ENG 1121 D430, Spring 2020

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    Rebekah Coleman

    Read the Following Article and write a response to it in the Discussion Section below. Respond to each other. Engage politely, respectfully, and thoughtfully as I know you will! I can’t wait to see what you come up with!

    DUE THURSDAY Feb. 13, 2020.

    Questions to think about in your response:
    1. Is Bourdain writing about a Discourse Community? If so what Discourse Community? If Discourse Communities share common ways of saying (writing), doing, being, valuing, believing and communicating explain how the community he describes is (or is not) an example of a discourse community.
    2. Who is the audience for this piece? How do you know? How does Bourdain try to appeal to his audience? Do you think he is successful? Do you see any examples of ethos, pathos, or logos? If so where?
    3. What is the purpose of this piece? What is the genre of the piece? Do you think the genre and the purpose work well together? Explain. Discuss.
    4. What did you think of the piece? What did you like about it? What did you find interesting?

    “Don’t Eat Before Reading This” by Anthony Bourdain
    Good food, good eating, is all about blood and organs, cruelty and decay. It’s about sodium-loaded pork fat, stinky triple-cream cheeses, the tender thymus glands and distended livers of young animals. It’s about danger—risking the dark, bacterial forces of beef, chicken, cheese, and shellfish. Your first two hundred and seven Wellfleet oysters may transport you to a state of rapture, but your two hundred and eighth may send you to bed with the sweats, chills, and vomits.

    Gastronomy is the science of pain. Professional cooks belong to a secret society whose ancient rituals derive from the principles of stoicism in the face of humiliation, injury, fatigue, and the threat of illness. The members of a tight, well-greased kitchen staff are a lot like a submarine crew. Confined for most of their waking hours in hot, airless spaces, and ruled by despotic leaders, they often acquire the characteristics of the poor saps who were press-ganged into the royal navies of Napoleonic times—superstition, a contempt for outsiders, and a loyalty to no flag but their own.

    A good deal has changed since Orwell’s memoir of the months he spent as a dishwasher in “Down and Out in Paris and London.” Gas ranges and exhaust fans have gone a long way toward increasing the life span of the working culinarian. Nowadays, most aspiring cooks come into the business because they want to: they have chosen this life, studied for it. Today’s top chefs are like star athletes. They bounce from kitchen to kitchen—free agents in search of more money, more acclaim.

    I’ve been a chef in New York for more than ten years, and, for the decade before that, a dishwasher, a prep drone, a line cook, and a sous-chef. I came into the business when cooks still smoked on the line and wore headbands. A few years ago, I wasn’t surprised to hear rumors of a study of the nation’s prison population which reportedly found that the leading civilian occupation among inmates before they were put behind bars was “cook.” As most of us in the restaurant business know, there is a powerful strain of criminality in the industry, ranging from the dope-dealing busboy with beeper and cell phone to the restaurant owner who has two sets of accounting books. In fact, it was the unsavory side of professional cooking that attracted me to it in the first place. In the early seventies, I dropped out of college and transferred to the Culinary Institute of America. I wanted it all: the cuts and burns on hands and wrists, the ghoulish kitchen humor, the free food, the pilfered booze, the camaraderie that flourished within rigid order and nerve-shattering chaos. I would climb the chain of command from mal carne (meaning “bad meat,” or “new guy”) to chefdom—doing whatever it took until I ran my own kitchen and had my own crew of cutthroats, the culinary equivalent of “The Wild Bunch.”

    A year ago, my latest, doomed mission—a high-profile restaurant in the Times Square area—went out of business. The meat, fish, and produce purveyors got the news that they were going to take it in the neck for yet another ill-conceived enterprise. When customers called for reservations, they were informed by a prerecorded announcement that our doors had closed. Fresh from that experience, I began thinking about becoming a traitor to my profession.

    Say it’s a quiet Monday night, and you’ve just checked your coat in that swanky Art Deco update in the Flatiron district, and you’re looking to tuck into a thick slab of pepper-crusted yellowfin tuna or a twenty-ounce cut of certified Black Angus beef, well-done—what are you in for?

