Are Stages Exploitative?
by William Salisbury
Opinions expressed in this articles do not necessarily represent the point of view of Best Served. In furtherance of bringing more voices to the table, we are committed to sharing varied thinking throughout the industry.
If you work in a professional kitchen, chances are you have worked as a stagiaire in at least one of two capacities: a short-term internship for little or no pay in exchange for some experience, or a trial-shift with the hope of receiving a job offer. Both can be beneficial with good intentions and harmful if otherwise.
The concept of “staging” has a long history in our industry that stretches back with the also problematic history of the modern-day brigade system. I couldn’t write something like this without also acknowledging that these systems have mostly been beneficial to people like myself, white male chefs, while leaving behind and excluding many others.
That being said, I am writing about personal experiences staging; while sympathetic I cannot know what it is like to experience this industry as a non-white-male chef. The best I can do is be aware of the biases, do my best to speak out as much as I can about them, and make sure I don’t contribute to them in any way.
While I was a student at the CIA, I took some time off from classes to take a trip to Boston. I knew where I wanted to go, Toro. It had been open for a few years and Ken Oringer was a hero amongst us cooks from the New England area.
It was the fall of 2009 and I walked into Toro’s dining room early that day — the restaurant is closed for lunch. Standing behind a very large table covered in the primal cuts of a once-whole pig was a tattooed behemoth of a chef, Jamie Bissonnette. I was in awe. I told him I was a student at the CIA, asked if I could return for a stage and he gave me instructions for when to return.
I arrived for my stage and was introduced to chefs Mike and Greg — a chef who would go on to work in some of the world’s best restaurants and open his own in southern California. We also share a birthday, although a few years apart.
I was given a tour of the restaurant and set to work on my prep task; some quantities of oranges, lemons, and limes and told to peel and chop the zest until it is the consistency of “fine sea-salt.” I don’t remember much about the stage other than feeling utterly inadequate. The cooks were leagues better than me in every way possible. I’m certain I was in the way and my work was subpar. Not a single one of them made me feel that way, I could just tell.
My takeaway wasn’t that I learned any particular cooking skill, recipe, or history of Spanish Tapas and I didn’t feel as though I had given away any “free” labor. On the contrary, I was terrible and mostly in the way — sorry Greg and Mike. I learned that I had a lot of work to do if I was going to achieve my goals as a chef. It wasn’t going to come naturally, I had to work, and I had to be disciplined. It was a humbling experience and while I wasn’t compensated financially, I felt like I left with more than when I arrived earlier that day.
Nearly a decade later, along with my partner and our two young sons I was moving to Dallas. I arranged two trial-stages for potential jobs and arrived now an experienced cook and sous-chef. The first was at a lauded restaurant with a chef known for his inventive use of local Texan ingredients.
I arrived at the time requested by the chef — a time that seemed early for a dinner only restaurant, but whatever. After about twenty minutes waiting at the door for the chef and managers to finish their meeting, I was quickly shown around and assigned my task. Fifty-plus pounds of baby turnips, a green sponge, and a dark corner of the dish pit. Several hours later, someone finally came to check on me to see that I hadn’t just left, service was about to begin.
The painfully long and boring trial came to an end 12 hours after it began. The chef had left soon after greeting me, so the sous chef was left to offer me a job. It was a lowball offer and I politely declined. The restaurant closed two or so months later. I dodged a bullet.
The purpose of a trial, as I see it, is to see if the person applying wants to work there and if you want to offer that person a job. Any chef can tell if you know what you’re doing and worth hiring for $14 per hour after 10 minutes. When I have line cook applicants in for a trial, I look at a few things mostly related to attentiveness and attitude. If they demonstrate cooking skill, I consider that an added bonus. I always try and have a plan for them though and guide them through their trial and respect the time they are spending in the kitchen — there is never a need for a trial to go on longer than 4 or 5 hours. The trial always ends with them being fed generously.
When Jamie Bissonnette allowed me to Stage in his kitchen, he knew I wasn’t bringing much to the table. He wasn’t going to get a good day of free labor out of me. He knew that his team, chefs like Greg and Mike and the other cooks there that day were going to inspire me. Maybe without knowing it he invested in my career that day. I will always be grateful. My 12-hour turnip scrubbing trial in Dallas just saw me as a day’s free labor to knock out a project no one else wanted to do.
So, when I’m asked if staging is exploitative the answer is complicated. It’s yes and it’s no. It all depends on intention. Do they see the stagiaire as someone to give something to or get something from? Is the trial just a formality for a day of free labor or is there a purpose to see if the candidate is actually a good fit? Answer these questions and you’ll know.
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William Salisbury is a chef, father, and cancer survivor. He is also the co-founder of Heard That Foundation, a 501c3 charity in Dallas that organizes resources for hospitality workers.
