Love & Cruelty...The Art and Origin of Kitchen Nicknames

Nicknames have been around since the early 14th century. “Nick,” being a derivation of “eke” literally means “additional name.” Eke is an even older word, dating back to about 1200 meaning “to increase” or “to lengthen”, thus the saying to eke out was conceived. Chefs and cooks are pros at eking-out, as in fabricating 14 portions from a single chicken and surviving on 10 bucks an hour. Perhaps, this is why we abuse and terrorize one another in sweltering confinement for fun. Perhaps, this is why we create castigating and disparaging nicknames for one another. Perhaps, this is why chefs are assholes! 

Kitchen nicknames are not premeditated or copied from some nickname recipe; they are created from scratch. In a split second, a tiny random act can be the impetus for twisted minds to swoop in and do serious damage to mother-given monikers. One mistake, a single comment, an unusual attribute, or a physical impairment, can become a label for life. Nicknames can be harsh and mean, but also incredibly funny. They have a tendency to transform from a demeaning tag line into a normal and acknowledged way to communicate someone’s best or worst characteristics. How and why does that happen? How do nicknames that are often meant to ridicule and tease, become rights of passage, badges of honor and even displays of affection? It’s a mystery of sorts. One of my nicknames was wrought from a bedraggled bunch of unskilled line cooks throwing me under a bus for my hard work and professionalism! That only happens because chefs are assholes. 

On that fateful day, I remember our incredibly talented chef, who had recently taken over our restaurant kitchen, storming downstairs from his office on the second floor. Red-faced and tyrannical he proclaimed, “Kitchen meeting...now!” He then proceeded to tear into every cook for an overall lack of commitment, effort, and care for the standards he had set in place and taking our jobs for granted. He had had enough! After dressing down every piece of shit in the place, he looked straight at me and yelled, ”Paul Connors is the only one to take his job seriously and seems to give a flying shit!.” He stormed off and we all stood there, shaking, stripped of our dignity as cooks and professionals...all except me, of course. They had just been lamb-basted, and I had just received high praise from one of the best chefs on the planet! But, from that day forward...I was knighted Only-One Kenobi, the Dark Lord, the Chosen One. Those bastards held that over my head like a sarcastic shroud; I was the goody-two-shoes now. I like to think of that day as the turning point for all of us there. That restaurant, in the middle of Bumfuck New Jersey, with a bunch of nicknamed cooks, went on to be the first and only restaurant outside of New York City to be awarded “Excellent” (4-stars) from the New York Times! Truth. Would those shoemakers say that Only-One Kenobi had something to do with our success by setting the example? No. Fucking.Way! Chefs are just plain assholes.

Another one of my nicknames came from a drug-infused stoner and sauté cook...Joe S. Of course, Joe S. was named that because we had two Joes in the kitchen. His last name, Soberowski, did not suit him well, as he was far from ever being sober. Joe called me Mannix because my last name was Connors. He christened me after Mike Connors, the esoteric star of the TV show Mannix. But you have to say Mannix the way Joe did, slow, like you were stoned out of your gourd, shaking slightly, with a huge smile on your face and two thumbs up. To a select collection of complete assholes, my name to this day, is Mannix.   

Mexican culture is notorious for personalized and downright cruel nicknames! My most recent designation was “Abuelo” (Grandfather) because I was the oldest asshole in the kitchen. I seriously hated that one and took it personally at first, but now I love it. Why is that? It’s a mystery, dude. We had a sous chef at one restaurant the Latinos called “Langosta” (Lobster) because of his red skin. And of course, the most rotund cooks were either called Tortuga (turtle) or Gordito (fat), Skinny cooks were Flaco (skinny), diminutive cooks were Cameron (shrimp). One sous chef was given the name Nacho, only because the assholes couldn’t pronounce his name!

There is absolutely no reason to go down the evil alleyways of giving nicknames to females in the kitchen, but since I am a chef, and therefore an asshole, I will indeed! One of the best I ever heard was a woman who worked in the “Garde Manger” station...aka “Salad Land”, who was sleeping with the owner of the restaurant. She actually owned up to her nickname and embraced it, introducing herself,“I’m (Last Name), but you can call me Salad Slut, everyone else does.” Then there was Elza. She was from Brazil. When she pronounced her name, it was more like Ayouza. So, we just enhanced it a bit. Aaaayeeouooza!  And of course, she hated it at first. “Stop saying that.” She eventually accepted and loved it...as we all loved her. Stubby, cut her fingers all the time. Jill Bomb got her nickname from trashing the salad station so bad, it looked as if a bomb went off. She married the tall sous chef, he goes by Big Girl...for being such a whiny bastard!

Another one of our cooks was simply called Nat Furke (not the asshole’s real name) because he was so incredibly...Nat Furke! He was never just Nat; he was always Nat Furke. He was responsible for the grill station, and dubbing people with annoying new names. One salad guy was aptly named “MAAAAAT!”, his name is Matt, but Nat Furke just kept saying his name louder and longer. It eventually sounded like one of us had ripped the liver out of a live Muscovy duck. His nickname became an annoying sound! 

Another nickname that started as a word,  mutated through many iterations to a hand gesture! Three brothers that I worked with were nicknamed Creek Dud (later condensed to Duddy or Duddis), Fat Boy (which became Fat Man when he was a bit older, now known as Fatty) and Crap Face. Crap Face became just Face for a while, then Face Man. Now, we just hold our hand perpendicular to the top of our foreheads...and swipe down...Face. You don’t even have to draw a breath! And his brothers can blame him for shit behind his back without uttering a word. “Who put this crap over here?” Swipe... chefs are arrogant assholes.

So, here’s to you Gordo, God, Ponytail, Policia, Bonz, Carpetman, Young Carpet, Reba, Milley, Peej, Buzzy and the rest of you assholes. I apologize for the abuse, but not the nicknames. I love them all, and all of you. 

PC 

04/06/20