    The fish specialty is reasonably priced, and the place got two stars in the Times. Why not go for it? If you like four-day-old fish, be my guest. Here’s how things usually work. The chef orders his seafood for the weekend on Thursday night. It arrives on Friday morning. He’s hoping to sell the bulk of it on Friday and Saturday nights, when he knows that the restaurant will be busy, and he’d like to run out of the last few orders by Sunday evening. Many fish purveyors don’t deliver on Saturday, so the chances are that the Monday-night tuna you want has been kicking around in the kitchen since Friday morning, under God knows what conditions. When a kitchen is in full swing, proper refrigeration is almost nonexistent, what with the many openings of the refrigerator door as the cooks rummage frantically during the rush, mingling your tuna with the chicken, the lamb, or the beef. Even if the chef has ordered just the right amount of tuna for the weekend, and has had to reorder it for a Monday delivery, the only safeguard against the seafood supplier’s off-loading junk is the presence of a vigilant chef who can make sure that the delivery is fresh from Sunday night’s market.

    Generally speaking, the good stuff comes in on Tuesday: the seafood is fresh, the supply of prepared food is new, and the chef, presumably, is relaxed after his day off. (Most chefs don’t work on Monday.) Chefs prefer to cook for weekday customers rather than for weekenders, and they like to start the new week with their most creative dishes. In New York, locals dine during the week. Weekends are considered amateur nights—for tourists, rubes, and the well-done-ordering pretheatre hordes. The fish may be just as fresh on Friday, but it’s on Tuesday that you’ve got the good will of the kitchen on your side.

    People who order their meat well-done perform a valuable service for those of us in the business who are cost-conscious: they pay for the privilege of eating our garbage. In many kitchens, there’s a time-honored practice called “save for well-done.” When one of the cooks finds a particularly unlovely piece of steak—tough, riddled with nerve and connective tissue, off the hip end of the loin, and maybe a little stinky from age—he’ll dangle it in the air and say, “Hey, Chef, whaddya want me to do with this?” Now, the chef has three options. He can tell the cook to throw the offending item into the trash, but that means a total loss, and in the restaurant business every item of cut, fabricated, or prepared food should earn at least three times the amount it originally cost if the chef is to make his correct food-cost percentage. Or he can decide to serve that steak to “the family”—that is, the floor staff—though that, economically, is the same as throwing it out. But no. What he’s going to do is repeat the mantra of cost-conscious chefs everywhere: “Save for well-done.” The way he figures it, the philistine who orders his food well-done is not likely to notice the difference between food and flotsam.

    Then there are the People Who Brunch. The “B” word is dreaded by all dedicated cooks. We hate the smell and spatter of omelettes. We despise hollandaise, home fries, those pathetic fruit garnishes, and all the other cliché accompaniments designed to induce a credulous public into paying $12.95 for two eggs. Nothing demoralizes an aspiring Escoffier faster than requiring him to cook egg-white omelettes or eggs over easy with bacon. You can dress brunch up with all the focaccia, smoked salmon, and caviar in the world, but it’s still breakfast.

    Serious cooks regard these members of the dining public—and their Hezbollah-like splinter faction, the vegans—as enemies of everything that’s good and decent in the human spirit. To live life without veal or chicken stock, fish cheeks, sausages, cheese, or organ meats is treasonous.

    Like most other chefs I know, I’m amused when I hear people object to pork on nonreligious grounds. “Swine are filthy animals,” they say. These people have obviously never visited a poultry farm. Chicken—America’s favorite food—goes bad quickly; handled carelessly, it infects other foods with salmonella; and it bores the hell out of chefs. It occupies its ubiquitous place on menus as an option for customers who can’t decide what they want to eat. Most chefs believe that supermarket chickens in this country are slimy and tasteless compared with European varieties. Pork, on the other hand, is cool. Farmers stopped feeding garbage to pigs decades ago, and even if you eat pork rare you’re more likely to win the Lotto than to contract trichinosis. Pork tastes different, depending on what you do with it, but chicken always tastes like Another much maligned food these days is butter. In the world of chefs, however, butter is in everything. Even non-French restaurants—the Northern Italian; the new American, the ones where the chef brags about how he’s “getting away from butter and cream”—throw butter around like crazy. In almost every restaurant worth patronizing, sauces are enriched with mellowing, emulsifying butter. Pastas are tightened with it. Meat and fish are seared with a mixture of butter and oil. Shallots and chicken are caramelized with butter. It’s the first and last thing in almost every pan: the final hit is called “monter au beurre.” In a good restaurant, what this all adds up to is that you could be putting away almost a stick of butter with every meal.

