Chef’s Hands
The thing about a chef’s hands is that they tell a story.
Strong from gripping sauté’ pans for hours at a stretch.
Impervious to heat from open flames and screaming metal.
The knuckles swollen and lined from years of cracking and scraping.
The curious callous inside the index finger, a mark of a true chef.
Rough fingertips that no amount of lotion can smooth.
Hands made from ice and fire, tempered with sweat and steel.
Hands used to hundreds of wounds, from thousands of battles
with knives, mallets, even the odd zesting incident of ’97.
Hands with character to spare. Each line, a trial in the trenches
Each scar a story. Capable of surgical skill and at times brute force.
Yet able to cradle with angel like tenderness.
The rough hands of a working man.