Men who cook.

[Magicpole]

Tbf chefs who give out shit don't mind taking getting it back, and yes some get very touchy about being called chef, normally though that is reserved for other chefs/cooks in the brigade, never bothered most though, tecnically only the exec chef is a chef or a specific skill, we are all cooks but some chefs are full of shit.
I had many a delivery driver I have argued with and for everyone I called a prick I got called one back, thenvwould see the same driver next day and it would be "alright mate", there was always a level or respect but the drivers knew a late deliver could ruin a service and at the se time we knew the poor guys were probably getting the same shit at every drop.

Most that I have met are sussed. And it was the same with us, fridges not working meant food wasted so we knew speed was the answer.

After we took the speed, we were all over that shit.

 

[stonerblue]

Yeah most from Peterhead some where from Fraserburgh though.

I went sea when I left school did it for 3 years.the money kept going down so got out n into oil industry

Looks like a hell of a way to make a living. I take me Sou-Wester off too you.

 

[maccadon]

Wouldn't recommend it to anyone.you've either got it in your not.it's not a job you can do just to pay bills.grew up in generations of fishermen so was always part of my life.

Would never go back now though.

 

[Magicpole]

Like the OP I started out of necessity - am the eldest so one year found myself at home when the family went away for 2 weeks - my lads piss up was yet to happen. First time alone I ran out of stuff to have on toast - couldn't iron clothes and shrunk stuff boiling it in the old twin tub washer so when mum came back demanded a crash course in domestic survival.

I found I enjoyed cooking - its my "edible yoga" at the end of a hard day - so now self taught not half bad if I say so myself and means I get to eat what I like / want when I want also the Mrs is a fucking terrible cook and admits it so we are a match made in the chippy ha ha

My mother couldn't cook, but by god she did everything else for us. So much so, that when I left home I didn't have a fucking clue. Couldn't iron, ruined so much stuff in the washing machine. Learned the hard way that rooms are not self cleaning entities. Fridges remain empty unless you put food in them. Tea bags are not eternal. Milk turns to sludge. Piling all the dishes, I mean every fucking thing, utensils pots and leaving them is not the way to a harmonious kitchen.

Bills needing sorted never even entered my mind.

On my very first day returning to my flat, as I walked into the living room I noticed a pair of my denims lying on the floor and I said out loud

What the fuck are they doing lying there?

Where's your mother when you need her!

If I hadn't been able to cook, up until I ran out of utensils, I would have topped myself. Survival again.

 

[Sid C]

When I was a apprentice refrigeration engineer we went into a kitchen at at big brewery and I had to find the boss.

I noticed a big guy so sauntered over and asked

Are you the Cook?

**** went mental

Cook? Fucking cook, I'm no a fucking cook. I'm a chef

Me

Calm doon ya fat prick.

My journeyman.

Eh Magic, son, go sit in the van.

Some of these chef cunts only get away with it because pricks let them away with it.

When the job was finished my engineer came back and started giving me it tight, are you fucking mad, we get a lot of work blah blah.

Ten seconds into driving and he burst out laughing and scuffed me on the back of the head.

Arthur was his name and we became pals. I drove him mental at times. :)

Many years ago I worked at the airport, the exec chef there was a big Danish fella who despite being a rag was a good lad.

One day I sent him a note saying

Who called the cook a ****?
Who called the **** a cook?

A few hours later I was having a drink in the bar and he rushed in like a madman and cut my tie in half with the biggest pair of scissors I've ever seen.

As you say he wasn't bothered about me calling him a **** but went ballistic because I called him a cook.

The only other time saw him as angry was when I set his stupid ginger beard alight. They're an odd bunch.

 

[Magicpole]

Many years ago I worked at the airport, the exec chef there was a big Danish fella who despite being a rag was a good lad.

One day I sent him a note saying

Who called the cook a ****?
Who called the **** a cook?

A few hours later I was having a drink in the bar and he rushed in like a madman and cut my tie in half with the biggest pair of scissors I've ever seen.

As you say he wasn't bothered about me calling him a **** but went ballistic because I called him a cook.

The only other time saw him as angry was when I set his stupid ginger beard alight. They're an odd bunch.

I mean FFS if you can't take having your beard set on fire then what's next on their hit list?

Me keeping racing dwarfs?

Political Correctness gone mad.

 

[urban genie]

My mother couldn't cook, but by god she did everything else for us. So much so, that when I left home I didn't have a fucking clue. Couldn't iron, ruined so much stuff in the washing machine. Learned the hard way that rooms are not self cleaning entities. Fridges remain empty unless you put food in them. Tea bags are not eternal. Milk turns to sludge. Piling all the dishes, I mean every fucking thing, utensils pots and leaving them is not the way to a harmonious kitchen.

Bills needing sorted never even entered my mind.

On my very first day returning to my flat, as I walked into the living room I noticed a pair of my denims lying on the floor and I said out loud

What the fuck are they doing lying there?

Where's your mother when you need her!

If I hadn't been able to cook, up until I ran out of utensils, I would have topped myself. Survival again.

I still can't iron, when the misus is away I go out with a jumper on because me shirts will be creased to fuck.

Remember when home, I left went share a house with a mate, we left 11 months later as we set out from the start with us looking after different bills me gas, water, phone, electricity my mate council tax and shopping except the daft twat never paid the council tax. that and the lad had a tendancy for shagging his girlfriend on every bit of furniture and if my late shift finished early I would regularry walk in on him and her bollock naked on the kitchen table.

Luckily.that experience set me up to be more responsible when I worked overseas

 

[Magicpole]

I still can't iron, when the misus is away I go out with a jumper on because me shirts will be creased to fuck.

Remember when home, I left went share a house with a mate, we left 11 months later as we set out from the start with us looking after different bills me gas, water, phone, electricity my mate council tax and shopping except the daft twat never paid the council tax. that and the lad had a tendancy for shagging his girlfriend on every bit of furniture and if my late shift finished early I would regularry walk in on him and her bollock naked on the kitchen table.

Luckily.that experience set me up to be more responsible when I worked overseas

My utter fucking uselessness, and it lasted far too long, mostly down to my utter refusal to allow my mother off the hook. And shamefully every woman I went with unable to deal with the mess cleaned up.

Eventually I was told to fuck right off by a feisty auburn hair beauty who I later married and got my act together.

Still fucking hate it mind.