    If you are one of those people who cringe at the thought of strangers fondling your food, you shouldn’t go out to eat. As the author and former chef Nicolas Freeling notes in his definitive book “The Kitchen,” the better the restaurant, the more your food has been prodded, poked, handled, and tasted. By the time a three-star crew has finished carving and arranging your saddle of monkfish with dried cherries and wild-herb-infused nage into a Parthenon or a Space Needle, it’s had dozens of sweaty fingers all over it. Gloves? You’ll find a box of surgical gloves—in my kitchen we call them “anal-research gloves”—over every station on the line, for the benefit of the health inspectors, but does anyone actually use them? Yes, a cook will slip a pair on every now and then, especially when he’s handling something with a lingering odor, like salmon. But during the hours of service gloves are clumsy and dangerous. When you’re using your hands constantly, latex will make you drop things, which is the last thing you want to do.
    Finding a hair in your food will make anyone gag. But just about the only place you’ll see anyone in the kitchen wearing a hat or a hairnet is Blimpie. For most chefs, wearing anything on their head, especially one of those picturesque paper toques—they’re often referred to as “coffee filters”—is a nuisance: they dissolve when you sweat, bump into range hoods, burst into flame.

    The fact is that most good kitchens are far less septic than your kitchen at home. I run a scrupulously clean, orderly restaurant kitchen, where food is rotated and handled and stored very conscientiously. But if the city’s Department of Health or the E.P.A. decided to enforce every aspect of its codes, most of us would be out on the street. Recently, there was a news report about the practice of recycling bread. By means of a hidden camera in a restaurant, the reporter was horrified to see returned bread being sent right back out to the floor. This, to me, wasn’t news: the reuse of bread has been an open secret—and a fairly standard practice—in the industry for years. It makes more sense to worry about what happens to the leftover table butter—many restaurants recycle it for hollandaise.

    What do I like to eat after hours? Strange things. Oysters are my favorite, especially at three in the morning, in the company of my crew. Focaccia pizza with robiola cheese and white truffle oil is good, especially at Le Madri on a summer afternoon in the outdoor patio. Frozen vodka at Siberia Bar is also good, particularly if a cook from one of the big hotels shows up with beluga. At Indigo, on Tenth Street, I love the mushroom strudel and the daube of beef. At my own place, I love a spicy boudin noir that squirts blood in your mouth; the braised fennel the way my sous-chef makes it; scraps from duck confit; and fresh cockles steamed with greasy Portuguese sausage.

    Ilove the sheer weirdness of the kitchen life: the dreamers, the crackpots, the refugees, and the sociopaths with whom I continue to work; the ever-present smells of roasting bones, searing fish, and simmering liquids; the noise and clatter, the hiss and spray, the flames, the smoke, and the steam. Admittedly, it’s a life that grinds you down. Most of us who live and operate in the culinary underworld are in some fundamental way dysfunctional. We’ve all chosen to turn our backs on the nine-to-five, on ever having a Friday or Saturday night off, on ever having a normal relationship with a non-cook.

    Being a chef is a lot like being an air-traffic controller: you are constantly dealing with the threat of disaster. You’ve got to be Mom and Dad, drill sergeant, detective, psychiatrist, and priest to a crew of opportunistic, mercenary hooligans, whom you must protect from the nefarious and often foolish strategies of owners. Year after year, cooks contend with bouncing paychecks, irate purveyors, desperate owners looking for the masterstroke that will cure their restaurant’s ills: Live Cabaret! Free Shrimp! New Orleans Brunch!

