So what really is the point of chefs? Who needs someone with an unnecessarily large collection of sharp knives to prepare a dish that may be verging on being overpriced and thus making it less accessible to society? What is the point of a person who supposedly knows exactly how to make certain dishes and berates you when you do it differently?

I understand why you wouldn’t want to be a chef.

These days, when there are more opportunities to work from home or to work as a freelancer in your own time, being tied to a place of work for fifty or more hours a week may feel outdated.

And I get it. Sometimes I, and I’m sure most other chefs, do find it hard too.

As soon as you start working in a kitchen yourself, you realise that everyone around you is still learning as much as you are. That is not to undermine the abilities and skills of chefs, but it is merely to say that nobody ever feels complete in their knowledge.

And that’s a good thing.

For many “high-quality” restaurants, veganism is not a label they want to identify with. There seems to be an understanding that good food and vegan food are mutually exclusive.

However, it is necessary that the restaurant industry, especially the higher-end institutions with their more traditional restaurant goers will embrace more plant-forward menus without feeling like they are taking a step back in their culinary quality.

There is no comparable feeling to the moment when the extraction fan is turned off.

After a full day of working away and blending out the continuous noise, the peaceful silence which enters after the fan is shut down can only be described as utter bliss.

The day is done.

When I came to London, I was hit by the sheer size of the restaurant industry.

Each borough, neighbourhood, quarter, or even street has its own ecosystem of restaurants in the same way entire cities do elsewhere.

I was just as susceptible to these romanticised stories of hardship, inhumane work environments, and the pride, glory, and satisfaction these chefs seemed to gain from their work.

But this genre of cheffing is fundamentally problematic and toxic, and all the romanticisation aside, there is no glory in it. Certainly not today.

Ironically, although the aim of fine dining appears to be to create an ideal dining experience, the main character in a fine dining restaurant is not the diner but the head chef. The dining concept is the priority, eating comes second.

In only a few days, I will have my first shift at a completely new place of work. Sure, I have spent a few hours there for a trial shift, loosely familiarising myself with the environment and some of the people, but really, it’s still all very new.

We have moved on from defining successful careers as a strict, linear progression. A successful career does not simply have to involve graduate-level jobs.

If a job allows you to pay your bills, while providing enjoyment and meaning to your everyday life, then I say it’s a job worth doing.

Clogs on, apron on, fresh towel tucked to my side, I get out my knives, glance over the task list of the day, and start taking stock of the service fridge.

The day has begun.

If you get invited to a trial shift, there are a couple of do’s and don’ts you should remember when going in.

Here are some of my tips which should help you succeed in your next trial shift and get a chef job at a restaurant you love.

All of this is only a rough guide of suggestions that have helped me feel a little more in control of my general health and wellbeing in a job that can sometimes feel a little hectic and irregular.

We now find ourselves in a new generation of chefs who evolved beyond and even reject the traditional paths of culinary education.

And honestly, I do think it’s for the best.

No cryptic job title, no arduous description trying to explain what you do day to day, or what the purpose of the position is. You’re a chef. You cook. You feed people. And ideally, you do it well.