Ah, Freddie Fedora. We have all met him in our culinary career, and maybe beyond it. Freddie Fedora is not just a man though, he is something greater- even if only in his own mind. He is the ice cold master of reality that has single handily done it all. Generally naked, and often with a ridiculous smile plastered on his face. He is the bastard child of He-Man and Baron Münchausen raised by television and a healthy supply of 80’s action movies. He is a god among men, and a man among gods; a enigma wrapped in a riddle, wrapped in a piece of bologna.
His repertoire of stories is not only big enough to fill a book, but a multitudinous library larger than the ancient library of Alexandria itself. And to tell you the truth, for some strange reason, we all want to believe him. More often than not, to easily digest these tales you need a deep rooted sense of morbid curiosity. Each tale is more grand and enigmatic than the next. But somehow, he always has us coming back for more.
Something about his storytelling taps into our collective imagination and gives us a deep rooted urge to hear the next chapter in the saga of his life. His tales inspire endless hours of banter in the kitchen, and are often swapped like trading cards among the overworked line cooks. Fact or fiction, the stories serve a dynamic purpose greater than the storyteller himself. Each tale is a release from the grueling hours of robot like efficiency needed for the kitchen to function flawlessly. Each tale is in some ways an escapist ploy to question ourselves, what we think, and who we are.
Still beyond a shadow of a doubt, the man endures, greater than fiction and larger than life. He is the immortal essence of mankind. He is Freddy Fedora.