    In America, the professional kitchen is the last refuge of the misfit. It’s a place for people with bad pasts to find a new family. It’s a haven for foreigners—Ecuadorians, Mexicans, Chinese, Senegalese, Egyptians, Poles. In New York, the main linguistic spice is Spanish. “Hey, maricón! chupa mis huevos” means, roughly, “How are you, valued comrade? I hope all is well.” And you hear “Hey, baboso! Put some more brown jiz on the fire and check your meez before the sous comes back there and fucks you in the culo!,” which means “Please reduce some additional demi-glace, brother, and reëxamine your mise en place, because the sous-chef is concerned about your state of readiness.”

    Since we work in close quarters, and so many blunt and sharp objects are at hand, you’d think that cooks would kill one another with regularity. I’ve seen guys duking it out in the waiter station over who gets a table for six. I’ve seen a chef clamp his teeth on a waiter’s nose. And I’ve seen plates thrown—I’ve even thrown a few myself—but I’ve never heard of one cook jamming a boning knife into another cook’s rib cage or braining him with a meat mallet. Line cooking, done well, is a dance—a highspeed, Balanchine collaboration.

    I used to be a terror toward my floor staff, particularly in the final months of my last restaurant. But not anymore. Recently, my career has taken an eerily appropriate turn: these days, I’m the chef de cuisine of a much loved, old-school French brasserie/bistro where the customers eat their meat rare, vegetarians are scarce, and every part of the animal—hooves, snout, cheeks, skin, and organs—is avidly and appreciatively prepared and consumed. Cassoulet, pigs’ feet, tripe, and charcuterie sell like crazy. We thicken many sauces with foie gras and pork blood, and proudly hurl around spoonfuls of duck fat and butter, and thick hunks of country bacon. I made a traditional French pot-au-feu a few weeks ago, and some of my French colleagues—hardened veterans of the business all—came into my kitchen to watch the first order go out. As they gazed upon the intimidating heap of short ribs, oxtail, beef shoulder, cabbage, turnips, carrots, and potatoes, the expressions on their faces were those of religious supplicants. I have come home. ♦


    Ray-Ana W.

    Good Afternoon,
    After reading this article Im not completely sure what the author is trying to convey. In the beginning I though he was going to persuade the reader to dislike food and chiefs. However the direction of the story changed when the author defended chiefs and admitted that he feels at a connection with work as a home for him. Even so It was very intriguing and did make my view on not only chief and food change for the moment I was reading it. As I read the piece you could fully understand and relate to the authors passion on food. I have never met someone who did not value food and this to me shows a great deal of not only respect but excitement to food. This also further emphasizes the Discourse Community he is in which are Chiefs. In this Discourse Community they have a common customers, working environment, way of maintaining order and so on. The genre of this piece is not clear to me so I cant tell if it blends well with the purpose but it was very informative and I gained information on a topic that I did not have before. The author did use elements that I recognized like ethos, pathos, and logos in the article. When he says he’s a chief that showed a credibility. Moreover, when the author explains his first hand experience this makes people logically understand his knowledge on the subject. Lastly, he invokes the readers emotion when he describes the condition of the food when it’s being handled. All of these things bring his piece to life and gave me an interesting experience. Although it is not something I would read on my own it I enjoyed doing so and hope others that read it will have just a good time as I did.
    From Ray-Ana W.


    Daniel Espinoza

    This essay is something else. The chef industry is truly unique just like any other discourse community. The chef discourse community was being discussed by Bourdian is filled with business owners of restaurants and top tier chefs. He explains as if people who read like top tier chefs can relate to and understand. Also generally people who love food could relate to what Bourdian wrote. The audience for this piece could be for anyone. He offers tips and advice to the readers about eating on restaurants and what you should get whether your steak should be well done or not. There isn’t any pathos or logos but there was plenty of ethos. In paragraph 11,” Serious cooks regard these members of the dining public—and their Hezbollah-like splinter faction, the vegans—as enemies of everything that’s good and decent in the human spirit. To live life without veal or chicken stock, fish cheeks, sausages, cheese, or organ meats is treasonous.” I’m not sure but it makes me want to eat food when I read this. The purpose of this piece is to spread his intelligence and advice to consumers about food and where people would get the best experience. Also for the Discourse community to relate to the experiences that he has that many chefs can relate to. Overall, this piece isn’t for me despite me enjoying some parts of the essay. Generally, it taught me that I should enjoy every time that I go to a restaurant.


