A Prelude to a 'Bear' of a Metaphor
Truth be told, sometimes I cringe when I see others [or myself] trying to draw insight and wisdom from pop culture. Sometimes photos, memes, song lyrics, streaming shows, and celebrity quotes should simply stand on their own as isolated one-off moments of time. Yet, in our contemporary social media culture, it is permitted and arguably expected, to assign a greater sense of purpose and meaning to pop icons and moments. Doing so makes us LOL, question and think, feel outrage, and occasionally cry. This process helps us to self-identify, relate, and experience “the nature of being human” through the emotional connection of pop culture assimilation.
Whether our intent is fun and witty, cute and loving, inspirational, satirical, political, educational, or something else, we contort the original context of pop culture moments so that we too can be seen and heard. Essentially, we seek out identity, belonging, and purpose. I’m guilty of this. As a writer, I’m always working at the craft of storytelling, trying to entertain the reader while hopefully educating and enlightening them along the way. In my experience, this is not easy to do.
This said, I’m going to go against my better judgement, sit comfortably with my cringe, and reference a popular streaming Hulu show, ‘The Bear,’ to illuminate a perspective on how we can attain greater prosperity through planet (and people) pragmatism. Let me explain.
When I first discovered FX’s ‘The Bear’ on Hulu, I conducted the incredibly unscientific ‘ten-minute’ rule, something I’ve adopted for my family to quickly evaluate any new show or movie that is streaming. In my unprofessional assessment, ten minutes is just about enough time to get past the first scene, experience some character and plot development, and make the determination on whether you’ll invest another 30-minutes or 3-days into the show, particularly if watching with friends or family.
By the way, I’ll let you know, that if there is a show you selfishly want to watch and a family member or two is not yet convinced, the ten-minute rule seems to pull others onboard. I think this is because after ten minutes people feel emotionally invested. Or perhaps the psychology of having a choice in the matter yields buy-in. Plus, if you and others ultimately determine not to watch the show, at least you’ve ruled out whether the show will be a family affair, or an individual pursuit. Afterall, life is short, and there are a lot of great shows and other things one can be doing with their precious time. So, a few minutes to make a family “go, no-go” decision on a show, is a reasonable strategy and a small investment.
If you haven’t seen an episode of The Bear, forgive me for this pop culture reference. But it cuts deep for me, and I would wager, for anyone who has worked in a restaurant. I had no idea what The Bear was about prior to clicking play. I had seen some previews and heard some buzz but had no understanding of the characters or story. All I knew was that the show had loosely cobbled together around a Chicago-based beef sandwich shop. That seemed interesting enough for me to start with. A few minutes into my ten-minute rule watching Season 1, Episode 1, and I was hooked.
The Bear brilliantly touches on something beautiful as it dives into the intensity of the characters rising emotions, their race against (restaurant service and personal) time, and the desire to find personal joy and meaning in life while simultaneously fighting to survive (in business and in life). I instantly identified and resonated with The Bear because I spent a solid ten years of my early life working in restaurants, including working “on the line.”
We’re All Working and Living, “On the Line”
For those that may not know, the “line” is a reference for the main cooking area in a commercial kitchen. The “on the line” metaphor reaches far beyond the restaurant kitchen. It’s also a fantastic metaphor for the state of affairs of our society, and the intention one gives to the development of their occupation and lifestyle.
There are line workers in the power sector, who put their lives at risk every day, to ensure we have safe and reliable electricity. There are union workers that picket “the line” in attempts to secure fairer wages and better working conditions. There are the offensive and defensive lines in football, each as critical as the other in determining whether the team will secure a win and successful outcome to the game. There are the courageous entrepreneurs, small business owners, and single working mothers, each who respectively “put it on the line” each day, striving to achieve success and a better quality of life and future for themselves and their families. Then there is the long line, we’ve all experienced, as citizens and consumers, patiently awaiting our turn to renew a license, receive medical care, make that special purchase, celebrate an special occasion, or pay respects to someone who has passed. Essentially, we are all “on the line,” facing most certain personal and professional risk, as we fumble our way through this beautiful thing we call life.
