Working in a kitchen perched high above the city is completely distinct from any other kitchen on earth. The endless sea of lights below might be stunning, with towers piercing the horizon as twilight paints the city in gold, but behind that vista lies a furnace of sweat. No time to marvel when the dinner rush hits at 5:30. The burners blare nonstop, pans clang like cymbals, and the chill never quite holds.
The building itself brings its unique burdens. Elevators crawl during rush times, so every ingredient must be planned weeks ahead. Lose a bottle of truffle oil and service grinds to a halt. We keep double the supply — not merely as backup — because we know we can’t afford to wait. Once, a delivery truck got trapped in traffic, and we reconstructed the entire menu using pre-prepped backups because the chef would never cut corners.
Noise here is an unrelenting symphony. The streets whisper beneath us, but up here, the ring of stainless steel mingles with the burst of boiling liquids, crisp commands from the stations, and the sharp bark from the expeditor. We wear earplugs — not by choice — but because we must. There is no such thing as a quiet shift.
The heat is unyielding. Even when frost coats the windows, the kitchen clings to 85 degrees. The vents work overtime, but they never win. At closing time, our shirts cling like sponges, and we change twice just to get home. Many of us keep spare socks in our lockers because our soles turn to puddles.
Somehow — an unspoken dignity in it. We’re not just cooking — we’re serving emotion. They ascend to this height to celebrate a proposal, teletorni restoran to propose. They choose us for the panorama, but they return for the taste. We see it — in the way a guest lingers, or the way they ask for the chef.
We miss the dawn — we don’t watch the sky brighten. But Occasionally, as we slip onto the fire escape, we steal a moment of the first lights flickering on. The corporate towers blink awake, the first buses roll. And we remember — we made a difference.
We are the ones who hold the heat steady. Not because it’s glamorous, but because someone must. When your kitchen floats above the world, you learn this truth: the most unforgettable dishes aren’t the ones that sparkle on the plate — they’re the ones made with grit.