    Alexandros Veliz

    1. The discourse community that Bourdain is writing about is the cooking community, specifically referring to professional chefs who cook for a career. The community this author is a part is an example of a discourse community because of the values he gives while talking about his experiences. When he says “Recently, there was a news report about the practice of recycling bread. By means of a hidden camera in a restaurant, the reporter was horrified to see returned bread being sent right back out to the floor. This, to me, wasn’t news: the reuse of bread has been an open secret—and a fairly standard practice—in the industry for years. It makes more sense to worry about what happens to the leftover table butter—many restaurants recycle it for hollandaise”. He tells us how this uncommon trait to the regular person is something his community has experienced to a norm .Bourdain also uses lingo when referring to some cooking techniques like saying “monter au beurre.” which is a term used to describe the process of adding or whisking in whole, cold butter into a sauce at the end of the cooking process.

    2. The audience for this piece is towards normal people who aren’t so well known the culinary world. I know his audience is more toward regular people with how he talks like he’s teaching us. He tells us what chefs do with particular pieces if food and what happens before and after a restaurant opens its doors. Bourdain is not trying to appeal to his audience in the sense he isn’t trying persuade anybody to stop going to restaurants. He’s mainly telling us what chefs don’t want you to know inside the kitchen and his own opinions on the matter. During this piece Bourdain uses a lot of pathos to convey his feelings towards what certain people he doesn’t like to be in his restaurant and the unappealing things people do inside a restaurant.

    3. The purpose of this piece was to inform us of how life is as chief and how bad it can be with how some people treat the food in a restaurant. The genre of this piece is an informative article. I believe the genre and the purpose works together because Bourdain was informing us on the cooking community while telling us how bad it can be if you go into a bad restaurant.

    4. I thought the piece was interesting. I never knew some people recycle food or leave semi-rotten meat to serve. I found all this information highly disturbing but still interesting to know. I enjoyed how cooking has improved since the Napoleonic times.


    Red278+ / Anthony

    This is my response for the article:

    1. Bourdain is writing about a Discourse Community, which is either a Chef’s Discourse Community or a Restaurant Discourse Community. In the purposes of this article, in his Discourse Community, they have a prominent interest of trying new food in various restaurants. In addition, the members either have lots of experience eating in different restaurants or have been working as chefs. The specialty of this is that they eat 4-day-old seafood, despite the restaurants’ low ratings. In addition, the members uses unique terminology when some people eat “brunch”. It is called the “People Who Brunch”, in which they don’t like, due to certain smell and cliché food choices.
    2. The audience of this article is the people who like to try different food or to eat in different restaurants, and the chefs. The author is informing the readers about his experience and thoughts about different kinds of food. Also, there is some use of pathos. According to the beginning of the article, the author said that eating the same food may be pleasuring in the beginning, but over time, they tend to rot, and that pleasure of eating is gone.
    3. The purpose of this piece is to let the audience know about Bourdain’s experiences as a chef and as a foodie, so this piece is an informative autobiography. Both the genre and the purpose work well together, because the audiences may obtain more information about restaurants and the foods.
    4. After I read this piece, it has made me more informed about fancy restaurants people eat. In addition, I learned that different restaurants have unique functions, behaviors due to cultural influences.

    Anthony Regner

    • This reply was modified 9 months, 3 weeks ago by Red278+ / Anthony. Reason: I need to put my name on it

