Changing tastes? : women and gender performance in London restaurant kitchens

Changing Tastes?

Women and Gender Performance in London Restaurant Kitchens.

Emmanuelle-Halima Henriot

Student Number: 12243310 e.henriot@live.co.uk Amsterdam – 25th of June, 2019.

Master thesis submitted to the Faculty of Social and Behavioural Sciences at the University of Amsterdam, in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Science,

Department of Cultural and Social Anthropology.

Word count: 26,061. Supervisor: Yolanda van Ede.

Plagiarism Declaration

I have read and understood the University of Amsterdam’s plagiarism policy. I declare that this assignment is entirely my own work, all sources have been properly acknowledged, and that I have not previously submitted this work, or any version of it, for assessment in any other paper.

Emmanuelle-Halima Henriot Date: 25th June, 2019.

Abstract

Despite the rich body of literature exploring entanglements of cooking, gender, and culture, the professional kitchen represents an unexpected blind spot in ethnographic writing. In an attempt to address this anthropological oversight, my thesis examines the ‘rise’ of women chefs in London, England, and how performances of femininity might be changing its kitchen cultures and food. Most professional kitchens in the West were, until recently,

male-dominated and marked by violent masculinities proliferated amongst its chefs. How, and if, the historical evolution of kitchen ‘maschismo’ is being undone by my female participants is the central focus of my research. I argue that the space women chefs create for the

performance of femininity in their workplaces fractures the hegemonic masculinities used to discriminate against them in complex and non-uniform ways, ranging from the rejection of military-style hierarchies to their choice in socks. By placing an emphasis on embodiment in the processes of cultural reproduction and change, this thesis also hopes to reveal how creating a ‘kinder’, more gender-inclusive industry is not, and need not be, limited to women chefs.

Acknowledgements

First and foremost, I would like to thank my research participants – those wonderful humans who welcomed me into their kitchens and shared their stories with me. Without them, this thesis would not exist.

I would also like to thank my field-work companion, Matilde Zadig, for keeping me sane throughout the research process and making days spent in London libraries exponentially more fun. I love her very much.

Both in the field and outside of it, my supervisor, Yolanda van Ede, was another incredibly calming influence. She inspired me in those moments I thought I might not make it through this master’s, and never failed to dazzle me with her beautiful monochromatic outfits. She is amazing.

Christopher Charles Ramsay – he’s alright.

Finally, and most innovatively, I thank my parents. Without their support I would not be here, let alone be completing a master’s thesis. I love them endlessly. And an incredibly warm nod towards my mother, who has proofread every single piece of writing I have done. If there are any typos in this document, it was not my fault.

Table of Contents

Introduction ... 7

Women Chefs in ‘The Big Smoke’ ... 8

Core Research Population ... 10

Positionality ... 10

Research Question and Theoretical Framework ... 10

Overview ... 13

Chapter One ... 15

Introduction ... 15

Blame it on the French (and the Media). ... 16

‘Kinder’ Kitchens ‘From Above’... 18

‘Kinder’ Kitchens ‘From Below’. ... 22

‘She Doesn’t Know Anything Else.’ ... 25

Conclusion ... 28

Chapter Two... 30

Introduction ... 30

Seeing White (and Middle Class) ... 31

#madeatleiths. ... 32

‘Fucking Black Bitch.’ ... 35

Motherhood ‘On the Chain’. ... 39

Conclusion. ... 43

Chapter Three... 44

Introduction ... 44

‘Oui, Chef!’ ... 45

‘Girl-Talk’ Versus ‘Guy-Talk’. ... 48

‘I’m Fine, But My Body Is Crying’. ... 51

‘Look Good to Cook Good, Baby!’. ... 56

Conclusion ... 60

Chapter Four ... 61

Introduction ... 61

Eating Love. ... 62

‘You Don’t Have To Be “Cheffy” About It.’ ... 65

Meat, Salads, and Risk Aversion. ... 67

‘No Blood, and Pretty Little Flowers!’ ... 72

Conclusion ... 75

Theoretical Reflection and Broader Relevance. ... 78 List of Images ... 81 Bibliography ... 83

Introduction

I finally say it.

‘You know, you were such an arsehole to me at The Bun.’

‘I know, but you never make the same mistake twice when you’re shit-scared. It made you a better chef.’

Matt smiles into his pint whilst I fail to think up some witty retort that proves him completely and utterly wrong. We both start giggling.

This meeting with Matt, a sous chef at a kitchen I once ‘cheffed’ in, was wholly unexpected. On my way back from a participant interview he heckled me from across a bustling street in central London, and suggested we grab drink. This surprised me, because I was convinced he had hated me during working hours, and mildly disliked me outside of them. The feeling was mutual. Matt typified everything I despised about life in professional kitchens: fiercely aggressive management styles, total work/life imbalance, addiction, depression, the list goes on. I had often dreamt about throwing kitchen utensils at his head.

However, these behaviours were, in part, what inspired this research project. My six months at The Bun were some of the most harrowing of my life yet, according to Matt, paled in comparison to Michelin starred kitchens he had worked in. Outside of the sleepless nights, substance abuse, and constantly smelling like a deep fat fryer, being one of only two female kitchen staff was an intensely jarring experience. I was never particular ‘girly’ but appearing and, thus, feeling at all feminine became near impossible – after shifts I blended seamlessly with my colleagues all squatting on the pavement drinking beers, chain smoking, uniforms splattered in the day’s menu. Did other women feel this same sense of gender ‘loss’ or ambiguity in professional kitchens?

In preliminary research for my field studies, I discovered a burgeoning movement amongst women chefs that seeks to address gender inequality in London’s restaurant kitchens – to create a ‘kinder’ and more ‘inclusive’ hospitality industry (Natalia, 19th _November,

2018). More interesting was the fact this movement had been inspired by a recent influx in female kitchen staff, and female-led kitchens, across the city. What was it like for women, especially in the context of this movement, to work in kitchens not dominated by men? I also found that professional kitchens were horrendously under-studied which, in my mind, made

no sense. There is an enormous body of literature on the anthropology of food and eating (Mintz and Du Bois, 2002), organisational culture (Krause-Jensen and Wright, 2015), and women in male-dominated professions (Spencer and Podmore, 1987) – this thesis will, I hope, present a refreshing marriage between the three.

Women Chefs in ‘The Big Smoke’

Conducting an ethnography in ‘The Big Smoke’ (London) was an easy decision (Breen, 2017). I was born in the city, studied at a London university and had, as previously

mentioned, spent six months in one of its most popular kitchens. On top of the personal and professional connections I had there, London is a global ‘food capital’, as the sixth most Michelin starred city in the world (Ott, 2019). And then there is, of course, the recent increase of female kitchen staff. Although still a minority, Britain experienced its biggest surge in female chefs in 2017, with an increase of 34 percent from the previous year (Wilson, 2017). 1 _{This, coupled with the a pre-established ‘foodie’ network, meant London was the} perfect place for me to study women in professional kitchens – I found myself cooking in three. To maintain the anonymity of my participants, both their names and the names of their workplaces have been changed.