Back to the kitchen. The art of cuisine, the fast-paced chaotic environment, the nuanced culture and language, the unspoken systems and processes, the creatures and characters, the flexing and compressing of time (i.e., “every second counts,” The Bear), the pressure points and the elation felt after a good night – work within a restaurant is like a microcosm of greater society. When at its best, the restaurant is like a well-tuned orchestra, everyone has a role to serve, and each person is a link and note that connects the music and amplifies the restaurant’s performance, and every customers’ experience. When at its worst, the restaurant fails to create an experience, leaving most dissatisfied, disillusioned, and disgruntled. Anyone who has spent time working in a bustling restaurant, whether as a chef, line cook, prep cook, waitstaff, dishwasher, bartender, owner, maintenance staff, host, or in-house entertainer knows what I’m speaking of.
The experience is more than the food and drink, it’s more than the venue and entertainment, its more than the owner’s story and staff. The experience encapsulates the profound sense of connection and community that comes together in celebration, in defeat, and during times of pain and suffering. The restaurant is a place of acceptance and camaraderie. It’s a mirror to ourselves and to society, the good and bad, the beautiful and horrid. That’s the magic of The Bear. The show is about how people define place, how place defines people, and how we are all working to attain belonging, identity, and greater prosperity. When we do it together, as a team, that can be enriching and rewarding. When we try to do it alone, we struggle, if not fail, just as the main character Carmen (“Carmy”) tries and experiences as the eccentric chef on The Bear.
First Jobs are a Bear: Discovering My Place “On the Line”
One month before my fifteenth birthday I got hired in my first job as a dishwasher at a local Italian restaurant in Auburn, New York. My older sister was a bus girl and made me aware of the opportunity. After talking it over with my parents, I decided to explore the job. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but the idea of making a few bucks drove my intrigue and enthusiasm.
My interview was straightforward. I pretty much filled out some paperwork, met the restaurant owners for a conversation, and answered some questions gauging my level of interest, commitment, and character. I was hired as a dishwasher making minimum wage, which at that time was well below five dollars an hour. But wages aside, I was excited, even as a budding fifteen-year-old, to have a job. However, after my first evening washing dishes, both my enthusiasm and intrigue would wane. Restaurant work is hard. The environment is loud, sticky, and hot. The hours are long. The pay is minimal. During service, the activity can feel maddening.
As a dishwasher, you get to observe a lot. At some point, dishwashers touch every single utensil, pan, rack, cup, bowl, plate, cutting board, and so on. Dishwashers deal with everyone, except the customer. The dishwasher area can be a transitional and transactional zone of warfare and for peace. Often, dishwashers receive the brunt of frustration from all other service providers in the kitchen and throughout the restaurant. I’ve seen tempers flare and hugs of compassion at the dishwasher battleground as chefs took out frustration and as waitresses and bartenders apologized for curt comments made during service.
The dishwasher battle zone can be outright nasty. On one hand, the job is filthy, on the other, you have to be willing to put up with a lot of abuse, most of which has nothing to do with you, or your job. The dishwasher is the dumping ground for trash, whether it’s tangible food waste or verbal diarrhea spewing from someone needing to vent. In my experience, dishwashers develop, whether they ever wanted to or not, much thicker skin. There are a lot of dirty and tough jobs out there, but dishwashing certainly stands up to many of them.
There is nothing glamorous about scraping food from plates, pots, and pans. I literally went home every evening covered in sweat, food debris, and grease. I smelled terrible. My mom made me leave the sneakers I wore outside. I’d shower and yet could still smell the restaurant on me.
Looking back, dishwashing was a great training ground for a first job. The job was rewarding, and it built work ethic and character. The first paycheck reinforced what all the pain was for. And, over time, the job became equally fulfilling. As I learned to do the job better – quicker, cleaner, more efficiently, etc., I became more aware of satisfying my customers – wait staff, prep and line cooks, chefs and owners. It did not take long to understand that as disgusting and menial dishwashing was, it served an essential purpose in the overall composition of the restaurant orchestra. Dishes and pans needed to be cleaned, trash needed to be discarded, boxes needed to be broken down and recycled, ovens needed to be degreased and cleaned, walk-in coolers and freezers needed to be sanitized, floors needed to be swept and mopped. All of these tasks and many more were standard sheet music that needed to be played, so that the orchestra could hit the crescendo with gusto, night after night.
