What it is to be a Chef

An Early Life.*

There may never be anything as fraught with uncertainty as being asked to decide your future career at just 14 years old.

Yet that was exactly what we had to do as we neared the end of compulsory education. We knew so little of the world, and nothing we’d learned in school seemed particularly useful for trying to make a buck.

As a poor student, Fogy found his options limited. His marks weren’t high enough to unlock the more prestigious paths laid out before him, so the obvious choice—if not the inspired one—was to become a Chef.

Back then, few truly understood what being a Chef meant. The title carried an illusion of good pay, but reality was far less glamorous.

Fogy had very little experience in the kitchen—just enough, perhaps, to convince a respected restaurant owner to take a chance on him as a trainee.

“You must be prepared to work when all your friends are out playing. Late nights, weekends, Christmas and New Year’s… these things don’t exist when you’re a Chef.”

That was my official warning.

From that moment on, everything became about understanding the profession.

Fogy was lucky to be part of the first Chef’s training program offered in his small city.

It was there he learned what being a Chef really meant.

Sometimes I joke that training to be a Chef is like doing an MBA in business management.

Think about it—planning, production, marketing, innovation, people management, procurement, client service, political maneuvering. Everything a good C-suite executive must know, condensed into a smaller, more frenetic package.

And profitability? Absolutely essential. Perishable goods are unforgiving. Shelf life is short, seasons shift, and a single miscalculation can turn a full fridge into a financial loss.

Fogy worked in hotels—some small, some grand, like The Royal Scot in Edinburgh. In restaurants, many now forgotten. In clubs. In private catering.

On Norfolk Island, he was invited to help cater one of the island’s most important weddings.

In Scotland, he spent ten months at a castle near Edinburgh, preparing banquets for American tourists who wanted the full Scottish experience—Robbie Burns, haggis, and all.

Cooking is science too. Training was where we first understood thermal dynamics, ingredient reactions, and the elegant balance of food and wine.

To be a production chef, you had to be nimble—mentally and physically. True multitasking was non-negotiable. You needed a sharp sense of time and smell, and above all, an artistic eye. A meal could make or break your reputation. It had to look the part, taste the part, be the part.

Over time, I’ve prepared and tasted countless dishes—many of which would sound unfamiliar to most. After a while, the novelty fades, and fewer things stand out.

Do I still cook?. Not much, mostly for very special occasions. So much has changed and my life is so different today, but the memories linger and many of the other skills have not been lost.

When asked what my favourite food is, I pause, reflect, and reply:
“Cheese bacon salada.”

It’s a local favourite—a burger with bacon and cheese on a bun, with salad. Humble, but somehow always satisfying.

It keeps my life simple.
And perhaps, that’s the quiet secret to growing old.

Cheers.

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