The Green

I was told about The Green by an old colleague at The Bun. The kitchen was supposed to be my first only intended field site. In early November, 2018, I wandered through the

restaurant’s doors and met Alexander, its executive chef. He seemed deeply interested in my project, offering me a three month ‘stage’ (culinary term for work-experience) after a quick tour of the company’s kitchens, which appeared to have an astonishingly equal gender split. Opened in April, 2018, The Green was a relatively young fine-dining restaurant that served seasonal, ‘modern European’ dishes. It was also part of a much larger complex of eateries – a deli, café, winery, bar-food restaurant, and pastry kitchen – in Covent Garden, all connected by an underground labyrinth of kitchens that employed close to 50 chefs. The Green itself housed a team of fourteen chefs, most of whom were in their late twenties and, to my surprise, men. There were only three women in this kitchen.

I soon realised most of the female staff I had met on that first tour belonged to the company’s pastry kitchen or bar-food restaurant. More confusing was the fact that, after three

weeks in this ‘field site’, I was asked to leave. Its head chef, Mark, informed me it was

actually illegal to keep an unpaid member of staff for longer than two weeks, and that the kitchen could not afford to pay me. I was, thus, forced to hunt for new field sites as soon as I left The Green. In hindsight this shocking and intensely stressful process was incredibly useful – it lent a comparative perspective to my research.

Breeze

In the same meeting he told me to leave The Green, Mark recommended I visit Breeze, a female-led kitchen whose executive chef he had once worked for. According to him, there were ‘loads of girls’ there. A week after our meeting I walked into Breeze, met with its head chef, and walked out with another stage. I was both relieved and incredibly excited – not only was the kitchen run by women, it actually did employ ‘loads of girls’. With huge open kitchen spaces flooded with light, Breeze was situated in a landmark building overlooking the Thames. Its kitchens were spread over three floors all connected by a ludicrous number of stairs. I spent most of my time with chefs ‘on the line’ (where food is cooked to order) upstairs. Breeze employed roughly 20 chefs, most of whom were women, and in their early twenties. Like The Green, the restaurant also served seasonal, modern European food, but placed an enormous amount of emphasis on sustainable produce and reducing food waste. The kitchen had a £20 set ‘scratch’ dinner menu that was created using leftover produce from the previous day.

Galangal

My third and final field site kitchen was Galangal, a small Thai kitchen in a residential area of South London. I gained access to this kitchen in much the same way I had at Breeze. I was told to visit Paula, chef-patron (head chef and owner) by a staff member at The Green who had worked for her years before. The week I had walked in and out of Breeze with a stage, the same happened at Galangal. But Paula’s kitchen was entirely different from the two I had previously studied in. Not only did it serve Thai food but it was much, much smaller, housing only seven chefs – three men and four women. These chefs were also much older than those at The Green and Breeze being, on average, in their mid-thirties and the eldest in her late fifties.

Core Research Population

In each of these kitchens, I focussed on those preparing food (chefs) in my observations and interviews. Unfortunately, I was not afforded the time to work with wait staff – in the kitchen, I was often physically separated from them during shifts, too. I was also unable to talk to kitchen porters (staff that wash dishes and handle waste disposal) due to language barriers. During my three months of fieldwork I met only two kitchen porters that spoke fluent English, one at The Green and another at Galangal. Between shifts, I also attended events organised by Countertalk and L.O.R. – organisations working to promote gender equality and inclusivity in hospitality. These events were multi-sited and offered a wonderful array of research participants from across London’s restaurants and bakeries.

Positionality

As a woman, ex-chef, and staunch feminist, I am incredibly close to my field of research. Although this ethnography is personal, it is not entirely ‘autobiographical’ (Okely, 1992). My previous employment in kitchens meant that I understood most of my participants’ technical jargon and kitchen taboos (never, ever use another chef’s knife without asking, for example). However, each of these three kitchens had developed its own distinct ‘culture’ (ways of being a ‘chef’) and had strikingly different staff demography – I was, in many respects, an

‘outsider’ in my field sites. My age (24 years) and sex also had an enormous influence on whether chefs were interested in giving my interviews, and in which kitchens. The vast majority of my interview participants were young women and, in the end, I was only granted interviews with senior staff members from Breeze and Galangal (both female-led kitchens).

Research Question and Theoretical Framework

My initial research question revolved, unsurprisingly, around women chefs in The Green kitchen. It was not until my return from London that I developed one which encompassed almost everything, and everyone, that had stood out to me in the field. Thus, the core research question of this thesis became:

Kitchen ‘Culture’

To unpick how kitchens cultures might be imbued and transformed by the performance of gender, I must first decide what ‘culture’ means in this thesis. Considering the term’s complex epistemological evolution, this is no easy task (Shweder and Beldo, 2001). I have chosen to use Geertz’s definition of culture, coupled with Trice’s notion of occupational ‘core cultures’, because they provide a solid foundation and tidy list of variables through which to conceptualise what it means to be a ‘chef’. According to Geertz, culture is ‘a system of inherited conceptions expressed in symbolic form by means of which men communicate, perpetuate, and develop their knowledge about attitudes towards life’ (1973: 89). Simply put by Shweder and Beldo, Geertz sees culture as ‘community-specific ideas about what is true, good, beautiful, and efficient’ (2001: 582). For Trice, the ‘core’ cultures of organisations are expressed through ‘symbols, ceremonies, rituals, taboos, and rites’ (1993: xi). Trice thus serves to operationalise Geertz’s definition within the context of the working world.

I must, however, consider how the notion of discrete ‘cultures’ is complicated by post-colonial theory – here, Abu-Lughod is most useful. She argues the concept of ‘culture’ maintains notions of social difference (and, therefore, social inequality), and problematises distinctions between ‘self’ and ‘other’ through the works of feminist and ‘halfie’

anthropologists (1991: 139). Proposing a type of ‘tactical humanism’ in the practice of ethnographic writing, Abu-Loghod urges us to recognise the uniqueness of our participant’s world-view, rather than strive to create cohesive representations of ‘other’ cultures (1991: 157). Her work not only reminds me of my position as a feminist and ‘halfie’ (ex-chef) researcher, but the dangers of making sweeping generalisations about ‘kitchen cultures’. My research is not, in any way, representative of all London kitchens – I simply identify trends in their cultural evolution where I can.

Gender and Embodiment

I use Butler’s feminist theory of performative gender to question the existence of

fundamental differences in the behaviours of male and female chefs – for example, food writer Bill Bulford’s claim that women ‘aren’t welcome’ in professional kitchens because they ‘don’t cook to compete’ (Bulford cited in Druckman, 2010: 29). According to her, gender is a ‘ritual social drama’ that necessitates ‘performance, a stylised repetition of acts’ (1990: 140). Rather than being biologically inherent, the performance of gender is ‘prompted by a set of obligatory norms we materialise in our daily life… norms that demand we become

one gender or another, normally within a strictly binary frame’ (2015: 37:45). Butler’s understanding of gender as fluid and performative forms the core of this thesis. In my

analysis, I attempt to unpick how masculinity and femininity are both ‘done’ and ‘undone’ by my participants, and how this might create new ways of being a ‘chef’.

I fuse Butlerian gender theory with Bourdieu’s theory of ‘cultural capital’ and the embodiment of cultural capital, ‘habitus’ (Bourdieu, 1990). For Bourdieu, habitus is ‘society written into the body, into the biological individual’, encompassing the habits, skills, and dispositions we accumulate over time which embed us in particular social groups – it is having a ‘feel for the game’ (1990: 62). In my analysis, I use Bourdieu’s notion of habitus to untangle how the performance of gender is shaped by, and shapes, what counts as ‘cultural capital’ amongst chefs in my field site kitchens.

