Chef's Ass

Calm down.This isn't what you think it is,if you've stumbled by as a result of some dodgy internet search then I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed.Lets just take a moment to admire John Wayne's statuesque pose whilst you sling your hook.

I had a bit of a panic on yesterday lunchtime.We couldn't get the door to the pub open which when you think about it is quite fundamental to the success of the business.We messed around pulling at the door in case the torrential overnight rain had resulted in it swelling and the lock not turning(even going out via the back door and coming round the front to give it an almighty kick) but despite prolonged fiddling the key still refused to turn.By five past twelve there were around twenty people queued up outside who ordinarily might have been amused by the comedic shenanigans but given the gale force winds and rain I'm sure there were better ways to spend ones Saturday lunchtime.
In desperation I sent for Chef,perhaps his brute force might effect a result.As he stepped up to the oche I glimpsed a momentary look of dismay on his face as he clocked the increasingly impatient punters queueing orderly outside.He glanced briefly at me then calmly took hold of the handle and effortlessly pushed open the door.
The reason the key wouldn't turn was because it was already open,in fact it had remained unlocked ALL NIGHT.

 It was obvious Chef was now questioning the wisdom of  last nights late poker game and subsequent unsatisfactory short sleep.
You see, normally he is the responsible one in our relationship,he follows me around turning off electrical appliances,locking doors and has only recently convinced me to stop  leaving my car keys in the ignition 'just so I know where they are'.(serial car keys misplacer).He's very organised and meticulously plans ahead, unlike Moi who much prefers to let things happen,on the odd occasion I have witnessed the phrase 'daft as a ships cat' directed at me.
Unsurprisingly, he always takes responsibility for battening the hatches at night.
So in a rare and unexpectedly welcome role reversal, I was strutting around the kitchen with an unbearably smug face and Chef was uncharacteristically quiet.
By late afternoon the Karma police had caught up with him,clearly all was not well.

I  sensed by his waddling gait that there was indeed a problem.
I suspected he may be suffering a particularly shockingly severe case of Chef's Ass.
What's Chefs Ass I hear you say?

(NB Also known in the trade as Chefs A*se I've avoided this word in an effort to avoid being inundated with  Chef fettish interweb surfers of which there must be MANY judging by the search words which have brought weirdos individuals to this blog in the past few weeks..)

Well let me tell you, Chefs Ass *big wink* is no laughing matter.
Chefs Ass, *adopts serious face* is an occupational hazard of the busy Chef,which strikes without impunity or warning.A debilitating and quite painful condition usually occurring following extended periods endured in hot and sweaty kitchen temperatures, the resultant chafing twixt the cheeks of the ass causing extreme soreness and discomfort.

'Everything all right' (smirking).

'yes fine' (clearly not fine..)

I snapped this sneaky photo as Chef plated up at the pass.Please note,adopting a John Wayne stance is not his usual Modus Operandi...

Later that night my suspicions were confirmed(YESS!!) as I went to turn off the light in the Gents loo and something caught my eye just inside the cubicle.The sprinkling of fine white powder visible on the floor(no not that sort of powder,that sort of thing doesn't go on in this neck of the woods..)was a dead give away.

You see,the only product that successfully relieves the symptoms of Chefs Ass is a liberal dusting over the affected area with cornflour.The silky properties of this particular store cupboard ingredient  both soothes and lubricates the inflammation,allowing the delicate surface skin to recover. 

(BTW I've often wondered if Custard powder, preferably Birds,would do a similar job..has anyone ever tried ??)

Now here's the puzzling thing.In over ten years of working in searingly hot kitchens, I've yet to be stricken by this condition.Chef might try to suggest that its because I don't work so hard as he does,but I'm sure there's a much more scientific explanation.It may be something to do with gender and perhaps the physical attributes of the respective male/female ass.Possibly the wider child bearing female hips afford some protection in that the cheeks aren't forced together so closely, thus reducing friction.Or perhaps its to do with a gentleman's hind quarters being firm and (ideally) muscular whereas a ladies derriere(how can I put this politely) being an altogether more peachy proposition?

What do you think?

I'm particularly interested in feedback from any female Chefs out there,am I a freak or working in this industry should I just be thankful that I don't have those elusive buns of steel?
I'd love to hear your thoughts.