From the Line to the Lead: How a Professional Kitchen Taught Me the Truth About Culture
We’ve all heard the phrase: "If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen."
It’s usually said as a badge of honour; a warning that high-performance environments are intense, demanding, and not for the faint-hearted.
But here’s what working in a professional kitchen taught me: Heat doesn’t create dysfunction.
It reveals it.
Early Lessons in the Kitchen
My very first job was at a McDonald’s just eight minutes from my house, a role I applied for as soon as I turned 15. It was a whirlwind of activity: fryers hissed and spat hot oil, timers blared in rapid succession, and order screens flashed constantly with new requests. I darted between fries, front counter, drive-thru, and McCafé, depending on how many staff were rostered on that shift. I loved it.
Looking back, it still remains my favourite job of all time. There was something exhilarating about keeping up with the rhythm of the kitchen, the small victories of a shift running smoothly, and the camaraderie that formed under the chaos. Even now, thinking about it brings a lump to my throat.
My managers weren’t great — some were downright awful — but a few would chat with me or share a joke or two during the quieter moments, which made long shifts go by faster. My teammates made it even better — we laughed together, supported each other, swapped a little “kitchen gossip” and somehow turned the madness of the day into something manageable.
This early role taught me the value of camaraderie, inclusion, and having people you could rely on (at least in a work context.) But what was still missing was emotional intimacy, a deep sense of being known. It’s one thing to have teammates who have your back; and it’s another for the environment itself — the leadership, the culture, the way people are treated — to make you feel safe enough to show your full self.
That lesson stayed with me, and it became impossible to ignore when I later returned to the kitchen as a professional chef.
Returning to Hospitality During the Pandemic
Returning to hospitality during the pandemic was a deliberate choice for me. For many years, I had held long-term aspirations of opening a health-focused café, and I saw this as an opportunity to immerse myself in the day-to-day realities of a café kitchen.
I wanted to explore the everyday of working there: from designing the menu, managing supply and ingredient sourcing, overseeing food preparation, ensuring safety and hygiene, and understanding café team management and operational dynamics, in order to gain a clear sense of what worked, what didn’t, and how I might shape a café culture of my own in the future.
One Team, One Dream. Plastered on the wall above the prep area, this message promised unity, collaboration, and shared purpose. On paper, it was everything a healthy kitchen culture should aspire to. But the reality could not have been further from that ideal.
The café had a clearly articulated anti-bullying policy outlined in our employment contracts. I no longer recall its exact wording, but its presence signalled that respectful conduct was, at least in principle, a stated expectation of the organisation. On paper, the framework for a healthy workplace existed. In practice, however, it did not.
It didn’t take long for the discrepancy to reveal itself: the culture of the kitchen was shaped less by written expectations and more by unchecked behaviour. The head chef, though technically competent and capable of delivering strong service results, frequently communicated through criticism rather than mentorship. He frequently directed disparaging remarks toward a junior kitchen hand who was training to become a chef, calling him names and blaming him for issues that were not his responsibility. These comments were often made in front of others, normalising public belittlement as part of the kitchen’s rhythm.
Over time, this behaviour shaped the atmosphere of the team, creating tension rather than development and caution rather than confidence. However, the impact of this behaviour was not limited to the individual targeted. The negativity permeated the entire kitchen, creating an atmosphere heavy with tension and apprehension. Colleagues learned to navigate the tension by staying quiet, avoiding mistakes, and disengaging from anything that might attract criticism. Even the café manager, who was aware of the situation, appeared reluctant to confront it directly. The presence of the anti-bullying policy on the wall felt increasingly hollow; it existed as a statement of intent, but not as a lived reality.
Eventually, the head chef’s scrutiny turned toward me. My efforts and potential were dismissed, my contributions undermined through discouraging remarks. I was told, “You will never be a chef.” The words struck hard, touching the part of me that had long dreamed of this career. I had spent eight years nurturing this possibility after taking a very different career path — countless evenings at home experimenting with techniques, researching recipes, buying cookbooks, imagining the kitchen I wanted to run — not to mention the multitude of short courses I completed both locally and overseas to build my skills.
It was a blatant critique of my skill and potential — an effort to define what I could achieve and to chip away at my confidence in the process. For someone like me, who is highly sensitive to the energy and mood of others, the impact was immediate and tangible. I began experiencing persistent stomach pain and a deep sense of unease before every shift. Tasks that I had once approached with focus and enthusiasm now carried an emotional weight, as I anticipated the next belittling comment or public criticism.
I observed that my colleagues also often fell into a pattern of people-pleasing around the head chef, their behaviour noticeably different in his presence. Without him in the kitchen, their attitudes were significantly more positive, collaborative, and free from the criticism and gossip that seemed to dominate when he was present. This stark contrast highlighted how his behaviour shaped the atmosphere and reinforced a culture of avoidance, leaving those who hoped for a professional and respectful environment largely powerless.