Feminism: Binarisms and Intersectionality

In this thesis, the feminist theories of Rosaldo and Ortner illuminate histories of male-dominance in the professional kitchen. Underlying universal gender asymmetries, Rosaldo describes psycho-cultural systems of organisation rooted in oppositions between ‘domestic’ and ‘public’ space (Rosaldo, 1974: 17). She defines ‘domestic’ spaces as ‘those minimal institutions and modes of activity that are organised immediately around one or more mothers and their children’, and ‘public’ ones as ‘activities, institutions, and forms of association that link, rank, organise, or subsume particular mother-child groups’ (1974, 23). These

distinctions support a general, cross-cultural identification of women with domestic spheres of life and, thus, ‘domestic labour’ (ibid.). Rosaldo’s emphasis on linkages between women and childrearing is particularly significant to my research – it highlights the gendered

expectations that complicate women chefs’ juggling ‘work’ and ‘family’ in ways they do not for men.

As with the gendered binaries outlined by Rosaldo, Ortner distinguishes similar cross-cultural associations between women and ‘nature’ and men with ‘culture’ (Ortner, 1974: 80). I use Ortner’s ‘nature’/’culture’ binary to unpick perceived differences in food produced by ‘amateur’ cooks (women) and ‘professional’ chefs (men), as well as those between entire genres of cuisine. It is important to note that these two ‘classic’ feminist works have long been mulled over and subjected to critique (Lamphere, 2015: 899). However, my research will show that these texts are still incredibly valuable in the study of kitchen culture – in their understandings of gender professional chefs are, quite often, stuck firmly in the past.

Crenshaw’s more recent development of intersectional feminist theory adds nuance to my analysis of women and the struggle to create ‘inclusive’ restaurant kitchens. In her work, she highlights the need to ‘account for multiple grounds of identity when considering how the social world is constructed’ (1989: 1234). In my own work, Crenshaw’s notion of

‘intersectionality’ is crucial to recognising overlapping forms of discrimination experienced by some of my female participants – as she points out, ‘[a] focus on the most privileged group members […] obscures claims that cannot be understood as resulting from discrete sources of discrimination’ (1989: 140).

‘Women Chefs’?

Deciding how to talk about my core research population – women who work in professional kitchens – has been endlessly confusing. In my preliminary reading for this project, I

discovered the terms ‘woman chef’ and ‘chef’ were both multiple and contested. As previously explained, my understanding of ‘performative gender’ relies on Butler’s post-structural feminist theory that also works to deconstruct gendered binaries embedded in language (1990). Konkol identifies this exact type of linguistic binarism in distinctions between ‘chefs’ and ‘women chefs’, as does celebrity chef Dominique Crenn in her article ‘We’re Not “Female Chefs”, Just Chefs’ (Konkol, 2013: 178; Crenn, 2017). I agree that, ideally, the term ‘woman chef’ would not exist at all. However, this term persists in my thesis because it becomes near impossible to discuss ‘women’ who are ‘chefs’ without it.

Similarly, I must justify my use of the word ‘chef’. According to Druckman, the term ‘chef’ is ‘the shortened version of the French chef de cuisine (literally, “head of the kitchen”) and relates to the metier of food production’ (2010: 25). A ‘cook’, on the other hand, refers to ‘anyone who prepares food, whether professionally or at home’ (ibid.). As subsequent

sections of my thesis will show, my participants further complicated the ‘chef’/’cook’ distinction by applying these terms to staff members within the same kitchen. For the purposes of maintaining my sanity as a writer, I refer to any person who has made a career out of cooking as a ‘chef’, regardless of their position in a kitchen’s hierarchy.

Overview

Chapter One seeks to understand cooking’s evolution from ‘women’s work’ into the male-dominated profession it is today, and identify those actors trying to address this gendered imbalance. I point to the development of kitchen cultures marked by ‘toxic’ masculinities that

makes the struggle for gender equality far more complex than a numbers game. Amongst my participants, many different types of chef – male, female, experienced, aspiring – expressed desires to build a ‘kinder’ and more inclusive industry. However, the ways in which older chefs are often ‘indoctrinated’ into toxic kitchen cultures creates an alarming slippage between the behaviours they applaud and the ones they actually exhibit. I argue that, for this reason, younger chefs are more effective in creating ‘kinder’ kitchens.

Dialogues around gender inclusivity in the culinary world illuminate other types of social inequality. In Chapter Two, I explore ‘who else’ is missing from professional kitchens, by untangling the intersecting identities of my female participants. I begin by addressing, and attempting to explain, demographic homogeneity in the Breeze kitchen – why so many of its women chefs were below thirty, white, English, and middle class. I argue that chefs who do not fit into these social categories often face ‘multiple discriminations’ that are overlooked both by feminist activists on the ground and in secondary literature. Despite the meritocratic ethea of my field site kitchens, this industry has not escaped the influence of institutionalised classism and racism that marks Britain’s labour market.

Chapter Three forms to core of this thesis. It provides a detailed ethnographic portrait of performances of chef femininities, and how these serve to transform ‘macho’ kitchen culture. As my analysis will show, hierarchical structures, use of language, definitions of ‘strength’, and ‘chef’ aesthetic were, historically, imbued by the hegemonic masculinities ruling professional kitchen cultures. By comparing data collected from each of my field sites (both male and female-led kitchens), I find that the injection of stereotypically ‘feminine’ behaviours and aesthetic preferences into these workspaces can help to create a ‘kinder’ and more gender inclusive industry.

My final chapter presents an attempt to answer a seemingly simple question – do men and women cook differently? It addresses the many stereotypes around women’s relationship to food and cooking, and how these persist in the imaginations of both male and female chefs. I find that the explicit gendering of foodstuffs, cuisines, and culinary techniques has an enormous impact on the types of food women chefs choose, or are forced, to produce. The ways in which recent food trends are perceived as ‘feminine’ also reflect a deeper cultural evolution – the branding of ‘masculinised’ cooking styles and, therefore, masculinised kitchens as ‘old fashioned’.

Chapter One

A Man’s World? Gender Differentiation in the Kitchen, Then and Now.

Chapter Question

Why have professional kitchens been male-dominated, and why is this changing? By whom, and how effectively, is this change being driven?

Introduction

I’ve been staring at my computer screen for far too long. I hear my partner, sat behind me, typing away furiously as I struggle to start an introduction, and I grow increasingly jealous. That is until, out of a stroke of genius (and the sadistic desire to distract him), I decide to make him a research participant.

‘When I say “professional kitchen”, what’s the first thing that pops into your head?’ ‘Errrr, a chef? Yeah… he’s wearing whites and that big, silly, long chef’s hat – the really tall one?’

‘A toque…’

‘Yeah, he’s wearing a toque.’

‘And when I say “domestic kitchen”?’ ‘You! *giggling* I mean a woman.’ ‘Yeah? What does she look like?’

‘Like, just a mother, I guess… it’s not “right”, but that’s how I imagine it.’

As a recent engineering graduate, my partner has had little exposure to the world of chefs. Unfortunately, his depiction of professional and domestic kitchens reveals their explicit gendering in the public imagination despite the fact this process is, as he put it, ‘not right’. Fortunately, the wrongness of this gendered differentiation has been made painfully obvious as more and more women enter the culinary industry (Meah and Jackson, 2013: 599).

