Where it all begins

When I was young, I would remember things about my mother and the job that she did.  We lived about an hour away from the restaurant that she managed and she was always gone when I got up in the mornings.  I can remember her walking in the door at about two in the afternoon and going to sleep on the couch, with a subtle nod to myself or my sister to wake her up in an hour or in 30 minutes so that she could head back to the kitchen and work until 3 a.m.
When I put on my first chef coat, I knew how she felt.  There was a blinding fatigue on some days when I would wake up in the morning that would soon fade when the first rays of light would hit me as I stepped out into the fresh air, made whatever commute I had to make to whatever restaurant I was working in at the time, and then back, often through the dining room, and or behind the bar.
Some places I worked had show kitchens where the guest could watch us toil in front of a stove or a grill.  I twirled pizzas in front of heavy brick ovens and prepared salads right in front of the guest's eyes; struggling to keep my sleeves clean.  You get pretty good at it after a while.
Then there is the rush.  You can almost feel it coming.  You can see the guests taking seats and wanting dinner.  The server approaches the table.  Then, the first tickets start coming through.  The next couple of hours is a delicate ballet that sees dishes being cooked, prepared, plated and floating to the table all at the same time.  Guests will sit, talk and give little thought to how their meal reached their plate...unless there is something wrong.  Most of the time, though, everything is right and people leave happy.  Late at night, we clean and do bar orders, laugh and joke and prepare to leave.
We love the art and the science.  We love and hate the way we have to have a stack of clean, hot, white plates for the beet carpaccio because if you mislay one of the slices it puts a beet red stain on the plate that cannot be removed.  We love special orders during down times, where we can show off.  We hate special orders when we are in the middle of rush.  We love chilling things and heating them up and getting proper use of the thermometer that we keep in our sleeve pockets.  It is all math, it is all numbers, it is all art, all at once.

My mother could have done a lot of things, other careers.  I can do a lot of things.  I cooked to put myself through film school, then went right back to the line.  The line is what calls us.  The sound of the printer; clinking glasses, silverware, barking orders and the curt reply, "yes, Chef."when an order is barked.
For some it is something to do, a summer job, or something to make ends meet for a while.  For some, it is something to try because they saw someone or something interesting on the food network.  For some, for me, it was a calling.
A part of any calling is to impart your gift to others, to share, to use your gift to make the world a better place.  99Knives is going to bring together 99 people who love the heat, the cooking.  They love the intensity and the late nights or early mornings.  Most of all, they love where they are.  They are engaged in the communities they cook in and they have a desire to make it better.  These are the chefs we are seeking for 99knives.  Chefs who love their job and their community.
Sure, there will be prizes.  Sure, there will be fun and games.  When the last chef leaves the last kitchen though, there will be bragging rights and they will leave a community...their community...a little better than when they got there.  99knives is coming and it is going to be great. The search for 99 Knives starts....NOW!--CJ

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