Dave C is in the Pub. On Tuesday he'd asked if he could be in the kitchen to watch the cooking for Fish Night there. He promised to keep out of the way. Come the night he offered to do a bit to help - some washing up, for example, prep some veg. Now, Dave C is an enthusiastic cook himself, though purely on an amateur level. He was put in charge of the grill. He got hotter & hotter. After a while, he asked if he could have a break. By this time even his arms were sweating. The chef's whites he'd been given were glued onto him. Dave's a severe diabetic so he thought the problem was that his sugar level was out, so he tested himself. Fine. He returned to the grill.
Again he found himself getting very hot, so requested another break. This time he popped out for a breath of very cold night air. The next thing he knew a frail elderly man was asking if he needed help to get up. He'd blacked out. His feet remained at the top of the steps, his head at the bottom.
"It was just so hot! I don't know how they manage it night after night", commented Dave, any aspirations of going professional well & truly evaporated. Fortunately no serious injury was done to himself. He hadn't even gained a bruise!
I couldn't help thinking of our French friends. The son, a professional chef, usually works just for the summer months. He earns sufficient then with the long overtime hours, usually 10-12 hours a day for 7 days a week, to keep him going for the rest of the year. During the winter months he tends to be a bit podgy. He puts on weight, an extra stone or two. By the end of the season he can guarantee to have lost that, plus some, & be as thin as a rake. The reason? The sheer amount of sweating he does every day. A bit like being permanently in a sauna!
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