In this chapter, I attempt unpick how (and why) cooking grew into the male-dominated profession it is today. I trace the history of gender differentiation from the emergence of

haute cuisine to the front pages of contemporary media conglomerates, underlining cultures

of hegemonic masculinity that have defined the ‘gastronomic field’. I then identify how different categories of actors (industry professionals from ‘above’/’older’ and

‘below’/’younger’) discuss and combat gender inequality in kitchens. In London, there are numerous organizational bodies and chefs struggling to create a ‘kinder’ industry – I only include those I came into direct contact with during my fieldwork. I argue that younger chefs, having escaped ‘indoctrination’ (emic term) into hyper-masculinised kitchens, more easily practice the behaviours that produce ‘kinder’ kitchen cultures.

Blame it on the French (and the Media).

Histories of gender differentiation, and male domination, in the Western working world are not unusual. Many feminist theorists argue they are, in fact, universal and persistent

(Rosaldo, 1974; Acker, 1990; Wright, 2006; Rao et al., 2016).2 According to Acker, all organisations are inherently gendered, meaning

‘advantage and disadvantage, exploitation and control, action and emotion, meaning and identity, are patterned through and in terms of a distinction between male and female, masculine and feminine.’ (Acker, 1990: 146).

What makes gender differentiation in restaurant kitchens interesting is that cooking has, since the agricultural revolution, been perceived as ‘women’s work’ (Counihan, 2012; 104).

How, then, was the ‘domestic’ labour of women transformed into an industry that successfully excluded them (Rosaldo, 1974)?

The rise of haute cuisine (high cooking) in 17th century France and male ‘celebrity chefs’ like Marie-Antoine Carême, (1784-1833) was crucial to the ‘elevation’ of cooking beyond la petite cuisine (small cooking) associated with women in the home (Harris and Guiffre, 2015: 18). La petite cuisine can be understood as the type of domestic labour Rosaldo points to in her work – tasks involving the ‘“grubby” and dangerous stuff of social

existence…’ perceived as closer to ‘nature’ than ‘culture’ (Rosaldo, 1974: 31; Ortner, 1974: 80). The subsequent flourishing of industrial capitalism (18th_-19th _{century), and the ‘separate}

sphere’ ideology it inspired (Tuner, 2015), only strengthened distinctions between haute and

la petite cuisines in France. The cash economy was a ‘public’ arena in which women –

belonging to the ‘private’ sphere of the home - were not supposed to participate. Because, as Ferguson argues, men’s waged labour was valued more highly than women’s domestic labour, perceived inequalities between professional (male) and ‘amateur’ (female) cooks were concretised (Ferguson, 2004: 132).

It was into this already male-dominated world of haute cuisine that military chefs (les

officers de cuisine) like Georges Auguste Escoffier (1846-1935) stepped. Escoffier

completely reimagined the restaurant kitchen, creating and popularising a standardised, station-orientated hierarchy (the ‘brigade system’) that continues to organise professional kitchens today. French haute cuisine – continuously defined against les cuisines de femmes – and this injection of military hierarchical rigidity laid the foundations on which the Western gastronomic world has evolved, and helped neutralise the threat of ‘feminisation’ inherent to cooking and feeding others (Harris and Giurffre, 2015; Ferguson, 2004; Druckman, 2010; Konkol, 2013). More recent trends in the food have created an even greater distance between domestic and professional cooking:

‘nouvelle cuisine in the 1970’s, the rise of superstar chefs in the 2000s, localism, nose-to-tail eating and butchery, and molecular gastronomy have emerged in ways that further gender the occupation… [emphasizing] the superiority of professionals (men) over amateurs (women)’ (Harris and Guiffre, 2015: 6).

This differentiation between male ‘professionals’ and female ‘amateurs’ has been maintained by how chefs are, or are not, represented by the global media today. For scholars of gender inequality in kitchens, TIME’s controversial ‘God’s of Food’ article - from which women were explicitly absent – is a popular example. By ignoring ‘goddesses’ in the deification ‘great chefs’, the media offers little encouragement for aspiring women in the industry (Druckman, 2010; Harris and Guiffre, 2015: 18-20). And when successful women in food do manage to grace the covers of such high-profile magazines, they are painted in an entirely different light. A clear instance of this is seen in representations of Nigella Lawson. Druckman contrasts how male chefs like Jamie Oliver are lauded for their professionalism and business acumen, when Lawson, who ‘lovingly frosts [frosts] for her child’s birthday,

with a little swivel in her hips’, presents the perfect poster-woman of modern petite cuisine (201: 30). Simply by glancing at the TIME and Radio Times article, gendered distinctions between the

‘professional’ and ‘amateur’ cooks are clear; whilst the male ‘Gods of Food’ are dressed in chef’s whites, the ‘original domestic goddess’ seductively slurps spaghetti in plain clothes.

However, the growth of ‘foodie culture’ has meant more and more women are beginning to enter professional kitchens (Meah and Jackson, 2013: 599). This change in kitchen demography has made the persistence of gender asymmetry in restaurant kitchens difficult to ignore by feminist scholars. Harris and Guiffre, for example, identify these entangled histories of masculinisation at the foundations of the ‘gastronomic field’ Drawing on

Bourdieu’s notion of cultural reproduction and ‘fields of practice’, they argue that the culinary industry can be understood as a ‘game’ in which the rules have been written by, and are biased towards, men (Harris and Guiffre, 2015: 7). In this respect, being a man, and being masculine, have become forms of ‘cultural capital’ that dictate which types of, and how, chefs ‘belong’ in the kitchen. In my own research, I was privileged to meet individuals struggling to change the ‘rules of the game’.

‘Kinder’ Kitchens ‘From Above’.

A day spent frantically searching for a kitchen that would welcome a part-time ‘cook-researcher’ in November, 2018, lead me to The Green. It was with an impossible mixture of enthused nonchalance that Alexander invited me both to conduct research in his kitchen, and Image 1 TIME Magazine ‘Gods of Food’ Cover.

Image 2 Radio Times Magazine ‘Nigellissima’ Cover.

a Ladies of Restaurant’s event The Green was hosting weeks later. He had met Natalia Ribbe, an L.O.R. founder, through a mutual friend and insisted she organise something for the women at The Green. This was my first contact with London’s culinary ‘elite’.

According to Natalia, L.O.R seeks to address an acute gender imbalance across the top of London’s hospitality industry – not just in the kitchen. ‘We needed to create a dialogue and work on solutions to some of the grievances of our fellow matriarchs’ (Ribbe in Root + Bone,

2018). The event I attended at The Green was part of a series of panel discussions titled ‘L.O.R. In Conversation’. In an interview with Root + Bone, Natalia described the content of the panel series:

‘We’ve covered topics such as guilt, mean girls in the workplace, impostor syndrome, maternity crises and sexual harassment… we’ve had some really incredible, almost group therapy, sessions, which we think is down to the fact that the room is women only — it feels secure.’ (Root and Bone, 2018).

L.O.R. appeared to be making important steps in creating synergy between hospitality ‘matriarchs’ with shared grievances, both in the kitchen and ‘on the floor’ (front of house). What I found most exciting about the discussion I would be attending was that, ‘for the first time’ there would be men on the panel (L.O.R., 2018). If gender asymmetry in hospitality was to be addressed in any meaningful way, it seemed crucial for L.O.R. to engage with actors who (according to them) dominated London’s restaurant scene.

