It was a day like any other, working undercover. Contrary to what most people imagine, it’s a boring routine.
The ones who walk in off the street have a far more interesting job, day to day. They even hit a few different places a day.
I’d already been here a few days, I just needed something to close the case. And I wanted to close it properly, because I was dealing with an exceptional ***********. He turned up, in fact, not long after I took my station. It landed on the dish-pit lad, who was being humiliated and sworn at right then. Over nothing.
After a bit he came into the kitchen, red in the face, as always. Pinned up the rota. Looked round the crew: what the ***** are you gawping at? Get fucking moving!
There was no point dragging it out any longer.
I pulled out my badge, took two steps toward him and said: National Labour I…
I’d never seen anyone lose it like that. He grabbed a knife and came at me.
I drew my weapon.
The new sidearm we got after Andrzej died is the latest bit of tech. The moment you draw it from the holster, it dispatches the nearest response unit. In Warsaw that’s usually 5 to 10 minutes.
It’s amazing how clear, sharp and obvious everything gets when some bloke’s coming at you with a knife. Or rather a KNIFE. A proper chef’s knife. Blade over 20 cm, sharp as fuck. Looking after your knives is the foundation of a good kitchen.
And at the same time you’re counting down to when the patrol arrives, and how you’re going to survive it.
Drop the knife and put your hands above your head.
Stop, or I’ll shoot!
There was nowhere left to back up to, I was already against the wall.
I’ll fucking kill you, you son of a bitch!
Shot. Second one. The instructor always said: “fire twice, it doubles your chances of survival.”
The weapon also sends a signal to Central. Along with a photo of the target. Using the weapon triggers an alarm.
As I pulled the trigger, I wondered who was on shift today and would get that information.
And the world slowed down. And the light got even brighter.
Adrenaline hits like a hard drug. Guess that’s why I became an Inspector. Even better adrenaline than in the kitchen.
He stopped. Surprised, he let go of the knife and dropped to the floor.
Two minutes and four seconds after the shots, the response patrol showed up.
And that evening the news carried a story about someone killed during a Labour Inspectorate check.
It was the second person to die during a Labour Inspectorate check, the first killed by an inspector.
Then came all the uproar, because of which I can’t work undercover anymore.
But ever since, I eat and drink for free in every joint. The staff treat me.
The kitchen is my space for lifestyle medicine.
I'm not a dietitian or a doctor – I'm a chef, and a member of the Polish Society of Lifestyle Medicine. Nutrition is essential to a modern kitchen, and that's nothing new: working from Hippocratic dietetic principles was part of a cook's craft centuries ago. At Rude Kitchen I tie that tradition to modern science — and to lifestyle. Read more about how I bring cooking and lifestyle medicine together on the About page.