What Would I Say to an 18-Year-Old Me Starting in Hospitality?
25 years in whites. Here’s what I wish someone had told me at 18.
If I could sit down with the 18-year-old version of myself on his first day in a kitchen, I think I’d keep it pretty simple, in fact I often get to do this, holding mental health and resilience talks at colleges regularly, I have the privilege to hold these conversations and presentations.
I’d tell him to listen.
I’d tell him to learn.
And I’d tell him to stop worrying quite so much about money.
Not forever. Money matters. We all have bills to pay, and nobody should be expected to work for buttons and a pat on the back.
But at 18, your biggest currency isn't your wage.
It's what you know.
Learn before you earn
When you start in hospitality, you have an opportunity that becomes increasingly valuable as you get older: time to learn.
Learn the basics properly. Mother sauces, focaccia, pastry case, speed and precision.
Learn how to hold a knife. Sharpen it. Look after it.
Learn how to season. Learn how to taste.
Learn how to cook an egg properly before you start trying to reinvent one.
Or worse, deconstruct one on a plate with textures of, and memoirs of foam, and invisible herb oil or some shit you saw on TV....
Learn stocks, sauces, butchery, pastry, vegetables, fish and meat. Learn how ingredients behave. Learn why things work rather than simply memorising how to do them.
And learn different cuisines. Learn how they all balance, pair, and complement each other.
Don't become the chef who only knows the food from the kitchen they've spent the last three years standing in.
Move around when it makes sense. Work with different chefs. Experience different styles. Take something from every kitchen you enter.
You don't need to agree with everything you see.
But you should learn from everything you see.
Education is an investment that nobody can take away from you.
Hospitality is a resilience industry
And becoming less so, and in that comes a financial cost to the owners. That has impact. There is something about working in hospitality that is difficult to explain to people who have never done it.
It's hard.
Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.
A ticket machine you hear in your sleep - All. The. Time.
It's long hours, pressure, heat, noise, deadlines, customers, deliveries, prep lists, broken equipment, staff shortages and the inevitable moment when someone says, "Chef, we're out of..."
Something. Usually something important.
But here's the thing.
Hard isn't necessarily dangerous.
There is a difference between a demanding environment that builds resilience and a toxic or dangerous environment that damages people.
If a kitchen is challenging, don't automatically run for the door.
Sometimes getting into hot water is exactly how you learn to deal with pressure.
Hot water softens a potato, and hardens an egg - both can be cooked perfectly -
You learn how to keep going.
You learn how to think when things aren't going to plan.
You learn that service doesn't stop because you're having a bad day.
You learn to solve problems rather than simply point at them.
That resilience will pay dividends throughout your career.
How to deliver a shift with water pooring in from the ceiling because of a leak or burst pipe.
How to deliver a shift at 50 degrees, without a walkin, on half the staff - getting creative with a menu.
How to communicate.
Hospitality needs people who don't immediately give up when something gets difficult.
However, let's be absolutely clear: toxic, abusive, discriminatory, unsafe or dangerous behaviour isn't "character building".
Leave those environments.
Resilience doesn't mean accepting abuse.
It means knowing the difference between something that is hard and something that is harmful.
Don't jump ship for 20p - Though you'll be tempted
One of the biggest pieces of advice I'd give my younger self?
Don't move jobs just because someone offered you 20p more an hour.
I've done it.
I've chased the next position.
I've thought the next title, the next venue, the next opportunity or the latest trend would somehow make everything better.
Sometimes it did.
Sometimes it absolutely didn't.
Your career isn't a race to collect job titles.
You do not need to race through the positions as fast as possible.
Move because you're going to learn something.
Move because you'll work with someone who can teach you.
Move because the food will challenge you.
Move because you'll gain responsibility.
Move because it gives you exposure to something new.
Move because you're progressing as a person.
Move for progress, not simply movement.
And don't desperately climb the career ladder just because you think you should.
There's no prize for becoming a sous chef before you're ready to be one.
There is enormous value in becoming bloody good at the job you're actually doing.
Master the position you're in.
Then move forward.
Build your reputation before your CV
At 18, you probably don't realise how important your reputation will become.