On the evening of the event, there had been a change to the panel line up. Natalia explained one of its members had dropped out at the last minute, and – much to my surprise – Alexander sat slouched on top of one of the bar stools in front of us. He physically dwarfed the rest of panel, still donned in chef whites and a clean apron. I have never been so uncertain of the structural integrity of a chair.

Natalia: ‘Have we created a kinder industry?’

Alexander: ‘I think so, yeah. I think the transition’s been massive – huge, huge,

certainly in my career, in the last 20 years. I remember starting out and it was just a relentless, relentless environment of, almost a draconian… you had to have this

macho, full of testosterone, this environment where you know, if you’re not strong

enough… I think the mentality’s changed massively, for the good.’

Natalia: ‘What are the ways that you think you yourself have made some changes, so

that trickles down to your staff?’

Alexander: ‘Sometimes, sometimes, I’m quite fiery… and I grew up in very, very

fiery, very aggressive kitchens, and I think we’ve become indoctrinated – it’s almost

cultural thing… I think the more we can change it, the better’. (‘L.O.R. In Conversation, 19th November, 2018).

In Alexander’s mind, creating a ‘kinder’ industry was synonymous with its

de-masculinisation – the rules of the game skewed towards ‘fiery’ chefs like him, needed to

change. More interesting was the fact he had personally invited L.O.R. to The Green. Alexander’s applauding this ‘massive transition’ away from ‘macho’, ‘testosterone’ fuelled kitchens demonstrates that the desire to create a more inclusive industry is not restricted to those (women) who have suffered within it. I felt this type of self-reflexivity amongst male chefs was striking, and incredibly important, because the secondary literature I had read thus far instilled an ‘us’ (women)/‘them’ (male) binary in my thinking. Harris and Guiffre, for example, argue the road to gender equality amongst chefs is paved by women-centred organisations like L.O.R., women-women mentorships, and women’s capitalising on ‘feminine strengths’ in the workplace (201: 196-198). The inclusion of male actors ‘from above’ into this dialogue becomes, thus, an even greater step in tackling gendered

discriminations in the kitchen.

Where L.O.R attempts to curb male-dominance in hospitality by facilitating these discussions it seems that, in some respects, senior female chefs are changing kitchen demography by simply existing. At Breeze, the first three lines of fieldnotes I wrote were:

‘Flora is lovely. Bananas. All women.’ I had never set foot in a London kitchen that

employed more women than it did men. Galangal, my third and final field site, also held a majority female staff. These kitchens were owned by women – Ingrid (Breeze) and Paula (Galangal) – and had female head chefs. Having both earned Michelin stars in previous restaurants, Ingrid and Paula were relatively high-profile in London’s food scene. By virtue of their successes as professional chefs, I believe they present the type of female role models

called for by Druckman, Harris, and Guiffre (2010: 2015) – ones that help draw women into the industry and, more precisely, their kitchens. When I asked Flora (head chef at Breeze) why the kitchen was female-dominated, she explained ‘of the CV’s that come in, they’re

women. It’s not a choice of mine – I prefer a balanced kitchen’. Similarly, Tamara (Galangal

chef de partie, or CDP) told me Paula had not been ‘actively hiring women’ either, ‘it’s just

that’s who’s walked in through the door.’ Understanding why so many women, and so few men, had ‘walked through the [doors]’ of Breeze and Galangal is more complex than Ingrid

and Paula’s acting as female ‘role models’. My female participants each had dramatically different reasons for joining these kitchens, ranging from financial desperation to ‘stages’ (work experience) organised by culinary schools (I elaborate on this professional network in the subsequent chapter). The most telling motivation, I believe, was Tamara’s: ‘it’s easier to

flag discrimination to someone of the same sex.’ Tamara’s statement is best understood

through Hammarén and Johansson’s notion of ‘vertical’ and ‘horizontal homosociality’ (2014: 5).

According to them, platonic, same-sex friendships are perceived to increase the likelihood of professional success (vertical homosociality) and intimate social connection (horizontal homosociality) (ibid.). For Tamara, having a female boss put her in a better position to have ‘delicate’ conversations that could remove potential barriers to her career progression. Considering the industry’s history of gender discrimination, the persistence of chef ‘machismo’ and its regurgitation by the popular media, it is understandable that women might perceive female-led kitchens as ‘safe spaces’ (Ribbe, 2018). I was, for obvious reasons, unable to talk to male chefs that had overlooked Ingrid and Paula as employers, and can only

suggest their absence was inspired by a similar process. For men, female-led kitchens might

present environments into which they think they might not ‘fit’ (horizontal homosociality) and are, thus, less likely to succeed (vertical homosociality) (Hammarén and Johansson, 2004: 5). In this sense, Breeze and Galangal can be understood as flipping gendered cultural capital on its head. Potential male employees might see their sex and gender as a hindrance to success in these kitchens, rather than the prerequisite it once presented.

Where well established female chefs play a role in attracting women into professional kitchens, I saw younger, ‘up and coming’ chefs as the most effective in creating ‘kinder’ kitchens – as actors who encouraged women to stay once they had entered the gastronomic field.

‘Kinder’ Kitchens ‘From Below’.

Between the many inspiring people I met in the field, Ravneet Gill best exemplified this impulse to create change amongst young people in hospitality. Only in her late twenties, Ravneet founded Countertalk, a cooperative that seeks to promote underrepresented chefs and ‘take a stand on “toxic” kitchen environments’ (Gill in The Guardian, 2019). The cooperative’s core values are ‘the spirit of fair treatment, mutual respect, and equal

opportunity’ (Countertalk, 2019). Alongside a small team of volunteers, Ravneet organises

events such as supper clubs, cooking classes, and panel discussions, in order to ‘make a hub of people who can see and help each other’ (Gill in The Guardian, 2019). I was lucky enough to attend a few of these events, the first being a screening of The Heat: A Kitchen

(R)Evolution (Gallus, 2018) followed by a panel Q&A discussion. Gallus’s documentary film

followed some of world’s greatest female chefs, and had just been released. My only experience of this type of event was L.O.R.’s panel discussion the previous year, and I was immediately hit by the difference in audience demography.

7th January, 2019:

Laughter, glasses clinking, and women’s chatting waft upwards from the bottom of the spiral staircase. A sign at the top ushers me towards the noise. At the bottom I’m welcomed by two beaming women who’re a little older than I am – I discover one is a chef, and the other’s recently graduated from a food

anthropology masters… This is too perfect. I turn and begin to sink in the horde jammed into this tiny bar, all smiles glowing red under the red ceiling lights. I realise how young some people are. There are men here too!

Where the L.O.R. event had presented an echo chamber for senior management (actors ‘from above’) in hospitality, Countertalk drew together younger people from different areas in food – I met cooks from many restaurants, critics, food charity volunteers, to name a few. I could quite easily have written a separate thesis on the content of Image 4 ‘The Heat’ Film Poster.

the documentary, but what I found most interesting were interactions between panel and audience members during the Q&A which followed it. The women on the panel – Asma Khan, Nokx Majezi, Katja Tausig, and Ravneet – all headed notable London kitchens and had diverse backgrounds in food. The Countertalk event not only offered publicity to the women chefs being watched and listened to (both on the screen and panel), but facilitated a dialogue between successful and aspiring women chefs.

