Working in a kitchen perched high above the city is utterly unlike any other kitchen on earth. The staggering skyline might be stunning, with a glittering urban tapestry below as twilight paints the city in gold, but beneath the glitter lies a silent, roaring chaos. You don’t get to admire the view when the orders explode at shift change. The stoves scream with heat, dishes crash in rhythmic fury, and the chill never quite holds.
The structure we serve in brings its invisible obstacles. Elevators crawl during peak hours, so every key component must be stocked with military precision. Run out of fresh pasta and the entire kitchen stalls. We keep double the supply — not merely as backup — because time is the one resource we never have. On one brutal night got delayed by a crash, and we had to remake every dish using frozen stock because the standard was non-negotiable.
The sonic landscape here is an unrelenting symphony. The urban pulse thrums far down, but on this level, the clatter of pots mingles with the burst of boiling liquids, barked orders from the cooks, and the explosive cry from the expeditor. We wear earplugs — not because we like it — because silence is a myth. There is no such thing as a quiet shift.
The oven-like climate is unyielding. Even in winter, the kitchen clings to 85 degrees. The exhaust fans strain, but they barely hold back the tide. At closing time, our uniforms are drenched, and we shower just to leave just to step into the cold. Some of us keep replacement socks stashed away because our soles turn to puddles.
Still — there’s a quiet pride in it. We’re not simply plating dishes — we’re elevating memories. They ascend to this height to celebrate a proposal, to propose. They book for the skyline, but they stay for the flavor. We feel it — in the way a guest lingers, or the way they ask for the chef.
Our shifts end after midnight — our windows face away. But sometimes, after the last dish is cleared, teletorni restoran we steal a moment of the city waking. The corporate towers blink awake, trucks begin their routes. And we know — we were part of something.
We are the ones who hold the heat steady. Not for the Instagram likes, but because someone must. When your kitchen floats above the world, you learn this truth: the best meals aren’t the ones that sparkle on the plate — they’re the ones made with grit.