But you do remember the day you snapped out of it.
The Kitchen Was Too Quiet
There’s a moment in every cook’s life—doesn’t matter if you’re running a street cart in Hanoi or a Michelin line in Paris—when the work stops being art and starts being repetition.
You know the motions.
You plate it clean.
You deliver. On time. Every time.
And something inside you starts to die.
Not all at once. Not in flames. Just… quietly.
The noise in your head gets replaced by checklists.
Your hands still move, but your eyes? They don’t scan the room the same way.
That’s the danger of work that’s “known.”
It seduces you. It flatters you.
And then it forgets you were ever there.
The Job That Might Not Work
I once knew a guy named Sal. Bronx-born. Tattooed soul. Could de-bone a fish blindfolded and still plate it prettier than most of the food in Midtown.
He was good. Too good.
So they put him on the safe stuff. VIP steaks. Corporate orders.
Things that “couldn’t go wrong.”
Two years later, he quit. No fanfare. Just walked out after service, didn’t come back.
Said he missed feeling something when he cooked.
I didn’t get it then. I do now.
You can’t build a life on known answers.
At some point, you’ve got to step to the edge and do the thing that might not work.
That’s where the flavor is.
No Map, Just Instinct
Everyone wants the recipe.
Nobody wants to be the first one to try the new ingredient.
But real value?
That lives in the messy stuff.
In the first-time tries. The burnt first batch.
The “what if we…” that ends in either applause or a grease fire.
You don’t get glory without grit.
And you don’t build a legacy by following someone else’s prep list.
Ask Yourself Before You Clock In
Here’s a quick gut-check for the next time you step into whatever kitchen you call work:
- Did I create today?
- Or did I just replicate?
If the answer feels hollow, you probably already know what needs to change.
The Real Risk
The biggest risk isn’t that something might not work.
It’s that everything keeps working exactly as it always has.
No lessons. No scars. No stretch. Just more days on the line, wondering where the hell your instincts went.
Do something that might burn.
Might flop. Might make them ask, “Who made this?”
Because that’s how they remember your name.
🕵️♀️ This reflection is part of The Deductionists—a league of legendary thinkers dissecting the peculiar and profound in how we work, design, and relate. Because if we don’t question it, who will?
🎙 Got a taste for more? Hear more irreverent insights on The Deductionists Podcast—available on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and anywhere you get your podcasts.
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