During the interval, Ravneet had handed out luminous pink post-it notes amongst the crowd so audience questions could remain anonymous. This was, I think, incredibly helpful in creating a ‘safe space’ for participants to raise deeply personal issues.

Ravneet: ‘“My head chef is a misogynist, help!” So what advice can we give to this

chef, who is struggling with their head chef…? Ugh, LEAVE? Just leave! Sorry, is that not obvious?’

Asma: ‘Whoever has written this question, Ravneet has good experience of being

pushed around and surviving – look at her, she’s doing really well… you should get in touch with her, because this is NOT OK. This is NOT OK, and it was never OK, but the fact that you’ve written down this question means that you’re actually on the road Image 5 Anonymous Post-It Question from Countertalk Screening.

to breaking out of this prison that you’ve built around you. Write to her, DM (direct message) her, write to any of us – write to me…’

Ravneet: ‘I can help you find another job!’

What struck me about this particular post-it, and the panel responses it inspired, was that this instance of misogyny in kitchens (as it persists) was met with solutions. At the L.O.R. panel, discussions seemed incredibly distanced from problems faced by women at the bottom of kitchen hierarchies: ‘have we created a kinder industry?’ (Ribbe, 19th _{November, 2018, my}

emphasis). At the Countertalk event, I was confronted with real employees and the very real issues faced in their everyday working lives. More importantly, these issues were met with immediate offers of help. Countertalk, thus, succeeds in its mission; by creating a network of likeminded chefs from ‘above’ and ‘below’ ones willing to listen to and help each other, the cooperative is inspiring a new generation of kitchens in which ‘toxic’ masculinities and gender discrimination have no place.

Similarly, my participants in Breeze and Galangal saw younger chefs – both female

and male – as most engaged (and effective) in the struggle to create a ‘kinder’, gender-equal

restaurant industry. The cool ambience of Breeze was unanimously credited to Flora and her sous chef, Magnus. My own interactions with Flora were in keeping with the comments of her staff. When I’d first met her, once again trapesing around the city for potential field sites, she was incredibly welcoming. I’d been led down to Breeze’s basement where a solitary Flora, with casual but masterful care, was passing reams of pasta dough through a flour-speckled rolling machine. With a slow, dimpled smile, hardly lifting her eyes from the dough, she offered me a stage in her kitchen – ‘[your project] sounds right up our street - when can

you start?’. Weeks later in a brief, pre-service interview, Flora explained why it was so

important for her to maintain a ‘chill’ kitchen:

‘I think I’ve tried to create an environment that I‘d want to work in… I don’t like shouting, I don’t like being angry – it’s a learning environment. It’s quite

conversational…’

Magnus, often labelled as a ‘sweetie’ or ‘absolutely wonderful’ by my female interviewees, was wholly invested in Flora’s ‘conversational’ kitchen ethos. In his joint interview with Judith (a CDP), Magnus explained how hard he tried to ‘maintain the vibe’ Flora had cultivated at Breeze, and saw himself as ‘one of the most sensitive’ chefs in the kitchen. Judith was quick to agree, following with a swift ‘yeah… I feel like I could tell [Magnus]

anything’. The ways in which Flora’s management style drew on perceivably ‘feminine’

qualities, ones that were not restricted to female staff (Magnus’s ‘sensitivity’), will be elaborated open in chapter three. For now, I place emphasis on the overwhelmingly friendly nature of interactions between Flora, Magnus and their chefs – not once did I see then lose their tempers. They were, at most, ‘stern’ during intensely stressful services. Flora and Magnus presented an enormous departure from senior chefs described at the Countertalk event – those who chose to ‘shout and swear and crash pans’.

Tamara drew on similar, personal experiences as an executive to highlight

generational shifts in management styles. Tamara had worked as a corporate events director before entering the restaurant industry. When she wasn’t finely slicing galangal (Thai ginger root) on the kitchen’s cold section, she volunteered for City Hive – an organisation that promotes gender diversity in finance. Tamara considered herself ‘at the end of that

generation’ of women who felt success in the workplace meant ‘becoming “one of the boys”’. Here, Tamara tapped into the core of this generational, ‘from above’ and ‘from

below’ divide between kitchen staff, and why my participants and I saw more effective change being driven by younger chefs: the embodiment of cultural capital.

‘She Doesn’t Know Anything Else.’

‘… your greatest resource are the people that work for you, because without them being fulfilled, and happy, and learning, they’re not going to do the job that we want them to do... I think the more we can change it, the better’ (Alexander, 19th

November, 2018).

23rd _{January, 2019.}

Lunch Shift at The Green, Covent Garden.

Outside of intermittent bantering and giggles, it’s quiet in The Green kitchen. At 12:00, the restaurant’s only just opened, and everyone’s waiting for tickets to start rolling in. Paul’s slumped over the pass wearing a mild frown, staring into the void that is the company laptop. James, Kyle, and Sebastian have all begun to prepare food for tomorrow’s lunch service in silence, never straying too far from their sections. There isn’t much for me to concentrate on besides the mountain of parsley I’ve been given, and the chopping is incredibly meditative. Suddenly Alexander, dressed in plain clothes, bursts in through the back door to my left –

I quickly look away from him and towards the rest of the kitchen. There’s no answer from Paul, James, or Kyle, who’ve all stopped what they’re doing to stare Alexander. Sebastian shifts on his feet, but his expression says almost nothing at all.

‘Yes, that was me…’

Alexander, stone faced, one arm jerking towards the corridor, continues shouting.

‘THE CORRIDORS DON’T BELONG TO US! WE HAVE A ROOM FOR BIKES HERE, WHY AREN’T WE USING IT?’

Even though Sebastian is now engaged in direct conversation with Alexander,

explaining that he didn’t have the right key, Alexander’s aggression isn’t restricted to him – the rest is directed towards the entire the kitchen.

‘IF I FIND ANOTHER BIKE OUT THERE, I’LL PUT IT ON THE FUCKING STREET.’

This was the only one of Alexander’s ‘outbursts’ (emic term) I witnessed myself, although they were often hinted at small ways – wry, downturned smiles and quick sighs when his name was mentioned, no one on the pass being ‘quite like Alexander’. When stories of his

‘fear and intimidation’ tactics began to pour from my participants, the tension between what

The Green’s chef director said and actually did on the ground became impossible to ignore. Even more interesting was that this tension between rhetoric and practice was not restricted to male chefs.

When Ingrid first spotted me in the far corner of her kitchen, she waltzed straight towards my section and welcomed me to Breeze. After I had explained my research project, she answered my then-research-question without any prompting: ‘people always ask me,

“what it’s like being a woman in a male-dominated profession” – I’ve seen such a big change darling, I worked in New York in the 90’s!’ Ingrid began rattling through her

experiences of ‘old school, brigade kitchens’ in Australia, New York, and London, and complained about industry ‘machismo’, comparing contemporary ‘hipster’ chefs (‘you know,

She glanced across at Grace, a young woman on salads who’d stopped to listen to our conversation, and cracked a warm smile. Grace blushed, beaming back at her.

I learned that this was a ‘sunny day’ in the Breeze kitchen. Ingrid’s behaviour was so unpredictable, her staff had developed a coded ‘weather system’. If ‘the sky [was] stormy’, they knew it was best to ‘keep

your head down’ during service.

My penultimate day at the Breeze kitchen was a stormy one.

