Open Letter 1

Dear Parent of a New Chef:

            Let me be the first to welcome you into the ultra-elite group known as ‘POKY,’ or ‘Parents of Kitchen Yutzes.’ As a new member, you have the inside track to special treatment in restaurants, just by mentioning that the product of your loins is now roasting loins for a living in some far flung town somewhere. Know ahead of time that when I do not register any recognition on my face when you tell me the name of the famous Chef your child is ‘helping’ to open a new restaurant, it is not because I have never heard of Chef Bob in Cincinnati, it is because I am intimidated and jealous that I am not working with someone of that caliber.

            With your membership, you are now free to enjoy a lifetime of listening to your offspring bitch and moan about the long hours, low pay, and lack of respect afforded him or her in their new, glamorous career choice. You can witness firsthand their slow, steady weight gain and growing bitterness as the industry they love crushes them with its stressful monotony and lack of reward.  You’ll have good seats front and center for the divorce, the drinking and drug problems, and with luck, the financial disaster they will call ‘their own restaurant.’ All of this is now yours to enjoy for the low, low cost of the brand new car you could have bought your child to cart them to work every day, where they would have gotten paid to learn the skills that they had you pay for them to muddle though.

            As your server, I will quickly recognize your obviously sophisticated palate, refined to the level of a highly paid food critic by the meals your talented young child has prepared for you with items you bought at Whole Foods during their triumphant visits home. After tasting so many of their plates, I’m certain you could not spot the flaws they saw in each one, that weren’t their fault, since your didn’t have the same pans that they use in school, or the proper brand of sea salt, or some olive oil that was worth a damn. These difficulties aside, it is apparent that you have tasted greatness, and now know it when you see it.

            Now that I know your pedigree, I will be glad to chat with you at length about all of your child’s successes in his or her career, and will patiently ignore the rest of my assigned tables to hear vivid descriptions of delicious meals you have now had the pleasure of having prepared just for you. It’s like having your own personal chef, isn’t it? Again, don’t you worry about me getting over to my other tables and serving them in a timely fashion—they aren’t a member of POKY.

            There are similar groups in other industries, such as MYCAM (My Cousin is an Auto Mechanic), IBAD (I Birthed a Doctor) and FART (Fathers of Apparel Retail Technicians). They too are greeted with awe and respect when they arrive to conduct business with total strangers and display the special handshake.

            Please keep in mind that parents of pastry chefs aren’t eligible for the same benefits as parents of regular chefs. You are instead welcome to complimentary bread and butter, with free refills.

            With all due respect,

            Your Waiter.