By: Noor Irfan
When I first stepped into a professional kitchen, I wanted nothing more than to be called chef. The word had weight. Authority. Power. It felt like the title that would finally prove I belonged.
But kitchens have a way of humbling you fast.
Craving the Title
At the start, cook felt like a word that shrank me. I wanted chef stamped on me like armor — a title that screamed authority, that proved I was more than just another body on the line. I wanted to be seen as the one leading the charge.
But the kitchen doesn’t bend to ego. My knife cuts were sloppy, my timing a beat too slow, my awareness tunnel-visioned instead of wide. The truth was unavoidable: I wasn’t there yet. I had miles to go.
And the proof came on those nights when service exploded, when the brigade’s structure revealed itself in real time — and I finally understood why the hierarchy mattered.
The Moments That Made It Clear
At Aloette, I was on garde manger when the pass lit up with orders that felt endless: “three wedge, two octo, four foie, two lemon pies.” Add in the looming panic of running low on burger buns, and suddenly the kitchen teetered on chaos. I scrambled to keep pace, heart racing, hands moving faster than my mind could think. But when I looked at my CDC, he wasn’t rattled. He held steady. Calm. Firm. Decisive. Because chefs don’t just cook; they lead.
Later, at Cinc Sentits in Barcelona, I felt the same lesson — only sharper. As a stagiaire, I was trusted with plating the asparagus dish. Every sorbet curve had to bend the same way, every garnish sit at the same angle, every brushstroke of sauce mirror the last. No shortcuts. No freelancing. The standard was absolute. And again, when service tipped toward chaos, the CDPs kept it together, their discipline holding the brigade like glue.
Even earlier, during my time at Alo, I’d caught glimpses of it too. The weight chefs carried wasn’t just about food. It was about direction, teaching, and absorbing the chaos so their team could keep moving.
That was when I began to understand: there’s a reason you are where you are in the brigade. Titles aren’t given for ego. They’re earned through the responsibility you carry.
A Lesson From Marco Pierre White
Marco Pierre White, the first British chef to earn three Michelin stars, tells a story from his early career that sums this up perfectly. One day, his chef de partie, Michael Trulove, said to him:
“Marco, you’re only a chef when someone calls you a chef.”
That line has always stuck with me. Because it’s true. You don’t crown yourself. You don’t slap the title on your Instagram bio. It’s not something you declare — it’s something bestowed by those around you when you’ve proven yourself worthy of the role.
Why Hierarchy Exists
The classical brigade de cuisine, designed by Escoffier, still shapes every serious kitchen I’ve been in. Each role has its place:
- The chef de cuisine carries the vision and the responsibility.
- The sous chef makes sure that vision becomes reality.
- The chefs de partie lead their stations with precision.
- The commis and stagiaires learn, support, and grow.