The Back Burner

You know you got to help me out
Oh don't you put me on the back burner
You're gonna bring yourself down
The Killers

In my chef days, I often worked the saute station in the restaurants that employed me - arguably the most difficult and busiest station in the kitchen. I would spend my evenings in command of the 12-burner stove that was the central core of the kitchen. On a busy Saturday night I could easily have 30-40 saute pans going at once - juggling from the hot front burners to the low burning back burners, to the prep tables, the waitress station, the tops of refrigerators, even in the walk-ins - anywhere was fair game to set them down until they were ready to be called up to the front burner and to be heated up for service.

I would keep a running tab in my head: shrimp scampi on the back burner....veal sorrento on the prep table with the chicken marsala ...rigatoni vodka and shrimp primavera in the walk-in....give the lobster fra diablo on the front burner a flip... and so on. I would imagine the meals waiting patiently for me to bring them back up to the front burner where the real heat was. The initial cooking process had only fanned their flames of desire - it was the foreplay of the romance. They hated being relegated to the sidelines, forced to wait while the diners finished their appetizers and chit chat. They wanted to be back up on the front burners where the action was - where the real lovemaking happened. There was more room up there, more heat, more fire, more adoration from the chef who lavished attention on them and showed them off to the world. The front burner was the place to be.

Sometimes I would lose a pan in the shuffle. So many pans, what's a girl to do? Start another one quick. Throw in the rigatoni, the tomatoes, the vodka. Get the new dish out there! It doesn't matter which one it is! As long as it looks and tastes the same, nobody will know. Later I would find the cold pan in the walk-in, picked clean and obviously enjoyed by the waitstaff. It would glare at me mockingly. Come on now, you put me on ice. You ignored me...you replaced me...you forgot me. Did you really I'd still be here waiting for you?

I've come to realize something over the years. When it comes to love, I am not a back burner girl. While I'm not one to seek the center of attention, I am also not one who can stand to be relegated to the sidelines. Many of the guys I've been involved with are extremely attractive and highly desirable. I never did anything overt to get their attention, but I certainly reveled in it when I got it. When it would seem that I was losing that coveted front burner space, I would retreat on my own to the back burner. Simmering, waiting, hoping not to burn back there before they realized that they were about to lose me completely. Sometimes they would realize in time and all would be well. I was the lobster fra diablo again, and would slide happily back into my front burner space where I belonged. But often times they would succumb to the new attention, and I would be replaced with a new dish. It was these times I would retreat to the walk-in to cool down, unable to bear the idea of competing for the attention of the one I loved. On more than one occasion, after they had tired of their latest dish, they would find me again and ask for another chance. After all that time chilling out in the walk-in, my response would be - not surprisingly - cold.

Come on now, you put me on ice. You ignored me...you replaced me...you forgot me.

Did you really think I'd still be here waiting for you?