Winter Is Coming | Beyond The Pass

I’m not going to lie, I’m not exactly a summer person. 

And I know, I probably chose the wrong country to live in if I feel this way but what can I say, I like the lifestyle.

Because I’m not a summer person, I’m one of those annoying people who crave the cold weather. I’m that guy who scoffs at you when you complain about the rain, or the guy who insists on walking along the beach in freezing cold temperatures because it makes the shanties he’s listening to feel all the more real.

So, it makes sense that around this time of year, when the temperature starts to drop and I can finally wear long pants without them turning to shrink wrap, I come alive.

It also happens to be the best time of year to work in hospo.

And if you don’t believe me on that last point, you (hopefully) will by the end of this blog.

So, why are the colder months a better time to work in hospo than the summer months, I hear you ask?

It’s simple, and it’s all to do with comfort levels.

The first comfort level I’m going to convince you on is on a general level.

Summer is stinking hot over here. No matter which way you cut it, your sweat glands are going to be putting in a mighty shift on any given day. And sure, you can try a number of methods to cool yourself down, but it’s always going to be a temporary fix.

That air conditioning you’ve managed to find refuge in? That stuff ain’t free, and if you’re not the one paying the bills, eventually, you’ll have to leave.

How about a nice, cold beverage? We both know the first one won’t touch the sides and before you know it, you’re knee-deep in a bender and the sun hasn’t even begun to set.

Now, imagine dealing with all of that, and you have to work a shift in a blistering hot kitchen.

Let me tell you, there isn’t an air conditioning unit on the planet strong enough to overpower the staggering heat coming off a salamander grill. And the tag team humidity of your egg-poaching pot and dishwasher make light work of that tiny, clip-on fan you’ve got blasting at your face too.

There’s only so many times you can claim to have forgotten something in the walk-in until Chef gets suspicious and turns into Gordon Ramsey when he can’t find the lamb sauce.But in winter?

The very things you hate with the passion of a thousand pizza ovens become absolute hubs of comfort.

I remember working in a cafe where the entrance was a roller door that took up an entire wall. In the winter, we could have set up a bonfire in the middle of the dining room and it would have barely made the mercury climb a degree or two.

But that salamander grill? Oh boy, was that manna from heaven. An oasis in a desert of bitterly-cold Sydney mornings (read: about 10 degrees so, not that cold, really).

I’d pour myself a filter and camp out in front of that thing. When it was quiet, I’d even read a book, using my broiler as a de-facto log fire.

You most definitely could not do these things in the summer because of the other version of comfort that winter brings, and that’s trade.

In the summer, particularly around November/December, people go out.

They’ve just spent the best part of 3 months lounging on their sofas, wrapped up in a million layers of sweaters, socks, beanies and blankets, binge-watching Ru Paul and drinking their own weight in milky tea, and they can’t face another day of it! The sheer coziness of it all has consumed them.

So, with about a thousand of their closest friends, they spend the next few months visiting every cafe, bar or restaurant under the sun, playing social catch up and pushing wait times way into the double digits.

This, I don’t have to remind you, can suck if you’re working.

Coming off those barren winter months leaves you decidedly lacking of any match fitness. When the first of many rushes come, you find yourself clumsy and cumbersome, and the never-ending snake of fresh dockets falling out of the kitchen printer begins to mock you with it’s jarring sonata.

All of this, and your workspace is a figurative inferno, making the smiles and revelry of your diners more annoying—more nails-on-a-chalkboard unbearable—than that reggae playlist the FOH staff have chosen to play on repeat all day (don’t @ me about this, reggae is something to be consumed in the comfort of your own home or a muddy field in Byron, not a busy cafe in the middle of a brunch rush).

By the time your shift is over, you are a shell of a human, your very essence scooped out like the yolk of a devilled egg. If you’re lucky, you might be able to catch the last glimmer of sunshine before you collapse into bed at about 7:30pm, and that’s only if you’re on day shift. 

For night shifters, the reverse is true. Your spend entire picnic sessions either strictly controlling your alcohol intake for fear of being too drunk to work, or you’re constantly aware of the countdown until you have to leave what is always the most fun social event you’ve ever been at, to go and plate up parmigianas and $10 steak specials for 8 hours. It’s usually both of these scenarios.

But winter? Mate, life becomes a whole lot easier.

Because of the aforementioned ‘goblin mode’ that most of us adopt once the temperatures drop below 20, cafes, bars and restaurants become pleasant—almost ideal—sanctuaries.

The day shifts change from socially chaotic to blissfully zen, the hospo shift equivalent of switching out a 2 Unlimited cd for Norah Jones. And no, I don’t care if that last part shows my age. I’m a fine wine.You can start to make hearty, ‘proper’ food like soups, stews and roasts, the beauty of which is that these are made in bulk, freeing up your time for more important things like reading books in front of commercial kitchen appliances. You know, traditional winter things.

You won’t be missing out on any important social events either, because all of your friends are scared of the cold. They are not sitting in a park for an afternoon, creating core memories and inside jokes that you’ll never be part of while you’re trudging away in a sweaty kitchen trying to find an avocado that isn’t built like petrified wood. They’ll be wrapped up at home wondering why their UberEats driver has been in the same spot for 10 minutes.

As for night shift, your customer’s journey from their warm, blanket-laden couches to your venue is fraught with such perilous things as sideways rain, cold they can see their breath in and a general lack of sunlight. Believe me, the only people you’ll be seeing are maniacs who decided to have a winter wedding out celebrating another anniversary and people taking advantage of that Groupon voucher that’s about to expire.

In conclusion, cold weather shifts are about as comfortable as a shift can be. Whether that be the cooler temperatures and the makeshift log fires, the easy prep lists and lower trade levels, or the lack of FOMO, give me a winter shift every single time.

So goodbye, dear friends, I’m off to the beach in my cable-knit sweater to listen to ‘Wellerman’ on repeat until my enlarged heart can take no more.