Dating chefs.

So you would like to date a chef.

You watched The Bear and decided that there’s something about a person who is so deeply committed to their craft, getting hot and sweaty in a cramped kitchen, something about them that makes your insides flutter.

What’s not to find attractive? They’re passionate about their work. They’re good with their hands. Maybe there’s something about the chef whites. The concentration and the focus. The ability to multitask. They can feed you and thus satisfy a basic human need. And if they can fulfil that, then surely they can help out with other needs too. Watching a chef cook and plate a dish is a widely eroticised act. It symbolises an ability and will to care for you, a self-sufficiency as a human being, and it demonstrates skill and finesse, all highly sought-after criteria in an eligible partner indeed.

Well, if you put it like that, sure. I can kind of see your point.

However, having worked with chefs for a good few years now, I can’t help but observe the stark contrast of this image with the reality.

Apologies to any chefs and colleagues whose reputation I may be crushing now, but it needs to be said. With all the love and respect for the industry, we are a pretty pathetic bunch.

Most of the time we’ll be covered in sweat and a thin layer of cooking oil, carrying a waft of garlic, onion, and fish wherever we go. Our hair is most likely greasy. Our hands are sore and raw from constant washing, chemicals, acids and chillies. Our bodies are pale from a lack of sun exposure and varicose veins are a common sight. We might be strong but don’t expect shredded and toned bodies – good gym habits and healthy diets are a rarity.

All day we are cramped together in a small, under-ventilated kitchen, exchanging variations of the same silly jokes, profanities, and unsavoury anecdotes until everyone’s sense of humour has reached a shared low level. Our love language is practical jokes, light to medium physical violence, and borderline offensive name-calling. Straight (or supposedly straight) chefs will blatantly exhibit homoerotic behaviour towards colleagues, undoubtedly violating several HR regulations on a daily basis. Our social behaviour is completely adapted to the kitchen environment, and normal-world interactions can be a struggle (I would recommend delaying meeting the family for as long as possible).

Many have some level of substance dependency. Many smoke, or worse, vape. Most of them will likely have slept with a front-of-house member or two (or more). When they’re off work, you’ll be lucky to see any kind of home-cooked meal; it’ll be more takeaways and junk food. Or you think they’ll take you out to a nice restaurant? More often than not they probably can’t afford to; maybe after payday, love!

Prepare to have your food preferences judged, to listen to never-ending work-talk and restaurant gossip, to be forced to look at photos of the dishes they plated, and expect the immortal line: “Check out my new knife!” (which, contrary to what you may think, is neither a threat nor a come-on).

You will find that most of them have no hobbies – if they ever had any, they haven’t the time to pursue them now. Cooking makes up their entire personality. They’re either at work or asleep, or else they spend their free time with the same people from work who they already see every day.

And even if none of this scares you off, our work schedule is so awful that you’ll be lucky to catch us in the first place. Date night Friday evening? I don’t think so! But we could do a Monday evening or a random Thursday morning perhaps, or you might receive a text at 2 a.m. to ask you out for a romantic drink at the restaurant lock-in.

So you see, I recommend reconsidering the perks of dating a chef.

That being said, I don’t want to completely slander my entire fellow workforce. In truth, I have met some of the greatest people in this industry. Indeed, it is full of absolute icons and legends which I doubt I could have met elsewhere. But I would advise you not to expect the polished sexy image of a chef, but rather a somewhat messy, idiosyncratic, sleep-deprived person with a rather silly obsession for food. But they generally have a good heart.

You have been warned.