The following is a letter to the editor received in response to Chef Jason Alley's My Take column in the October issue of Richmond magazine. It has been edited for length and clarity.
Thank you, Jason Alley and Richmond Magazine, for speaking up about a taboo subject in hospitality: sobriety.
I've been nearly two years without alcohol and almost five years without cigarettes, and I have been working in various Richmond restaurants for the last decade of my life — minus a year hiatus to work as a newspaper reporter, a business just as dense with stubborn, drunken, chain-smoking know-it-alls. I read your editorial while on a two-month sabbatical in South America, but before I left I was working in two restaurants: Secco Wine Bar on Robinson Street and Amuse Restaurant in the VMFA. Imagine the restraint needed to work at the perennial Elby favorite for wine in Richmond while missing the opportunity to taste world-class vintages at family meal because of a personal choice ... but my chefs and managers at both of these restaurants not only helped me maintain a life-changing decision to stay alcohol-free after returning to the industry I love, but encouraged it — and I will be forever grateful. You have given me the greatest gift possible, my life.
It's not an exaggeration.
Abstaining from alcohol has changed my life beyond belief. I feel like I finally woke up to what my life can and was meant to be. I often tell people that it's given me a second chance at life, as cliche as that sounds, but it's more than that. I am finally myself and I cannot begin to describe how amazing it feels — but I'll try if it can help somebody else make the decision to try life in the hospitality industry without alcohol.
From day one, dropping booze from my daily routine led to changes in my health that I never thought possible. I've lost about 60 pounds since I made the decision, and I have so much more physical, emotional and spiritual energy that I want to shout to the whole world about the life I had been missing out on.
But it certainly comes at a cost in the restaurant business, and though I still try to go out with coworkers on the nightly bar-crawl after punishing 200-cover nights, I know it will never be the same without joining in on a round of shots or grabbing a glass to share the pitcher of PBR at Joe's. While I sip my tap water, no ice, it takes courage and personal energy — no shortcuts — to have fun and let loose and smile and laugh after muscling through restaurant week or getting the crap kicked out of me for the closing weekend of a busy VMFA exhibition.
The secret is: It's easier.
It's easier to wake up and do it again. It's easier to shake off a nasty night and move on to the next. It's easier to wake up and go for a run or do push-ups and get my adrenaline jacked for another busy service. It's easier to go to bed hungry and wake up to eat the kind of healthful food that will give me energy for a busy day instead of gorging on fast-food garbage at 4 a.m. and waking up with diarrhea.
My life is easier and more satisfying without alcohol.
But when I stopped drinking I never expected it to last more than a week; it was on a whim after a typical New Years binge in RVA. On the morning of January 2, 2016, I told myself I would take a break. This wasn't the first time I'd said something like that, but it's the first time it's stuck for longer than a few months.
In an industry that prides itself on masochism, I know it takes courage and strength to do something healthy for ourselves.
The first time I tried was after drinking and driving home from my first cooking job at Legend Brewing Co. almost every day after shift drinks and darts. But that didn't last more than a few weeks. I quit that job after some disastrous relationship drama (fueled by alcohol) and started to work at another small, short-lived but ambitious restaurant, Sprout. I learned about the importance and responsibility of cooking fresh food from local farms. I learned invaluable lessons about building relationships with farmers and the slow-food chain that has become so integral in our industry. I started to drink again and life was good, but nonetheless a few months later I found myself drunk with my then-girlfriend in the emergency room: She had severe intestinal pain and was diagnosed with acute pancreatitis from our party-first lifestyle and dangerous amounts of liquor. After a week of sitting beside her in a hospital bed terrified about what life had become, I decided to try the sober life as her doctor recommended she did.
It worked for a few months. Sprout closed, and I started working at Can Can, and though veering away from sustainable produce, I worked my way up the brigade, learning more than I ever thought there was to learn about cooking as we served 300 people a night on busy weekends. I found my passion in food, not just a job, but camaraderie and pride. And I felt like a rock star learning and cooking with some of the most dedicated, hardworking and underappreciated young cooks in Richmond. They have since spread to some of finest restaurants in Richmond, where they work their butts off to make incredible food day in and day out.
I stayed sober for a few more months but eventually wound up across the street at Weezie's with the rest of the crew slamming whiskey and beers until the bar closed, then taking the party back to somebody's apartment for more. Amazingly we all made it back to work at noon to do it all again ... I'm amazed it was even possible. How did we all keep it up? Youthful exuberance, as one of my dearest friends might put it. But I'm exhausted just thinking about it. I was an old man at 27 and probably ready as ever to get on with dying.
Now a young, optimistic and energetic 32-year-old, I am writing this thankful and supportive reply from a bus in South America, where I will spend two months exploring the landscape and culture and incredible food of Peru and Chile. Of course, I never could have saved up enough money to be here if I had been dumping my meager restaurant paychecks (a topic for another letter) into hefty, daily bar tabs for the past two years of my life. And even more incredibly, I don't think I would have had the desire or ambition to plan this kind of life-changing trip while chasing the ephemeral highs and inevitable lows of alcohol.
Alcohol encourages status quo. As exciting as a night on the town feels, getting hammered and maybe getting lucky, each one ends up exactly the same — empty, sick and at work again in the morning without more than a couple hours of sleep. Like the nightmarish relationships it produces, alcohol wants you to stay the same, to not learn your lessons and keep crawling back for more punishment. I've learned the hard way that addiction is the bane of personal growth and spiritual development. I've spent 30 years of my life as a child, aging without growing, and it was impossible for me to find and lead a mature and fulfilling life while chasing my addictions at breakneck speeds.
I applaud Chef Jason Alley for speaking up. And I encourage anyone in our industry that has ever had the desire to quit drinking, even for one moment in those inglorious mornings, face in the toilet and already late for a busy day of work — indulge that desire to give yourself a break. Do yourself a favor for once, let your body and mind heal and grow. In an industry that prides itself on masochism, I know it takes courage and strength to do something healthy for ourselves.
But you have the strength.
As humans we are amazing creatures capable of more than we ever imagine. And there are many of us — chefs, managers, coworkers and friends — who will help you down that path and to find your life again, life unrestrained by the cruel crutch that hobbles our industry.
Michael "Pizza Party" Melkonian
Richmond line cook since 2008
Alcohol-free since 2016
