“Too Emotional”

Anonymous Chef

“It’s not just one story.“

“It’s not just one moment.“

“It’s so many.”

I’ve experienced it myself, but I’ve also watched it happen to countless other women.

Disrespect. Harassment. Being underestimated. Being talked over. Being treated as though we had something to prove simply because we walked into a kitchen.

It’s woven into the fabric of this industry.

The experience that has stayed with me the most began shortly after graduating from culinary school.

Ironically, I wasn’t even planning to cook.

I wanted to explore front of house for a while, but no matter where I worked, my kitchen experience kept pulling me back behind the line. Eventually I accepted a position as a food runner and expo at a new restaurant. As the months passed, people came and went, and I realized I missed cooking.

I spoke with one of the kitchen managers, and he agreed to start training me on the line.

The first day I reported to the station, the executive chef walked in, looked at me, and asked,

“What are you doing?”

I laughed, assuming he was joking.

“Cooking…?”

He stared at me, clearly unimpressed, then walked into his office.

A few moments later, he asked me to step outside.

He repeated the question.

“What are you doing on the line?”

I explained that the kitchen manager had approved it and I was beginning my training.

He paused before saying,

“Look… I’m going to be honest. I want the big dogs in the kitchen.”

“What do you mean by ‘big dogs’?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

When I walked back inside, I looked around.

Every cook on the hot line was a man.

There were one or two women working prep, but I was the only woman being trained on the line.

A few weeks later, one of the cooks walked out in the middle of service and never came back.

Someone needed to step in immediately.

I was the only person available.

The same chef who questioned whether I belonged suddenly had no choice but to train me.

Over time, I learned every station on the hot side of the line. Whenever someone called off, I could step in. I became the person who could fill almost any role.

One day, something difficult happened in my personal life.

I quietly told the chef I needed a minute.

I stepped outside, cried, gathered myself, and came back to work.

Service continued.

Nothing was said.

At least not then.

While I was training, another reality slowly became impossible to ignore.

The chef touched me unnecessarily while showing me techniques.

The cooks made sexual comments about servers as they walked through the kitchen.

The jokes never seemed to stop.

Sometimes they were directed at me.

Sometimes they weren’t.

Eventually it became so normal that I found myself laughing along just to survive the environment.

The harassment wasn’t occasional.

It became part of the culture.

As time passed, I took on more responsibility.

Whenever management was away at conferences, I often closed the kitchen despite not receiving additional pay for the extra work. Ironically, the front-of-house closer received extra compensation for taking on similar responsibilities.

Eventually, I decided I was ready for the next step.

A sous chef position opened at another restaurant within the same company.

The general manager supported me.

The kitchen managers supported me.

The executive chef didn’t.

“You’re not ready.”

I asked why.

He simply repeated it.

“You’re just not ready.”

When I pushed further, he finally explained.

“You’re too emotional.”

Immediately I knew what he meant.

The one time I stepped outside to cry.

That single moment became evidence that I wasn’t management material.

Meanwhile, I watched grown men throw tools, scream across the kitchen, slam doors, and lose their tempers on an almost daily basis.

None of them were ever called emotional.

Only me.

Eventually my current restaurant promised they would promote me instead.

For months I was told my management training would begin “soon.”

Soon never came.

I went home to visit family for a short break.

While I was away, I realized I was done waiting.

When I returned, I gave my notice.

Only then did they suddenly have a training date ready.

I looked at the calendar and immediately understood.

The training was scheduled to begin just before the holiday season.

If I accepted the promotion then, I would become salaried immediately—working the busiest months of the year for capped pay while taking on significantly more responsibility.

The delay had never been about my readiness.

It had been about timing.

Leaving that kitchen was one of the best decisions I ever made.

At the time, I thought those experiences were unusual.

I know now they were only the beginning.