When I wasn't displaced pt. 1

     I remember being 14 years old and flipping burgers at a local drive in restaurant and there was never a time in my life that things were more clear.  It was fun work, sexy waitresses ran passed my window all day, and I had all the pot I could smoke.  For a directionless teenager it was pure bliss. It started as a seasonal summer job to save money for my first car, but for the next four summers I came back.  Food network was just beginning to take off and I was inspired to take the limited burger joint ingredients we had specific to the menu and create new dishes.  It was a game we'd play when things were slow.  I had always planned on graduating high school and attending a four year college and then law school.  It was what my dad had always told me was the smartest path.  He was and still is a diesel mechanic and owns his own business.  He had always warned me about the pitfalls of not getting an education.  He used his work as an example of how hard the work could be if I didn't take a more white collar path.  As I closed in on junior year I had to start making some serious decisions about what I wanted to do and where I wanted to go to school.

     I had taken the a few elective courses and joined specific clubs to get a sense for the career I was planning on pursuing.  I took applied law, I was on the mock trial team, model congress as well as the debate team.  I did really well, but FUCK it was boring.  All of it.  I couldn't wait to get out and go to work.  I got to play with my food and got paid for it.  What's better than that?  My senior year of highschool I picked up a second job at a local pub and got to run that kitchen with another cook.  I had received a few acceptance letters from schools I applied to at this point.  I went into autopilot at school once they started to come in.  I was bored with school and I just wanted to cook.  I was parties most nights after work, or playing poker at some of the older employees' homes and they had beer.  I skipped a lot of school that year and spent all of my free time working.  I was having the time of my life.  But school would be starting soon and all that would end.  I was taking full advantage. 

     I finally had an opportunity to be in charge at the pub when the lead cook was fired for sleeping with the bartender, who was also the owner's youngest daughter.  I remember being so excited for the chance to make whatever I wanted.  To order, smell and taste the ingredients that I had only read about or seen on TV.  I could order what I wanted, and more importantly I could create something that would have my stamp on it.  My first special was a dish I stole out of some random cookbook in the kitchen.  It was a stuffed chicken breast with roasted potatoes.  Looking back now, it was a hideous dish, but the recipe was well written and I executed it well enough that one of the pub patrons said it was delicious and that it should be added to the menu.  It was at that moment that I became addicted to the kitchen.  The instant gratification that came from knowing a customer enjoyed something I created was intoxicating.  Fuck Villanova, I wanted to cook.  

     I told my dad the next morning.  In true Dad form he freaked the fuck out!  He didn't talk to me for almost a week as he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that I wanted to be a "greasy line cook" instead of a successful attorney in an expensive suit.  He frowned upon the industry and was simultaneously projecting his feelings of regret for not pursuing a cushier career on to me.  I was in my room one night after work preparing to shower.  I wreaked of french fries and beef fat.  Sexy right?  Dad walked in and said that if I was sure that I wanted to cook, I needed to learn from the best and be the best.  He challenged me with exploring culinary arts schools and compiling a case for and against each school.  Two days later we sat and scheduled campus visits at two of my top picks. It was a no brainer.  The Culinary Institute of America (CIA) was the only way to go.  I applied that night online when we got home and got copies of my transcripts the next morning.  I felt like I had just taken the first step toward pursuing my passion.  Six weeks later I was in!  I  was home!