandra, brassicas and pastry. Margi, meat, fish and baking. We all had to like the dish before it could take its place in our repertoire. The value of the company, our solid arsenal of recipes, our output and sheer (breath-taking) capacity, lived in the bodies of my cooks.
And so, I put on my lipstick and gave my attention to looking after my crew. What makes people happy? Recognition – for effort, sacrifice, good work. Autonomy. Once people know what they must do, they must be trusted to get on with it. Fairness. Front of house and back of house on an equal pay footing. More pay for more responsibility. I shunned managers. (sorry managers!) In my experience, managers can immobilize a crew. A basic medical aid for doctor’s visits. Staff transport for late nights. Responsibility and trust. Over the years, my crew have run parties all over the peninsula and the Western Cape.
The front of house crew was vital too. Here, by modelling disarming hospitality, kindness and generosity I hoped that my willing team would do the same. In the safety of the team, each member gets to bring something: a knack for superb presentation? Particular patience? A cleaning wizardry? Effervescent hospitality? Superior organization? Steadiness? My skill was in identifying that distinction and setting it free!
Since the whole direction of food was predicated on joy, delight was our work, the queues and the bustling shop our reward. We just had to keep it coming! The degree of success I’ve had is borne in the degree to which my team owned this joy of service and the confidence that comes from the knowledge that WE MADE SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL, TOGETHER!