Where great cooks go to retire.

An industry niche I have yet to explore.

It’s been a while since you’ve heard from me, hello again everyone! I’ve started a new job, and while managing both my health and schedule, have settled into an entirely new routine.

I’ve been stymied by what to do with all of my stupid cook’s credentials, overqualified for a lot of things with terrible pay, and under-qualified for anything in any other industry. I’ve cooked myself into a corner, clutching my Le Cordon Bleu degree to my chest and lugging my knife kit like a suitcase, one thumb in the air, hitchhiking to… where? Loving service is one thing, having service love you back is another.

I’ve dabbled in a lot of related fields — getting my nutrition certification, working as a private chef for athletes (although my dream of being camp chef for a fight champion is yet unfulfilled, I’m keeping that on a backburner somewhere), and cooking and meal prepping in people’s homes. I spent a summer as a private chef for the families and their estates around Princeton — I could fill a novel with the things I saw that season.

I’ve also spent a considerable amount of time now writing and recipe developing, which is enjoyable if not consistent, but the pay is dismal and AI has largely taken over. Local magazines and editors are fun to write for, and I love the local beat in our NYC-adjacent, distinctly-Jersey borough, but the positions aren’t permanent, and one editor mysteriously stopped sending me checks one day. Freelancing as a food writer is a genuine struggle for consistency.

I’ve spent the last year splitting time between morning cafes with volume and good tips and working for a very cool health company as a nutrition coach and ghostwriter, while freelance writing in-between. And for a brief stint, I almost got on television.

Looking to ditch making espresso (I genuinely can’t handle the small talk anymore, or the lack of competent ownership in mom-and-pop cafes paying literal pennies) I started scouring my community for other line cook-adjacent jobs. I figured it would be nice to stop piece-mealing three jobs together for the salary of one, so lo and behold, I found a neat new niche as… a culinary instructor.

My students? Adults looking for a night out, paying to make their own dinner. The themes range from festive seasonal favorites to beginner and intermediate pasta making, and many many other classes in between.

You know that scene in Hitch, where Will Smith ends up with a diabolical seafood allergy? It’s like that, minus Will Smith.

I was hired with a sizeable group of people over the holidays, when events and classes are cranking in overtime. Already I’m impressed with the efficiency of their management system — it’s clear they’ve put a lot of thought into running these classes, flipping two kitchens upwards of three times a day, and the experiences are solid.

The students can BYO, so the hybridization of front and back of house is paramount. I open and ice wine bottles while also providing basic culinary instruction and keeping folks from hurting themselves. I’ll report back when I’ve got more classes under my belt, but it certainly has me thinking.

My peers and coworkers are all accomplished chefs and cooks with laundry lists of NYC Michelin backgrounds. For all that, the classrooms are largely devoid of ego: we’re all teaching adults how to hold a knife the right way up, nobody is vac-sealing anything or flexing too hard. We all want to be home before midnight.

The environment hums well. Everyone wants to prove they know what they’re doing, that they care about their job, and the deeply ingrained habits of former line cooks and chefs mean everyone is efficient, consistent, clean, and competitive in a healthy way.

“I’ve only been here three weeks and my skin is clearer,” one of my new coworkers told me with a shrug. “My sleep is better. My girlfriend and I aren’t fighting.”

From another: “This is a job, and like any job, it’s imperfect. I commute from Brooklyn, and take two tunnels to get here. But it sure as hell beats working nights in a restaurant.”

I’ve been employed less than a month, but can safely say I’ve found a new realm to explore. Guests tip extremely well for the service, and I’ve walked home with cash in my pockets more nights than not.

All that to say, as I adjust to what might be the most normal schedule I’ve ever held, my newsletter might just also return to our regularly scheduled programming...

Have a great Thanksgiving, go stuff yourselves! If I’m lucky, I’ll have a letter out on Friday.

Cheers,