When Micky's last cook called to say he was arrested and wouldn't be at work the next day, Micky felt something fishy was up. He was right.

When we got in touch with his mom, a few days later, she admitted he was at home. The arrest story was only a story. I envisioned him playing video games and eating Pop Tarts while I pulled my hair into a ponytail and got to work pickling beets.

The search for a kitchen staff was on. We posted craigslist ads and called culinary schools like nobody's business. I read resumes by the pile, scheduling interviews with anyone that seemed remotely professional.

Every day there was someone new, or two, or three, trailing in the kitchen. Sometimes there were too many cooks for the tiny space, so they'd be sent to the basement where they'd peel crosnes and pick lobster meat for hours. I'd run downstairs to get something and think in amazement, you're still here?.

Of the dozens of wannabe cooks, some were good, or had potential to be good. And they stayed.

Making Amends

Less than a week after his fictional arrest, the wayward cook came in to get his bike and apologize to Micky. Why did he do it? Perhaps he had been stressed and burnt out. It was only him and Micky in the kitchen, working sometimes 14-hour days (sometimes more!) with hardly a moment to eat. The day before his no-show, he and Micky had a long talk outside that seemed from a distance like a fight. Many cigarettes were smoked. There was ample pacing.

Micky had taken this kid under his wing, and the kid had let Micky down. With some time and some apologies, they are in a good place now. The cook moved to Miami to live with his dad, but he'll be back to Philly soon. He will pay a visit to Micky and our restaurant.

Back to My Life

So with a kitchen staffed, with I9s filled out, I could return to my job.

There were private parties to plan, questions to answer and reservations to confirm. There were public relations to pursue and FOH staff--my staff!-- to schedule and train. There were numbers to be crunched.

I was a little jealous, in a way, of Micky. Totally amazed and proud, but also a little jealous. As a poet, I was used to being the artist, or at least an artist. He was clearly the artist. He was the talent. I was the businesswoman. Micky's the star of the show. I'm the stage director. This feels totally antithetical to my identity.

My favorite poetry prof had likened building poems to building buildings. Micky was building something. I was just setting tables.

Of course, there are wonderful things about my job. I remember my boss once saying, on the front versus back dilemma, "I can't imagine sending food into the oblivion." In the front, you get to interact with the guests up close and personal. The kitchen might make the vanilla butter poached-lobster, but you share that whole lobster experience with them.

With Micky in the back and me in the front, we worked together but apart. His 14 hour days made my 11 hours days seem insubstantial. I missed us having breakfast together, drinks after work. I missed him.

Doubt

I also felt unsure about my professional life. I had never dreamed of managing a restaurant. Was this what I wanted to do? And as I discovered the depth of Micky's talent, I doubted my own. I knew I was young and relatively inexperienced. But did I have it in me to be not just a good manager but a good leader?

Micky and I had hatched and rehashed a dream about owning a restaurant together. Maybe with a farm. Maybe in New York, or Jerusalem. This was our chance to practice in someone else's restaurant, on someone else's dime. So when I got new responsibilities—paying vendors, paying staff—he was thrilled,

"This is great practice! Free learning!" So as I sat grumpily in front of a spreadsheet, feeling my enmity towards numbers surface, I thought: "learning, learning, learning."

So when I hate my job (Why can't the servers ever ever remember to take the dirty linens to the basement? Why am I an Ivy-educated napkin folder? Why are the guests so nasty tonight?) I remember: I am learning, and growing, and learning and growing.