Ironically, and amid the frenzied and frustrating environment, I began to enjoy working in a restaurant, and soon enough I began to take on new responsibilities including supporting prep cooks. Eventually I would leave that first job and restaurant, only to take another job as a prep cook at another Italian restaurant. Then, a year or two after that I became a prep cook and then a line cook. Soon enough I was serving lunch, dinner, and even “late night” for the evening bar dwellers. I learned by watching, listening, and asking questions from those that knew the answer. I also learned by jumping in and doing, modeling the technique of trained chefs and cooks that were educated from the Culinary Institute of America and other fine institutions.
Working in a restaurant I’ve burned my feet, hands, arms and other body parts too many times to count. I’ve gone to the emergency room for stitches after slicing my hand open with a French knife. I’ve slipped and fallen on the wet kitchen floor, and pulled a muscle or two trying to dump hundred pound trash containers into the dumpster (usually spilling a good portion down my shirt). Restaurant work is physical and exhausting. But, slowly I gained my sea legs and developed new skills, from safe food preparation to organization and efficiency, cleanliness, cooking and food presentation. As I saw my skill set grow, so did my pay, also elevating my overall confidence and attitude toward work.
I enjoyed working, “on the line,” as a line cook. I began working on the frier and pasta station, cooking veal and chicken parmesan and steaming an array of pastas. Over time I moved “down the line” and onto learning all aspects of grilling a perfect medium-rare filet, backing perfect haddock, and sautéing shrimp piccata, chicken marsala, and bespoke dinner specials.
Serving “on the line” aside trained cooks and chefs was a privilege and a challenge. A Friday or Saturday dinner rush at the restaurant I worked for could see more than 300 to 350 reservations. That’s a lot of table turns and a lot of pasta. Evenings such as those could witness a brilliantly orchestrated performance, or they could have been disastrous. The head chef was usually the conductor, and in my experience, the well trained and educated chef usually led a tighter performance.
The well trained experienced head chef typically set the tone, pace, attitude, and expectation for each evening. I always found comfort in that, even if it felt a bit dictatorial or militaristic. The ground rules, boundary conditions, and expectations that were provided to me and to others served as a compass and provided a sense of certainty during the turbulent moments of a dinner rush. During moments of what could be construed as chaos, there was focused attention, detail to the task at hand, and an understanding of the bigger picture and objective.
Beyond a job, I grew fond of the people and place that brought life to the restaurant. Having previously worked as a dishwasher, I learned to respect everyone and the role they served. The work was the work, so to speak, but the diversity of colorful personalities, backgrounds, experiences, and daily mischief and mishaps made for a truly unique experience. My appreciation and love of cooking and the restaurant business expanded and for a brief moment I considered applying to the Culinary Institute of America to become a chef. I remember thinking methodically about the opportunity and decision. I weighed the pros and cons, but ultimately I chose another education and career path. All through my high school, undergraduate, and graduate school years, I would return to rejoin the cast of characters and musicians that made up the restaurant circus, symphony, and tragic comedy for a new season of entertainment and work.
My career has progressed quite a bit since my dishwashing days. I’ve been fortunate to work for public benefits, applied research, academic, manufacturing, engineering, advanced technology, and consulting organizations across a diversity of technical, management, and leadership roles. My career has been an incredible journey, but I still look back fondly on my first job including the opportunity and learning it provided.
Financially, my restaurant years paid for my first car, a 1985 Chevy Monte Carlo. The experience also paid for my first two years of college tuition and expenses, not to mention so many late teen and early 20s fun entertainment expenses, from golfing to travel, movies, dinners, and so much more. It was the consummate first job experience, teaching me the value of discipline, hard work, finance, organization, management, creative expression, communication, listening, and leadership. The experience challenged me. The people and the environment taught me a lot about myself including lessons that I needed to be taught, and some things I learned about myself that I did not care for very much. But like most people, I learned more about myself and I grew. Restaurants can be an unforgiving place to work. It’s a job, and your part of a crew. You either sink or swim. At the young age of fourteen, I chose to swim.
Our Society is Far From Attaining Our First Michelin Star, Can a Purposeful Pursuit of Planet Prosperity Get Us There?
