From Line Cook To Leader.
Spend enough time in kitchens and certain things become obvious without being spoken. You learn to recognize skill quickly — who moves with confidence, who understands timing, who can hold their station when things start to pile up. Leadership, though, reveals itself more slowly. It’s not always loud or visible, and you often don’t notice it until it’s missing and the room feels heavier because of it.
Early in a career, it’s easy to confuse the two. The fastest cook gets more responsibility. The strongest personality starts setting the tone. The person who never seems rattled becomes the benchmark everyone else is expected to meet. Sometimes that works, but other times it creates pressure without guidance, and expectations without support. Skill can carry a service. It doesn’t always carry a team.
A chef’s attention is on execution — the food, the timing, the standard that needs to be met every single night. A leader’s attention widens beyond the plate. They’re aware of how the team is communicating, where friction keeps showing up, and how mistakes are handled when the room is already under strain. Over time, that awareness becomes the difference between a kitchen that functions and one that simply survives.
Those differences show up in the small moments that most guests never see. How a mistake is addressed when the printer won’t stop. Whether someone feels safe asking a question before service instead of covering it up mid-rush.
Whether feedback is given to build clarity or just to assert control. A chef might step in and fix the problem themselves to keep the night moving. A leader looks at why it happened and what needs to change so it doesn’t happen again.
As kitchens run leaner and expectations grow heavier, that distinction matters more than ever. Leadership isn’t about authority or volume — it’s about steadiness. It’s about creating an environment where people know what’s expected of them and feel supported enough to meet those expectations, even on the hardest nights.
The strongest leaders I’ve known didn’t announce themselves as such. They were consistent. They explained instead of snapping. They noticed when someone was struggling and stepped in without making a scene. Over time, trust built naturally — not because they demanded respect, but because they earned it through how they showed up day after day.
Leadership also doesn’t mean having every answer. In fact, some of the most effective leaders are comfortable admitting when they don’t. They create space for others to contribute, to learn, and to take ownership without lowering the bar. That kind of environment doesn’t happen by accident. It’s built deliberately, one decision and one conversation at a time.
For a long time, this industry glorified the idea of the indispensable chef — the person who carried everything and expected everyone else to keep up. That image is fading, not because standards have changed, but because it isn’t sustainable. Kitchens don’t fall apart because the work is hard. They fall apart when too much rests on too few people.
Real Leadership…
You see the difference most clearly when a leader isn’t there. Service still runs. Communication stays intact. People know what to do and how to do it. That doesn’t happen by chance. It’s the result of someone who invested in people as much as outcomes.
Every great leader I’ve worked with started as a solid chef. Not every solid chef became a leader. The ones who did understood that their role had changed — and they were willing to change with it. They let go of ego, traded control for clarity, and built kitchens people didn’t just work in, but wanted to stay in.
That’s the quiet difference. And it’s the one that lasts.