Be reliable.
Turn up.
Be on time.
Do the job properly.
Listen.
Ask questions.
Don't pretend you know something when you don't.
There is nothing wrong with saying:
"Chef, I've never done that before. Can you show me?"
That's not weakness.
That's intelligence.
The industry needs tekkers with intellect, simple
And don't underestimate how far being someone people can rely on will take you.
I've seen incredibly talented chefs struggle because nobody trusts them.
I've also seen people with less natural ability progress because they were reliable, switched on, willing to learn and good to have around.
Talent gets you noticed.
Character gets you remembered. Integrity has your name mentioned in rooms you are not in, for all the right reasons.
Use your head, not your rage
Kitchen culture has changed enormously over the last 25 years.
Some of the old-school behaviour that was once considered normal shouldn't be normal anymore.
You don't need substances to get through service.
You don't need alcohol to switch off every night.
You don't need rage to lead people.
And you certainly don't need to burn the candle at both ends every night to prove you're committed.
There is a difference between dedication and self-destruction.
Look after yourself.
Read.
Learn.
Sleep when you can.
Keep your body functioning.
Keep your head clear.
Sharpen your skills, not your temper.
The best chefs I've worked with weren't necessarily the loudest people in the kitchen.
They were the ones who could think.
Coffee is great, but real nourishment through a shift, and you will need half the amount
Protein, water, some carbs, know when its time for a bowl of porridge, because you wont always see when you should take yourself off for it.
Find the good stuff
Because despite everything I've just said, there is a reason I've stayed in this industry for 25 years.
The food.
The people.
The creativity.
The camaraderie.
The satisfaction of producing something you're proud of.
The buzz of a busy service when everything clicks.
The 8:30 service call when all sections reply yes chef.
Teaching someone something and watching them nail it for the first time.
Opening a new kitchen. And I did my fair share of them
Creating a dish. Ditto.
Building a team. Again - plenty too
Seeing a young chef you once worked with become bloody good at what they do.
Those are the things you remember.
Hospitality gives you experiences that few other industries can.
It can take you places. Globally, not just locally because a mate works there - fuck that.
It can introduce you to people you would never otherwise meet.
It can give you skills that stay with you for life. Just as much as people.
And, if you do it properly, it can give you some very good stories.
Some of them are even suitable for telling in public.
Where do you find support?
Don't try to navigate the industry completely on your own.
Find people you respect.
A chef you trust.
A mentor.
A colleague who has been there longer than you.
Someone outside the kitchen who can give you perspective.
There are also organisations, communities and support networks across hospitality that exist specifically to help people in the industry.
And don't be afraid to ask for help.
There is absolutely no shame in saying you're struggling, that you don't understand something, or that you need advice.
You don't have to know everything at 18.
You're supposed to be learning.
So write it down - the recipe, the day, the learning of a good or bad shift, journal, know yourself.
And finally...
If I could give my 18-year-old self one final piece of advice, it would probably be this:
Leave every kitchen better than you found it.
Not just physically.
Leave it with better food.
Better standards.
Better systems.
Better people.
Teach someone something.
Help someone improve.
Fix something rather than complaining about it.
Clean something you didn't dirty.
Sharpen the knives.
Put the stock away properly.
And if you've got five minutes, maybe clean that bloody fridge.
Because your legacy isn't just the dishes you cooked.
It's what you left behind.
After 25 years in whites, I've learned that hospitality isn't about finding the perfect kitchen, the perfect chef or the perfect job.
It's about learning.
It's about people.
It's about resilience.
It's about constantly getting better.
And it's about understanding when to stay and fight through the difficult stuff, and when it's time to walk away.
So to the 18-year-old starting his first shift:
Learn more than you earn.
Move for progress, not pennies.
Build resilience, but never tolerate toxicity.
Use your head. Look after yourself.
Respect the food. Respect the people.
Oh - and decent chef shoes, not the bullshit ones some coke head tells you to get - goodbye knees in years to come, so choose wisely
And whatever kitchen you walk into next...
leave it better than you found it.
That's probably the best bit of advice I could give.
And if all else fails, sharpen your knife.
At least one thing will be under control.
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