    Shannia Thomas

    1)The discourse community Bourdan is writing about are Chefs. This is a type of discourse community, a common goal chefs might share are to deliver a delicious meal to their consumers. Chefs also value food, their restaurant and also their workers. He furthermore talk about chefs work schedule, their pay as well as the environment they work in.
    2) I believe the audience for this piece are consumers who go to restaurants and eat and other chefs and people in the food industry. He uses pathos to explains to consumers and chefs like/dislike. In paragraph 10, he states “ Then there are the People Who Brunch. The “B” word is dreaded by all dedicated cooks. We hate the smell and spatter of omelettes ” He also talks a little about restaurant conditions and how professional chefs handle certain food products in their industry. Being that he was a chef in New York for more than 10 years shows that he is credible. He tell brief stories of his life a chef and other kitchen positions he held.
    3) I believe the purpose of this text is to inform consumers about what goes in the kitchen and importance of bring a chef. I believe the purpose is sort of confusing. In my opinion, he expresses things only chefs/ kitchen workers can understand but then he describe how they handle food. However, I believe the purpose and genre works together. This is an informative text.
    4) I think the text was quite interesting. I never knew that farmers stop feeding garbage to pigs decade ago. It’s also interesting to know that chefs find chicken boring and pork cool.



    I think that Bourdain is describing the “culinary arts” community. When it came to writing he spoke in chief term and english. When it comes to describing his atmosphere he broke down the truth behind the restaurant industry. The audience that he was speaking to is for people who eat out a lot. I’m saying that because he gave the inside scoop about the reality of the kitchen slang. I see examples of ethos by him describing his educational background. The example of pathos is how he actually feels about being a chief. I didn’t find any examples of logos. I think that the purpose of this piece is to uncover the truth behind his industry. I also think that he is advising everyone about the right time to go out and eat. I also believe that he helped me realize what I should and shouldn’t order. I think that this piece is informational and personal. I think that this piece wasn’t the most interesting. This reading started off basic but towards the middle and ending I started to understand the true meaning behind this piece.


    Gianluca Alioto

    My response to the article.

    1. The Discourse Community that Bourdan is talking and writing about is about the world of chefs and what its like to be apart of the community. The community this author is a part is an example of a Discourse Community because he shares the values with us as he talks about his past experiences as working as a chef and guides us through what his life was like. Along with that another major value he shares in the community is the value of food, restaurants, and even their cowerks, all that make a community whole. With that he talks about the benefits of what its like to be a chef including pay and the type of condition they are working in.

    2. The audience for this piece I would say is us the people. Bourdan wants to grab our attention with this story by showing us this Discourse Community and explain that not everything is what you percieve it to be and that there will be obscatles and differneces between some communities and its up to you to get through them. Bourdan appeals to us by writing about the stuggles about a chef and his life throughout his journey. He is also informing us about different foods, resteraunts, workers and the whole buisness of what it is to be a chef and he does that very well.

    3. The purpose of this piece was to inform us of how life is as chief and how bad it can be when you have customers that alwasy critique your work and you never get any recognition for it. The genre of this piece is an informative article. I believe the genre and the purpose go together because Bourdain was informing us on the cooking Discourse Community whils’t telling us how the negatives of going to a bad resteraunt to eat.

    4. One thing that I liked about the piece was how informing it was, it gave me a whole different perpective on the way I view different resteraunts. In some what it shaped my mindset for picking out places to eat and just the overall experience, I think that Bourdan does a really good job at writing from different perpectives and showing us the sides that we may not have seen before.


    Justin Guillen

    1) The discourse community clearly shown is more than just Chefs but the kitchen community as a whole. This includes about everyone from busboys to the Chefs themselves. The kitchen community is about valuing the restaurant and customers satisfaction. They communicate appropriately and as a team to deliver food as fast as possible. It is about believing for the customer and the restaurants benefit.
    2) The audience is based at just anyone who eats out at a restaurant. This can be at any kind of restaurant whether it is a fancy or fast food chain. Throughout the article, Bourdain mostly focuses on establishing credibility to his audience and to connect with them on food. One example is of Ethos in the start of the 4th paragraph when he explains how he has had kitchen experience for past 10 years in a variety of positions. This goes to show that he has incredible knowledge of what goes on in a restaurant.
    3)The purpose of this piece is about to really consider what kitchen staff go through and what they think when cooking for customers. The stress and the time/pressure they get put on is constantly talked about. The perfection they desire. Bourdain is just trying to get his point across by informing people what the kitchen life is really like.
    4)I thought it was interesting that Bourdain explained his goal through his own perspective. He gave examples of his life rather than just explaining what goes on in a kitchen from another chef.


