Breakfast chefs at hotels

Around the world, in every hotel, they are like the never changing omnipotent omniscient. Whether it’s the most expensive hotel or the least, breakfasts don’t change one day from another. I often pity the breakfast chefs at hotels, making the same combination morning after morning after morning. How do they feel when they watch on TV swashbuckling foul-mouthing star chefs dazzling hapless locals from Timbuktu to Uluwatu? Career progression for these hotel breakfast chefs means becoming the egg-man, that person dressed in white at the centre of the world. For only he is the one who shall be seen by the patrons, the only one among all the faceless cooks making breakfast somewhere in the backyard. And only he can say what pale bodied consultants love to say, “my job is ever-changing, I love it.” “Sir, scrambled, omelette, sunny-side up?”, oh, what would a breakfast chef not do to be able to say those words?