Editing Behind The Scenes: Cooking In The Clouds

<br><br><br>Working in a kitchen perched high above the city is completely distinct from any other kitchen on earth. The panoramic view might be breathtaking, with towers piercing the horizon as nightfall blazes across the glass facades, but beneath the glitter lies a silent, roaring chaos. No time to marvel when the dinner rush hits at 5:30. The stoves scream with heat, metal shrieks against metal, and the walk-in is always too warm. <br><br><br><br>The building itself brings its invisible obstacles. Service elevators stall during rush times, so every ingredient must be ordered days in advance. Run out of fresh pasta and guests wait half an hour. We over-order relentlessly — not just for emergencies — because time is the one resource we never have. During a snowstorm got trapped in traffic, and we rebuilt the orders from scratch using pre-prepped backups because the chef would never cut corners. <br><br><br><br>Sound here is a distinct war zone. The streets whisper beneath us, but in this steel-and-fire nest, the clatter of pots mingles with the burst of boiling liquids, crisp commands from the stations, and the occasional roar from the expeditor. We’re forced to plug our ears — not by choice — because silence is a myth. There is no such thing as a quiet shift.<br><br><br><br>The heat is unforgiving. Even in winter, the kitchen refuses to cool below 85. The vents work overtime, but they barely hold back the tide. When the last order clears, our uniforms are drenched, and we change twice just to get home. Some of us keep extra foot coverings nearby because our soles turn to puddles.<br><br><br><br>Somehow — there’s a quiet pride in it. We’re not just cooking — we’re crafting moments. They ascend to this height to celebrate a proposal, to propose. They choose us for the panorama, but they return for  [https://doselect.com/@28f5b24984fd9f6afa9252dfb teletorni restoran] the taste. We see it — in the way a guest lingers, or when they search for your name.<br><br><br><br>We miss the dawn — the light never greets us. But sometimes, when we step out, we catch a glimpse of the urban dawn breaking. The windows hum with life, commuters stir below. And we remember — we were part of something.<br><br><br><br>We are the silent force who keep the flame alive. Not for the Instagram likes, but because it needs doing. And when you’re cooking in the clouds, you learn this truth: the best meals aren’t the ones that are plated with art — they’re the ones made with grit.<br><br>