Ingrid: ‘Three mackerel?’ Rob: ‘Two mackerel’ Ingrid: ‘What?! Rob, I

said three!’

Rob: ‘Sorry, I meant

three! I have three!’

Ingrid: ‘Mackerel?’ Rob: ‘Two mackerel!’ Ingrid: ‘WELL IS IT TWO

OR THREE?! FOR GOD’S SAKE!’

In retrospect, Ingrid’s own outburst should not have come as such a surprise. Harris and Guiffre underline how their female informants often relied on ‘yelling’ and ‘bluntness’ to establish authority (‘old school’ methods) (2015: 138). But how could Ingrid and Alexander openly condemn fiery, testosterone-fuelled kitchens, whilst perpetuating the stereotype of the ‘shouty chefs’ (Lott-Lavigna, 2018)? In relation to this question, Alexander’s aggression was never question too deeply by his staff because, I believe, as a man he fitted into the stereotype of ‘macho chef’ too perfectly. The most reflexive responses came from participants who worked under Ingrid and Paula.

‘I think she’s the way she is because of the way she’s worked for the past 30 years… she doesn’t know anything else. Ummmm… I don’t think it’s been easy.’

‘She is someone that’s been brought up through the ranks of male dominated kitchens, so she has had to adapt her being a woman to be more masculine, more dominant, to have these traditionally male characteristics to be successful.’

By pointing out this slippage between what actors at the top of kitchen hierarchies say and

do, I do not mean to undermine the importance of the types of ‘open discussion’

organisations like L.O.R. are promoting. But if creating more ‘kinder’, more gender-equal industry is so closely linked to the ‘trickle down’ of new ‘mentalities’ from above (Natalia, 19th November, 2018), unravelling this slippage is highly significant.

Restaurant critique Jay Rayner argues that ‘older generations of cooks got used to a certain cycle of behaviour, and it still goes on because some of them are still there’ (Rayner cited in Lott-Lavigna, 2018). These ‘certain cycles of behaviour’ are best understood through Bourdieu’s ‘habitus’ (1990: 56). The behaviours of Alexander, Ingrid, and Paula make sense when we consider that the gastronomic field – the ‘game’ older chefs have had to play – was ruled by aggressive, hegemonic masculinities (Harris and Guiffre, 2015: 7). The embodiment of ‘traditionally male characteristics’ in male and female chefs was paramount in the

attainment of professional success. More importantly, Wacquant introduces the idea of a ‘lag’ in cultural reproduction into Bourdieu’s theory:

‘Habitus tends to produce practices patterned after the social structures that generated them, and because each of its layers operates as a prism through which later experiences are filtered, and subsequent strata of dispositions overlaid… habitus thus introduces a lag, and sometimes a hiatus, between the past determinations that produced it and the current determinations that interpellate it’ (Wacquant, 2016: 67).

The tension between what these older, more senior chefs say and do can, thus, be understood as a ‘lag’ between types of cultural capital they want to embody and the ones they already

have. This tension is more conspicuous amongst female senior chefs because being ‘shouty’,

a masculine trait, is perceived as conflicting with their ‘being [women]’. I believe it is for precisely this reason younger chefs are more effective in ‘demasculinising’ kitchen culture; having not yet had the time to become ‘indoctrinated’ into ‘testosterone-fuelled’ workspaces (Alexander, 19th November, 2018), this new generation of chefs more easily embodies, and

enacts, the behavioural norms that define the ‘kinder’ kitchen.

Conclusion

The central focus of this chapter – understanding the gastronomic field as a ‘man’s world’, and how this is changing – could be met with a bleak, statistical conclusion. In 2018, women

made up only 17 percent of this workforce in the U.K. (Morgan, 2018). Thus, male dominance in professional kitchens is not a history, but an overwhelmingly conspicuous example of ‘gendered’ professions as they persist (Acker, 1990). But this chapter has shown that the issue of gender differentiation in London’s food scene is far more complex than a numbers game. Both in academia and ‘on the ground’, there exists a new movement that seeks to address this gendered imbalance – one wholly belied by these statistics. Moreover, the industry’s compound history of masculinisation means those actors struggling for equal representation for women must challenge the behavioural norms that have marked kitchen cultures, not just how many women these kitchens employ (Harris and Guiffre, 2015: 6). In this chapter, I identified two groups of actors in this ‘struggle’ – experienced, ‘successful’, and older chefs ‘from above’ and aspiring, younger ones ‘from below’. I found that age was most significant in the effective creation of ‘kinder’ kitchens. Both male and female chefs ‘from above’ appear stuck between two worlds: between rhetoric and practice, between the embodiment of ‘old school’ and the imagination of the ‘new’ (Ribbe, 2018). Having entered the gastronomic field and a pivotal moment of a change in ‘mentalities’ (Ribbe, 19th

November, 2018), individuals and organisations ‘from below’ appear as more effective implementors of ‘new school’ behaviours (breaking away from the stereotype of the ‘shouty chef’, for example) (Lott-Lavigna, 2018).

Studying one particularly influential cooperative ‘from below’ – Countertalk – I soon discovered that this newfound emphasis ‘equality’ in kitchens needed to encompass much more than gender.

Chapter Two

Beyond ‘Women Chefs’; Intersectionality and Obstacles to Success.

Chapter Question

Gender inequality persists in London’s food scene, but is that it? Who else is missing in the kitchen, and why?

Introduction

My participant’s voice drops to a hush, even though I am certain no one here knows who she is. In this tiny, horrendously pink ‘wellness’ café, the women around us continue to tap away on their laptops or giggle amongst themselves over ‘deep-cleansing’ teas. Eman’s body begins to hunch in towards the table too, as if to shield whatever it is she’s about to say from the rest of the café.

‘But she’s never had to have any traumatising experiences because she’s only ever been in that [upper] echelon of restaurants… does that make sense? But I, coming from a not really, you know – state schooled, not loads of money, not having friends like that – I started off in, like, shit!’

Months before I had, rather ingeniously I thought, managed to avoid delving too deeply into the world of intersectional feminism. My proposal had made a sensible nod towards

Crenshaw (1989) and the errors of understanding ‘women’ as a homogenous social category, but I was still terrified of having to grapple with the seemingly endless entanglements

involved in seeing participants as ‘women and…’. Now, sat it this small pink café opposite Eman – a working-class, BAME (Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic) woman – my research had been served a huge intersectional ‘slap in the face’ I could not ignore. This chapter (inevitably) explores how linkages between gender, class, ethnicity, and age can affect the professional lives of women chefs.

I begin with Breeze, because the overwhelming homogeneousness of its white, middle-class female kitchen staff was impossible to ignore. I argue its demographic skew reveals a sort of educational elitism that illuminates accessibility issues for working-class,

BAME chefs. I argue that intersections between race and class can persist in limiting career progression for working-class, BAME chefs once they have entered professional kitchens. I then ask how such glaring social (particularly racial) inequalities in the restaurant industry have been overlooked. The chapter closes with the complex intertwinement between gender, age, and class, as I explore how different types of women chefs can, or cannot, overcome the gendered obstacle of motherhood and enjoying a ‘work/life balance’.