Feeling hopeless, I eventually raised my concerns with management — and the response was strikingly contradictory. While the manager agreed that the behaviour was inappropriate, in the same breath he told me that I could leave. In that moment, it became painfully clear to me what leaders are really saying when they offer this kind of “solution.”
We won’t take action.
My professional kitchen experience taught me that psychological safety is not established through policies or slogans alone. It is only created through consistent follow-through, visible accountability, and leadership willing to act when standards are breached. True psychological safety emerges when leaders model the behaviours they expect, address harmful dynamics promptly and fairly, and create an environment where individuals can contribute fully without fear of retribution or dismissal.
Without these elements, even highly skilled and committed teams are left vulnerable to dysfunction, and it is ultimately individuals who are left to bear the emotional and physical consequences of systemic failure.
Understanding the System Behind the Behaviour
However, beneath the bully’s behaviour was a story of frustration and constraint. The head chef was undeniably skilled — he could work quickly without sacrificing quality, and he took pride in his craft. Yet the system in which we worked in offered little recognition for his efforts and even fewer opportunities to grow.
There were no clear KPIs or measurable goals to guide or acknowledge his performance, and his desire to expand his skills — learning budgeting, management, and operational oversight with the dream of owning his own café or restaurant — went unsupported.
Having previously worked in hotel kitchens in higher-level roles with less hands-on prep, he wasn’t used to the cleaning, and disliked the repetitive prep work required in a café kitchen. On top of that, he didn’t even enjoy eating the food he was preparing. Beyond these challenges, he was waiting years for a promised sponsorship before he felt he could move on, which only heightened his sense of dissatisfaction. He grew increasingly frustrated with the executive chef, who oversaw the menu: while he aimed to refine presentation and plating, his slower service times clashed with the pace the head chef valued. With no clear KPIs in place and the executive chef enjoying a close relationship with ownership, he felt there was no avenue to voice concerns or have his efforts properly acknowledged.
In quieter moments, his dedication was apparent in different ways. In the kitchen, he focused on efficiency and consistency, ensuring dishes were delivered quickly without compromising quality. Outside of work, he pursued his creativity in personal projects, experimenting with intricate plating and elaborate dishes in his own time, sharing photos with me. I never tasted them, but even through the images, it was clear he possessed a deep passion for his craft. Yet within the café, this creativity went largely unrecognised, and the gap between his talent and the support he received only seemed to amplify his frustration.
That frustration, left unaddressed, eventually surfaced in the way he interacted with others. The head chef’s sharp words and dismissive tone became a daily undercurrent, particularly aimed at the junior kitchen hand who was training to become a chef. Names were called, blame assigned for issues outside of their control, and critiques delivered publicly. Over time, these patterns of behaviour created tension that extended far beyond the individual targeted — the entire team learned to navigate the kitchen cautiously, adjusting their actions and speech without even realising how much they were accommodating his negativity. I noticed the stark contrast in attitudes when he was absent: colleagues were more relaxed, collaborative, and open, free from the criticism and gossip that seemed to dominate his presence.
What I Learned: 3Rs — Rights, Rules, Resources
Reflecting on this experience, I came away with a deeper understanding of what truly shapes workplace culture. Policies, slogans, and intentions are not enough — psychological safety and a healthy environment require active, consistent leadership. From that café kitchen, I learned lessons that align closely with the framework I now use to guide teams: Rights, Rules, and Resources.
1. Rights: Everyone deserves to work in an environment where respect, safety, and fairness are non-negotiable. Employees must know their rights and understand how to recognise and report breaches, while management must respond fairly and appropriately. When these protections are in place, talent and effort are supported, and trust and collaboration within the team can thrive and flourish.
2. Rules: Clear expectations, measurable goals, and well-defined roles give teams the clarity they need to perform. Everyone should understand the organisation’s mission, vision, and values, how these principles guide daily decision-making and interactions, and how their individual role contributes to them.
3. Resources: Employees need the right tools and materials to succeed — in a hospitality context, things like well-maintained kitchen equipment, quality ingredients, and a safe workspace. In addition to these essentials, recognition, support, mentorship, and opportunities for skill development are critical to help individuals feel valued and empowered. When these resources are in place — talent is nurtured, engagement thrives, and people are motivated to grow.
Ultimately, these three pillars — Rights, Rules, and Resources — are what transform a workplace from a place of mere function into a space where people can truly contribute, grow, and feel seen. My earliest kitchen experiences taught me the importance of camaraderie and peer support, but it was only in a professional setting that I fully learnt to appreciate how leadership, systems, and culture determine whether that trust and collaboration can flourish.
Psychological safety isn’t accidental; it is built deliberately, every day, through consistent care, accountability, and recognition. When it exists, teams don’t just survive the heat of the kitchen — they thrive together.