What the top chefs feed their staff

THE head chef disliked me from the off.

While some of the more attractive waitresses chose at will from the high-priced menu, he ensured I received nothing but crap to eat. Though the menu was crassly studded with trophy items (caviar, frogs legs, expensive champagne) most of the cooking involved grills, deep fat fryers and very few pots and pans — there was plenty of crap to choose from.

On one particular night, the third day running I had pulled a double shift, I was, as usual, starving but had passed the evening secreting away a single leg from every order of frogs’ legs I cooked. As soon as service finished, I wrapped the frogs’ legs in a teatowel, added a jar of caviar, swiped earlier from the cold store, shoved them down my pants and snuck out to join Ian, one of the busboys.