Okay, if my “on the line” restaurant experience and “The Bear” metaphors have not turned you away yet, I’m shocked, but grateful. Thanks for sticking with me and let me try to bring this all home. Fast forward and my “ten-minute” show rule for “The Bear” resulted in me consuming hours of watching the balance of Seasons 1, 2, and 3. I had no idea of the deeper trauma, drama, and journey that the show would encapsulate. It was all well worth it, at least in my assessment of a pretty decent show.
As one of the threads of the show, the main character and gifted chef, Carmen (“Carmy”) chose to pursue a Michelin Star, the epitome of personal achievement and restaurant excellence. Having previously worked at award-winning Michelin Star restaurants, Carmy knew, at least from one perspective, what that image of greatness looked like. During Season’s 1 through 3, the show captures the transformation of Carmy’s dead brother’s beef sandwich shop into a flourishing hip new restaurant. To get the restaurant into Michelin shape, Carmy’s vision required a completely artisan and bespoke menu, flawless execution, impeccable service, deep commitment to structure and systems, and intolerance for anything but excellence.
Carmy’s obsessive pursuit of a Michelin Star, while an image of greatness, also cost him a great deal in his personal relationships and the joy that originally fueled his creativity and enabled his gifted abilities as a chef. Carmy was at war with himself, fighting his own demons and perceptions of greatness, much of which had been self-imposed and constructed from his past relationships with family, friends, and those that trained him professionally. Ultimately Carmy had to make a choice and determine how to relinquish the source energy that fed his joy, while also navigating the true purpose of leading people, and toward a new definition of prosperity and success. For those that haven’t watched “The Bear,” I won’t give away any surprises here.
The point however is that our journey as a society and as individuals are both unique and interlocked. Working to achieve personal prosperity at the expense of the greater good my serve a few, but this mantra of selfish success has caused and is continuing to create enormous damages to the environment, and to the greater wellbeing of society.
The year 2024 marks a pivotal time in history. We have access to incredible research, technology, infrastructure, and resources like no other time in human evolution. We arguably have the best of the best tools, facilities, ingredients, and team to do exceptional things that better the fate and future of humanity. We can cure disease, launch rockets, and have artificial intelligence do our homework. Yet, we remain mired in doing things the same old way, and in some cases, reverting social progress backwards by decades and more.
We’re like Carmy, gifted and skilled, well trained, but also alone and broken.
We’re tethered to such an ideal of perfectionism for greater prosperity that we have forgotten that it is, and has always been, about the pursuit. We must not take anything as a given or for granted. We may or may not achieve a Michelin Star in our pursuit of a greater prosperity. But we must not forget that the prize, the win, the accomplishment will only happen when the entire kitchen staff (society), serve and perform with excellence and in united way.
Principles for Remaining Focused on Planet Pragmatism
The pursuit of prosperity is challenging during this time of swift technological change, social unease, economic uncertainty and turbulence, and environmental challenge. The planet and our prosperity are literally and figuratively, “on the line,” as we determine our fate and future as global citizens and consumers. To achieve personal and societal prosperity, we must recognize, respect, reinforce, and reward the fact that we all have a role to serve. Prosperity only occurs when everyone contributes and is treated, equitably and with dignity.
Serving society, or living, “on the line,” can be exhilarating, particularly when risk can be proactively identified, managed, and mitigated. Although the future can feel uncertain, we can positively effectuate change and choose to minimize fear and exemplify excellence in how we unite with compassion, courage, and resolve. We must recognize that our mindset is a choice, as are our actions, as we pursue prosperity. A clear mind can yield focused results, particularly when it is reinforced with a positive attitude. If we are grateful, eager, and willing to put in the hard work, we all will learn, grow, and prosper together.
Life is a bear, but it can be tamed. Society is yearning for greater connection, beyond the feigned and fickle likes and shallow emptiness of our pop and social media culture. We must take it upon ourselves to tear down fictional barriers in how we choose to communicate, collaborate, learn, live, and grow. Taming the bear requires all of us to look in the mirror to question our own behaviors in the face of our true beliefs and values.
Planet pragmatism is about taking practical steps toward attaining a higher quality of life and enriching life’s journey now, in the present moment. It’s about tapping into the innate wisdom we all have, a desire to be seen, to have identity, to feel safe, to have a sense of belonging, and to discover and serve others with intention and purpose. Planet pragmatism is not about chasing shiny objects or achieving Michelin Stars. It’s about celebrating the vast richness that life has to offer, and which is already abundantly available to us.
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