I knew as soon as I hit the sanitizer button that I would have a minute or two before the next batch of dishes needed to be ran through. One step to the left, I reached across the sink and grabbed the burger for a quick bite. One of the cooks had put it there for me just seconds prior, fresh off the grill. There were no wasted movements. Using my right hand, I organized the dirty plates and stacked utensils accordingly, so that the next batch was prepped. There would be no wasted time between loads.

My arms were dirty and smeared with a mixture of scraped food, dishwater, and sanitizer residue. The skin on my hands was lightly steamed and wrinkled from constant moisture. The inside of my thumb had gotten nicked from a steak knife, naturally in the spot that I use the most, and the superficial wound stung from the dish soap and sanitizer. We were far enough into the shift that my lower back and shoulders were starting to ache. A cursory glance at the kitchen clock indicated that the next rush was about to hit.

Sure enough, the ticket bell at the line rang behind me as the wait staff presented incoming table orders. The head chef read each order, with substitutions and additions. Even before the words were out of his mouth, the line cooks sprang into action, prepping each dish, starting with the ingredients that required the most time to cook. Hardly any words were spoken beyond the specifics of each dish.

In less than ten minutes, an entire table’s worth of food would be plated and ready for service. An incredible variety of food, from salads, burgers, tacos, sandwiches, burritos, sides, and each plate with its own unique array of substitutions and additions - all presented simultaneously and correctly. From my perch at the dish pit, it was like observing a symphony. Each participant performed their task, which meshed and complimented each other’s. They worked with fish, steak, pork, greens, vegetables, beef, sauces, chicken, rice, beans, and even a soup of the day. Orders came in, and sustenance came out. It was relentless and at times chaotic for sure, and also fascinating to watch. In the background, a wireless speaker played out a variety of easy listening music.

Using my left hand, I took a bite of the burger.

The patty was still hot from the grill. It scalded the roof of my mouth, but I did not care. My God, it was delicious and fulfilling in a way that is unique to the direct link to the kitchen. Something about passing through those swinging doors; something about being immersed in the culture; the food nourishes the soul in a way that you cannot get on the outside.

I closed my eyes and savored the experience. The patty, sauces, melted cheese, crispy onion, pickles, bun - it was a perfect balance of salty, sweet, bitter, savory, and sour; a touch of each profile. With each bite, the burger juiced and sauces burned my lips and ran down my chin. I wiped my face with the backside of my right hand while taking bites. I turned, just so the others didn’t have to watch my spectacle. Honestly, there really is no way to put food into one’s mouth that is truly flattering.

Yet, food is such a culturally defining aspect of life, that it is worth slowing down to savor. Good food should nurture the soul. Good food brings people together. Good food should compliment the environment, empower those who produce it, and offer creative outlets to those who prepare it. There is no more effective way to bring people together, than over the dinner table.

Someday, just maybe, as Americans we will have the courage to recognize that the chronic mental and physical health issues that plague our society are directly linked to the horrible commercialized food that we consume.

I took one last savory bite of the cheeseburger. It was half gone, and looking squished and sad in comparison to the proud work of art that had been initially presented to me by the cook. I placed the remaining half into the basket on the stainless steel supply shelf above the dirty dishes for later. The sanitizer was winding down. Within a few seconds I would open the door and run the next batch. I washed my hands and rinsed my face, ironically after taking a moment to grab a bite to eat.

“Hey man, how was the burger?” I heard the cook ask me from across the line. 

I turned to face him, looked him dead in the eyes and truthfully remarked, “Dude… That burger feels as though I am eating the very first cheeseburger I ever ate. You know, the cheap ones from your childhood that your mother could barely afford.”

He grinned from ear to ear, taking the compliment for what it was, and also the tribute to a soft horror movie starring Ralph Fiennes that features an entire kitchen staff at an exquisite restaurant that self destructs in spectacular fashion, because who doesn’t love a little dose of dark humor?

“Behind!” Another cook returned from the walk-in to his station carrying more than his fair share of ingredients for the incoming orders. Without more than that single word, we sidestepped, making room for each other as he passed by. The grill flared, knives chopped, pans sizzled, and order bells chimed. I could hear laughter and animated conversation from the tables beyond the swinging doors.

My God, I love these guys, I thought as I turned back to my station.

— Dan Wegmueller is the owner of Wegmueller Farms and his column appears regularly in the Times. His website is https://www.

farmforthought.org.