Seeing White (and Middle Class)

When I asked Ravneet what inspired her to create Countertalk, she explained that she had been ‘fed up’ with how ‘skewed’ London’s food world was: ‘I was like, “hold on, there are

so many people who are just not spoken about, because they’re not in this clique… I’m going to promote those people!”’. Representing chefs outside the industry ‘clique’, rather than

simply ‘women’, had been Countertalk’s primary motivation, and it was not until my

interview with Eman that I fully understood it. If boundaries between ‘in’ and ‘out’ groups in professional kitchens were not always drawn along gendered lines, what other factors decided who belonged to London’s culinary elite (Jenkins, 2008: 46)? Fortunately, my discussions with Ravneet and Eman took place in the first month of my fieldwork, so I entered Breeze – my second field site – with this complex ‘skew’ in kitchen demography in mind. Recognising the skew, however, was the furthest thing from complex.

Once we’ve swung through the double doors into the main kitchen, Flora leads me to its farthest corner on the left (garnish section).

Scarlett, tucked away to the side with her back to us, plucks a red chilli from an enormous container. With a deft flick of her knife, she scrapes the seeds away into the bin bellow her and throws the now-tamed pepper into a large metallic bowl. Some of the seeds escape the bin, and I see her dark chef shoes are confettied with small pale flecks.

‘Scarlett? This is Manu – she’ll be staging here for a bit – how’re you doing for prep? Can she help you with anything?’

Scarlett, looking up from her chopping board, wears an open-mouthed smile that’s somehow managed to seamlessly blend mild panic and gratitude. She looks at me and then to Flora, her smile growing even wider.

I like her immediately. I have not heard a South-London accent like Scarlett’s since my childhood in Tulse Hill, and certainly not since my research started. Her stunning eluded vowels and glottal-stops are not the only thing that makes Scarlett particularly conspicuous at Breeze; amongst all the chefs here, she is the only woman of colour.

Scarlett’s relative exoticism illuminated the core demographic of Breeze – I realised that its women chefs I met were predominantly English, white, young, and spoke with unwaveringly confident middle-class accents. Galangal presented much more in terms of gender, class, and age diversity. Amongst its four female kitchen staff, the eldest was a Thai woman in her fifties, one was 32, working-class and from Albania, another English and in her late twenties, and then there was Paula, who was from New Zealand and in her late thirties. Despite this, the restaurant was still headed by an affluent Caucasian woman.

Unfortunately, my observations form part of a common trope in Britain’s fine-dining scene, especially at the top of the kitchen hierarchy. A study carried out by the Guardian found that between the country’s 165 Michelin starred restaurants, only 12 percent were led by BAME chefs (Modhin, 2018). More concerning is that, compared to gender diversity, ethnicity and class diversity (let alone intersections between the two) is given even less scholarly attention. I discovered just two academic articles exploring racial discrimination in restaurants, both of which focused on American fine-dining and discriminations against BAME wait staff (not chefs) (Jayaraman, 2011; Bendick Jr., Rodriguez, Jayaraman, 2010). Between the 33 interview participants in Harris and Guiffre’s study of female chefs in the US, only nine were not white, and only two were African American (2015: 12-23). The fact that their research sample was ‘neither racially nor sexually diverse’ receives only a brief mention in the book’s concluding page (2015: 202). If the lack of ethnic and class diversity, not simply gender diversity, is an internationally pervasive issue within hospitality, why has it received so little attention? This question becomes especially poignant given the fact ‘intersectional’ (third wave) feminism emerged in the late 1980s, almost 30 years ago (Crenshaw, 1989; Mann, 2013: 55). In this sense, feminist scholarship and activism in the kitchen – typified by L.O.R., Harris, and Guiffre (2015) – has a lot of catching up to do.

#madeatleiths.

Magnus (sous-chef) and Judith (CDP) had just finished at Breeze, and were still vying for comfortable positions on the wooden stools that decorated the bars smoking area.

I began their joint interview with the same, broad introductory question I asked all of my participants, ‘what inspired you to become a chef?’ Magnus lit a cigarette. Having decided to cook in their teenage years (they are now in their late twenties), both had experienced

tensions between their professional aspirations and their being ‘middle class’.

Judith: ‘I went to a good school, where it was very, “what university are you going to?”, there wasn’t a question of anything else? I got 100 percent in my hospitality exam, and no one turned around to me going “oh, why don’t you become a chef??”’ Magnus: ‘I didn’t get good grades *we all giggle*… I knew when I was about 17 that I wanted to cook, but there was something in me that was like “I’m a white, middle-class guy, I should do something else.”’

In these first few minutes of our discussion, mentions of class were entirely unprompted by me. Magnus and Judith continued to describe how this tension was probably inspired by the fact that, when they were younger, kitchen work was predominantly seen as a ‘back up’ career option for ‘boys’ who struggled academically.

Me: ‘But why do you think hospitality is perceived that way? As a ‘back up’?’ Magnus: ‘I don’t think it is anymore. Genuinely, in the last five or six years that’s completely changed –’

Judith: ‘Cooking is cool now, I’d say.’

Magnus: ‘When I first started, I didn’t work with any people like… me… it was lots of working class people, there were hardly any women, whereas now… I’m sure not all kitchens are so female heavy and so… it’s bad to say but like, middle-class heavy, but I’ve begun to see a change.’

Me: ‘But… why is Breeze so middle-class??’

Without missing a beat Judith turned to Magnus, and then back at me. Judith: ‘Ballymaloe, and Leiths?’

Ballymaloe and Leith’s are two of Britain’s most prestigious private culinary schools, one-year courses at which can cost up to £25,000 (Leiths, 2019). As Harmer points out, these schools, once thought of as providing ‘rich kids [with] the basic skills needed to hold dinner parties or go off for a winter season in a ski chalet’ are now ‘churning out’ professional chefs (Harmer, 2005). For the first time, culinary schools (private and public) are beginning to receive large numbers of middle-class and female applicants (Ruhlman, 2007: 29). Judith’s

mention of cooking’s new-found popularity (it was ‘cool now’) is crucial in understanding why young, affluent chefs are entering this workforce; it seems the Internet has much to answer for. On social networking websites like Instagram, the growing obsession with food and ‘hipster’ eateries has dramatically increased the ‘cultural capital’ of professional chefs

outside of the kitchen (Harris and Guiffre, 2015: 37; Bourdieu, 1990; Hyman, 2008; Johnston

and Baumann, 2010).

I was not surprised to learn that Breeze had direct linkages with Ballymaloe and Leiths. Flora had attended Leiths before being taken under Ingrid’s wing; the school’s website had published an entire article on Flora titled #madeatleiths, which detailed the

alumnus’s success in the industry (Daniels, 2019). Breeze also, and quite often, offered stages to students from

Ballymaloe. More interesting was the fact homosocial relationships between female staff at Breeze were, in some cases, formed at these culinary schools.

Attending Ballymaloe or Leiths increased your chances of working at Breeze not only through the establishment’s connections, but through personal ones, too. I believe These preformed homosocial relationships explain why Breeze received so many female job applicants.

When I asked Magnus what types of diversity, or lack thereof, these schools offered to Breeze, he was quick to respond:

‘I don’t think anyone misses out because the same people will end up in a kitchen… it

doesn’t matter your creed, your colour, your sex… it doesn’t matter. I don’t look at

anyone, any differently because if you can cook, you can cook.’

I made clear I was not accusing him or Breeze of racial discrimination. Magnus was an incredibly warm-hearted man, and I did not doubt Breeze’s meritocratic ethos.