Exhausted and weary, I look at the last order. Just two more dishes… at last, the evening is calming down. An ordinary night begins. My voice is almost gone from giving directions, my body as dry as a desert. I step through the door from the kitchen into the restaurant with a single desire—to take a glass of cold water after three hours of hell, where even catching a breath felt heavy.
I reach out, almost instinctively, grab a glass and pour chilled soda. My eyes drift to the terrace. There, a young couple sits at a table, enjoying the evening by the lake. I can imagine that feeling. I exhale and breathe in the fresh air, carrying the scent of alpine water, in the presence of someone I love. I think this moment would be one of the most precious to me.
Strange how only a door, perhaps ten meters, separates us. Ten meters that mean the difference between bliss and torment. Unfair? Perhaps just the reality of life. Why do some work hard while others savor these moments? I don’t know. Maybe simply so that they can savor them at all…
Perhaps when we have such moments ourselves, we too won’t think about who stands behind the feeling of our bliss. After all, when I cook for guests, I don’t think about what kind of evening awaits them, or how the food I prepare might shape it.
But tonight, that sight made me pause. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll realize that what I cook can become part of such a moment. And maybe I can make it just a little better.