    April Santiago

    I didn’t expect him to talk about the culinary community as he originally had. That most restaurants are kind of shady and how most cooks are prone to go or have gone to jail. And how he begins with talking bad about this community. By how they use bad fish or over charge for a little bit of food. It give a crazy view of this community spoken from his experience in it. But these things are also what he finds reassuring from it as well. That they are bad yet they are intriguing enough for him to stay in it.from how they communicate with each other to their behavior he explains how each is the same. They have an inappropriate way of talk yet it means something harmless. He wants people to know this side of the cooking community from his perspective and what he seen.


    Alberto Hago

    1. I believe Bourdain is writing about working for Culinary arts (The culinary community). Bourdain talks about his experience and informs readers about what happens in the kitchen.
    2. I believe his audience is for people who go out to eat at restaurants. Bourdain tells us what chefs do with food for example when to get
    food or if the chief should throw out the food. I don’t think Bourdain is not trying to appeal to his audience, he’s just trying to inform us what happens in the kitchen and his thoughts towards certain people. He using pathos and ethos, pathos with his emotions towards people who are boring like chicken eaters or to people who don’t want the chief using there hands. He uses ethos in the begin showing the readers he has experienced “I’ve been a chef in New York for more than ten years, and, for the decade before that, a dishwasher, a prep drone, a line cook, and a sous-chef.”
    3. The purpose of this piece is to show the other side of things. What a regular customer who orders food doesn’t think about or know what’s going on besides being hungry and getting to eat food.
    4. I think the piece is informative and interesting to know what a chief goes through and their thoughts.



    1. Bourdain is apart of a Restaurant Discourse Community. The author shares that his community doesn’t value their customers health, considering the fact that they serve steak that should be in the trash to customers that order them well done because ” food well-done is not likely to notice the difference between food and flotsam”.

    2. The audience are the people who eat out regularly. He lets his audience in on what conditions their meal was under before it was delivered to them making them reconsider if they want to continue eating out as much as they do. In my opinion the author uses ethos. Ethos because he has worked in many different restaurants and knows what goes on in them which makes his information creditable.

    3. The purpose of this informative article is to educate restaurant goers on what life as a chef is like and how mistreated the food is. The genre is a informative piece and the purpose is to give customers information on what goes on behind the kitchen.

    4. I found the piece interesting. The author first states ” good food is all about blood and organs cruelty and decay” to eating oysters because they’re his favorite at three in the morning with the company of his crew.



    Bourdain is a part of the culinary art and restaurant Discourse Community.From the first paragraph, it seems as though he is very passionate about food in general because of all the descriptive language he uses. The first sentence of it all is focused on what he believes good food and eating is all about. The audience could possibly be anyone especially including consumers who eat out at restaurants, chefs even food critics.When he says that he’s been a chef for more than 10 years and talks about all his prior experience with culinary gives him a lot of credibility and a sense that he knows what he’s doing. Also when he explains why he dropped out of college to get into the Culinary Institute, this shows that he was bold enough to take that risk. For some readers , this might appeal to the readers emotions since it would probably give the reader something to relate to since they also know what it’s like to want something so much that they’d be willing to take risks and bold choices too. The article also followed through a logical sequence of his life for becoming a chef. This was an interesting read since it was nice to read about how much passion is put into cooking. The genre of this article is an informative article. The purpose of this piece was to inform people about what goes on behind the scenes in the kitchen according to the life of a chef and restaurant owner. Personally, I wouldn’t have read it on my own but some parts were good.


    Florence Jiang

    Bourdin is writing about the culinary arts community. He talks about all the stuff that happens behind the scenes in the kitchen at restaurants. The audience that was intended for this article was to the people that eats out at restaurants.This passage was really intended to inform readers about what really goes on as a chef. He also shared his journey throughout these years as a chef. From working as a busboy to being a chef at a fancy restaurant. Through this passage I have learned and found many interesting things. Without reading this article I wouldn’t have known that sushi would taste better and fresher on a certain day. I liked how informative and honest this passage was.


    Rebekah Coleman

    These are great responses. I really enjoyed reading through what people had to say about the article. I too had not thought about Professional Chefs as a Discourse Community, and was interested to learn about their unique “identity kit.”

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