The Calling of a Chef – More Than a Beautiful Plate

By Chef Kevin Hermann

Our view of what it means to be a chef has shifted. Where we once saw a provider of food and hospitality, we now see personality, pomp, and fame. It has become very apparent that we have begun to treat the culinary arts as a way to gain popularity. And as that view turns inward, onto ourselves, something is lost — not just in our kitchens, but in the world we are meant to serve.

We, as guests in restaurants, are on an adventure. We come seeking new experiences, new foods, and new atmospheres to bring to life the moments we hold dear. A reunion with old friends, a graduation, a wedding, an award ceremony, and countless others become our legacy. These are the moments that define who we become — and who we do not. We long to bring warmth and joy to everyone at our table. The simple fact is that we crave the feeling of success for our friends and family as much as we crave it for ourselves. The world reaches out for celebration, and the question must be asked: are we there to answer that call?

As chefs and culinarians, it is my belief that we are called to something far higher than being popular, or being seen as the best at taking a picture. We are called to provide, to serve, and to enrich the lives of our guests like never before. The culinary arts have always existed to elevate the event and the people in the room — to create a wow factor that seems unimaginable, to serve in ways that feel unique and inviting, to produce a kindness that seems out of this world and embodies the tradition of genuine hospitality.

What we do is provide, pour into, and elevate our guests to the point of overflowing joy and remembrance. Creating a dream dinner for a family on their wedding day is not about how awesome the chef looks or how brilliant he may be. It is about the life-changing memories made around the table, and through the food.

So I ask my fellow chefs, and I ask myself: when we stand at the pass and send out a plate, are we sending out a photograph, or are we sending out a memory? Are we chasing the applause of the room, or are we quietly pouring ourselves into the people at the table who will carry this night with them for the rest of their lives?

There is nothing wrong with a beautiful plate. Craft matters, and beauty has its place. But beauty was never meant to be the point — it was meant to be the invitation. The moment we fall in love with our own reflection in the plate is the moment we lose sight of the guest sitting just beyond it.

We are not here to be seen. We are here to serve. We are here to take an ordinary evening, or the single most important day of a family’s life, and fill it with a warmth they did not expect — to send them home fuller than they came, not only in their stomachs, but in their hearts.

If we will lift our eyes off of ourselves and back onto the guest, the table will become again what it was always meant to be: a place of joy and delight, of warmth and remembrance, where the people we serve leave knowing they were truly cared for.